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Issue 70.4 of the Review for Religious, 2011. ; Unique Approaches Building Community Focus on Joseph Potpourri quarterly 70.4 2011 Review for Religious fosters dialogue with God, dialogue with ourselves, and dialogue with one another about the holiness we try to live according to charisms of Catholic religious life. As Pope Paul Vl said, our way of being church is today the way of dialogue. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published quarterly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 PHONE: 314-633o4610 ¯ FAX: 314-633-4611 EMAIL: reviewrfr@gmail.com ¯WEBSITE: www.reviewforreligious.org Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious o P.O. Box 6070 ° Duluth, MN 55806. PHONE: 877-467-8687 ¯ FAX: 218-740-6437 ¯ EMAIL: fulfill@superfill.co~n Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. ©2011 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal 6r 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 distribution, 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. ~ gournal of Catholic Spirirualit)j Celebrating 70 Years Editor Associate Editor Book Review Editor Scripture Scope Editorial Staff Michael G. Harter SJ Garth L. Hallett SJ RosemaryJermann Eugene Hensell OSB Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm .Judy Sharp Advisory Board Paul Coutinho SJ Martin Erspamer OSB Margaret Guider OSF Kathleen Hughes RSCJ Louis and Angela Menard Bishop Terry Steib SVD QUARTERLY 70.4 2011 contents 340 prisms Prisms 342 364 .377 unique approaches A Tale of Two Scandals: Cornelia Connelly as Nouvelle H~loi'se Barbara Newman tells the remarkably similar stories of two married women who lived six centuries apart, became nuns and then abbesses only through the instigation of their husbands, suffered considerably, and faced numerous canonical difficulties in the founding of their orders. building community The Hum of Being: " Spirituality for Leadership Beatrice M. Eichten OSF describes the ministry of community leadership as a pilgrimage and explores the various spiritual realizations that flow from it--such as the openness to Spirit that comes through moments of emptiness and detachment, and the gifts of loving and being loved. Architecture and Religious Life Thomas A. Krosnicki SVD discusses the impact that the architectural design of buildings--in particular community residences--can have to the benefit of religious life and those they touch by their life and ministry. Review for Religious 386 404 408 .422 426 focus on Joseph Be Saints: Pathway to a Holy Life Joel Giallanza CSC gathers wisdom from St. Andr~ Bessette, whose name is forever linked to that of St. Joseph because of their obvious similarities. Both were simple laborers through whom God chose to do extraordinary things; both knew poverty and suffering; both experienced exile. Above all, both point out a pathway to holiness because they remained faithful to whatever God asked of them. St. Joseph in Focus: Husband of Mary and Guardian of Jesus John M. Samaha SM reminds us why we honor St. Joseph by giving us a simple portrait of the quiet, often overlooked member of the Holy Family. potpourri Lighting Our Modern Spirit: Pope John Paul II's Luminous Mysteries Carey Ellen Walsh explores the theology and the spiritual gift of John Paul II's meditation on the rosary in his apostolic letter Rosarium Virginis Mariae. She focuses on how one of John Paul II's most intimate reflections tends to the hunger in our souls. Multiple Sclerosis: A Gift Marian D. Frantz IHM reflects on how she has coped with multiple sclerosis and, in spite of the physical challenges and fears that accompany it, has come to understand it as a gift. Cremation: A Path to Protect Mother Earth Brian Jordan OFM calls us to rethink our attitudes and practices about how we remember our loved ones through burial or cremation and to develop an attitude of reverence for "Holy Mother Earth" in the process. departments 433 Scripture Scope: The Bible and the Liturgy 438 Book Reviews 444 Indexes 70.4 2011 prisms Erone intense week at the end of the summer, the population of Madrid swelled by more than one million souls. Crowds of young men and women came with the devotion of pil-grims; they participated in workshops and service projects; they baked in the heat, endured a rain-soaked and windswept prayer vigil, and coped with the chaos resulting from poor organization. They sang and prayed together, and blogged about their experiences all over the Internet. Such enthusiasm. Such energy. It all brought back memories of an earlier World Youth Day when I accompanied a group of Jesuit novices to Toronto in 2002. We, too, gath-ered with hopes and dreams, coped with crowds and long waits for something to eat. We, too, spent a restless night on the hard ground soaked through by a cold rain waiting for the final Mass celebrated by the pope. Drenched to the bone, I kept asking myself "What am I doing here?" But the enthusiastic singing of the young people drowned out the question. But I must be realistic. M}- perspective is not that of a young pilgrim. I just sent out invitations for a celebration of my golden Jubilee as a Jesuit. My novitiate classmates and others celebrating Review for Religious anniversaries of entrance and ordination (25, 50, 60, and 70 years of presence and service) are planning on celebrat-ing because we have much to celebrate. We have worked and taught, and borne the heat of the day in many different contexts. But as I look back on 50 years of religious life, I must admit that I have asked more than once "What am I doing here?" Sometimes the question arises because I feel too insignificant to make a difference. More often the ques-tion arises from a sense of wonder and awe about the ways God has chosen to work through me. My choice to enter religious life was well intentioned, but made with total naivet& The ministry for which I pre-pared myself (teaching high school) never materialized. The skills I learned in the process, however, equipped me to serve as an administrator, a forinator, and an editor. Through the years and with much prayer, I have tried to make myself available to be sent where I can best be used. I am privileged once again to live with our young men in formation. Their energy can wear me out, but their enthusiasm is contagious. They show that the church is ever young, ever new, always ready to grow in experience and wisdom. The seeds of faith are sprouting anew in many places. And in other pl~ces fields that have been harvested any number of times still produce with God's grace. The young pilgrims have now returned home from Madrid and are back in school or settling into their regular routines. But the memories and graces they carry with them will make their lives anything but routine. And as those of us further along the age continuum continue our trust walk with the One who has always accompanied us, we take to heart the prayer with which Benedict sent forth the young people from Madrid: "May no adversity paralyze you. Be afraid neither of the world, nor of the future, nor of your weakness." 341 Michael G. Harter SJ 70.4 2011 BARBARA NEWMAN A Tale of Two Scandals: Cornelia Connelly as Nouvelle Hdlo~se unique approaches 342 This is a tale of two scandals. It is a story of two women who courageously defied con-vention, yet submitted tragically and without reserve to the men they loved. It is a story of two ambitious and charismatic men, whose meteoric rise in the church was surpassed only by the suddenness of their fall. It is a story of two priests married to nuns--and not only nuns, but the founders of congregations-- who remained indelibly married in the public eye. From Romanesque France to Victorian England, so much had changed yet so much remained the same, especially where female subordination was concerned. So, finally, this is a story about the longue durde in Catholic attitudes to marriage, gender, and women's religious life. Barbara Newman is professor of English, Religion, and Classics at Northwestern University. Her address is Northwestern University; University Hall 215; 1897 Sheridan Rd.; Evanston, IL 60208. Reviev2 for Religious My first, more familiar narrative concerns a Frenchwoman born around 1100. Heloise, of high though illegitimate birth, received a superb educa-tion at the convent of Argenteuil. Raised by her uncle Fulbert, she was granted the rare privilege of private lessons with a famous philosopher, Peter Abelard, who was teaching in Paris. We all know what happened next: Abelard and his pupil fell in love. Their steamy affair ended in Heloise's pregnancy, Fulbert's horrified rage, a clandestine marriage, Heloise's rash denial of the union, and Abelard's castration at the hands of Fulbert's hit men. Given the fame of both lovers, the end of their :affair was a cause cglkbre. Finding the pity of his stu-dents even harder to bear than the scorn of his ene-mies, Abelard became a monk at Saint-Denis, though not before compelling a reluctant but obedient Heloise to take the veil at Argenteuil. Their son Astralabe was left with Abelard's sister on a farm in Brittany.~ But the lovers' conversion to religious life fueled more scandals. Abelard, who did not suffer fools gladly, had a gift for making enemies. At Saint-Denis, his 'historical research threatened to deconstruct the monks' patron saint, who also happened to be the patron of the French monarchy. This controversy led to cries of treason and landed Abelard in such trouble that he had to flee by night. Next he ~tried the vocation of hermit, :for which he was totally ufisuited, and soon wound up teaching again at a new foundation he called the Paraclete. Here too he got in trouble, partly because his ever-vigilant enemies objected to his oratory's dedication. In .the meantime, Abelard was charged with heresy at the Council of Soissons and forced in 1121 to burn his book on the Trinity with his own hands. Eventually he managed to be named abbot of the backwater monastery of Saint- 70.4 2011 Newman ¯ A Tale of Two Scandals 344 Gildas, in his native Brittany, but fared no better there. By his own account, his monks tried to kill him with a poisoned chalice. Heloise too was dogged by scandal. Despite her past, she was elected prioress of Argenteuil. But in 1129 the powerful Suger--abbot of Saint-Denis and no friend to Abelard--had Heloise and her nuns evicted on charges of immorality. These charges may or may not have car-ried a grain of truth. It is possible that Heloise's regime was lax, though it is certain that Suger had his eye on the nuns' property; and he mobilized the king, the bish-ops, and the papal legate to enforce his takeover.2 At this juncture Abelard reentered the picture, offering the nuns his now-vacant oratory of the Paraclete. Gossip contin-ued to buzz: if Abelard visited, detractors claimed that he could not live without his mistress, while if he stayed away, they charged that he had abandoned his wife. A few years later, when he published his autobiography, Heloise responded with impassioned fury, lambasting his neglect at the same time that she avowed her undimin-ished desire. But despite the stormy beginning of their correspondence, the two eventually made peace. Abelard endorsed Heloise's teaching role and warmly praised her learning. At her request he wrote numerous works for her nuns.3 Not least, he authored a rule for the Paraclete, although it seems not to have been observed and signifi-cantly contradicts Heloise's own rule--a point' to which I shall return. When Abelard was again condemned for heresy in 1140, by an even more blatantly rigged council, it was Heloise who secured proof of his absolution and arranged for his burial, soon afterward, at the Paraclete. Surviving him by twenty years, she was.buried at his side. My second narrative belongs to the nineteenth cen-tury. Cornelia Peacock, born to an elite Philadelphia family in 1809, lost her parents in childhood.4 Raised by an aunt who gave her a superb private education, at 22 she married a clergyman, Pierce Connelly. The Connellys moved in 1831 to Natchez, Mississippi, where Pierce had been named rector of an Episcopal parish. At the birth of their son Mercer, his godfather gave Cornelia a slave as a christening present.5 Though Pierce was well-liked in his parish, the honeymoon did not last. Caught up in a wave of anti-Catholic senti-ment sweeping the nation, he decided to resist it and better inform himself, with the surprising result that he felt called to convert. Cornelia, though shocked at first, loyally followed. As she wrote to her sister, "against my prejudices and in spite of the horrors which I have always nurtured for the Catholic faith, I am ready at once to submit to whatever my loved husband believes to be the path of duty.''6 In fact, after Pierce resigned his parish and delivered his farewell sermon, Cornelia was the first to be received as a Roman Catholic. Pierce waited to make his abjuration in Rome itself, on Palm Sunday 1836, with pomp and ceremony. The Connellys soon became the darlings of the British recusant aris-tocracy in Rome, where they remained until a finan-cial crisis forced them to return home and look for work. Pierce found a teaching post at a Jesuit school in Louisiana; Cornelia joined him as a music teacher. By now the couple had four children, but one daughter died in infancy and their two-year-old son met with a tragic accident. Fearing that her happiness was too great, the devout Cornelia had asked God to demand some sacrifice of her. Only a day later the little boy, playing with the dog, tumbled into a vat of boiling syrup.7 After two days and nights of agony, he died in his mother's arms. 70.4 2011 Newman ¯ A Tale of Two Scandals But this was only the first of Cornelia's sorrows. Soon afterward, while she was pregnant with their fifth and last child, Pierce announced that he had discerned a call to the Catholic priesthood. This time Cornelia did resist, but as soon as she realized how serious her husband was, she released him, which entailed her own consent to a monastic vocation. Returning to Rome, the couple had a private audience with Pope Gregory xvI, and Pierce was ordained with surprising speed in 1845. As for Cornelia, she became a postulant at the Sacred Heart convent of Trinit~ dei Monti, bringing her two youngest children with her. But she was not destined to take vows there. In 1846 Bishop Nicholas Wiseman, soon to become Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster, called Cornelia to England, where he wished her to found an order of nuns to educate English Catholic girls. Thus, before the end of her novitiate, the 3 7-year-old Cornelia Connelly, American wife and mother of three, became--not of her own accord, but by the deci-sions of her husband and her bishop--the first English monastic foundress in two hundred years. At this point the Connelly saga becomes so tumultu-ous that I can give only the barest summary. Cornelia's Society of the Holy Child Jesus (SHCJ) suffered more than its share of growing pains--lack of resources, litigation over property, internal discord, hostile chap-lains, and increasing strain between Cornelia and her superior, Cardinal Wiseman. These troubles were compounded by the "no Popery" agitation of a ,public deeply-fearful of Catholic emancipation. Mat Cornelia had least expected, however, was Pierce's rapid disil-lusionment with his new faith. Unsuccessftil in his bids for advancement in the church, ihe missed his wife and resented Wiseman's ban :on conjugal visits. So the frus- Review for Religious trated Pierce made two hostile, if contradictory, moves in quick succession. First, he wrote a spurious rule for Cornelia's order, which he circulated in Rome without her knowledge. Second, he pulled the children out of their schools and took 'them to Italy as hostages, with a new demand that Cornelia renounce her vows and return to him. Heartbroken but determined, she refused. The apostate Pierce thereupon sued his former wife in the Court of Arches for restitu-tion of his conjugal rights.8 The case of Connelly v. Connelly dragged on from 1849 to 1851, much to the glee of journalists.9 In 1850 a judge ruled in Pierce's favor, declaring that a papal~decree of separation had no force in England and leaving Cornelia to face imprisonment or a . forced return to her husband. While appealing to the Privy Council, she kept a suit of secular clothes in her cell at all times in case she had to flee the realm. Pierce meanwhile scandalized British Catholics with his apos-tasy, even seeking refuge for a time with the fanati-cally anti-Catholic Henry Drummond, a wealthy peer who led an apocalyptic sect. Eventually he returned to Italy, where he spent the rest of his life writing anti- Catholic tracts and serving as an Episcopal minister in Florence. Cornelia won her appeal on a technicality, but she never saw her eldest son again, for Mercer died at twenty of yellow fever. The younger children, Before~ the end of her novitiate, Cornelia Connelly, American wife and mother of three, became the first English monastic foundress in two hundred years. 347 70.4 2011 Newman ¯ A Tale of Two Scandal~ Adeline and Frank, remained with their father in Italy. He managed to estrange them permanently from their mother, returning her letters unopened. But in spite of all this, the Society of the Holy Child Jesus flour-ished. At Cornelia's death in 1879 it had six convents and schools in England, three in America, and one in France.~° Amazingly, Cornelia Connelly's case for saint-hood was opened in 1959, and in 1992 she was declared Venerable--the first step toward canonization. The Positio or formal presentation of her case is the first in history to be written by a woman.~ Since no one has ever proposed Heloise for saint-hood, except in the cult of romantic love, why do I call Cornelia Connelly a nouvelle Hgloi'se? I suggest this com-parison to probe more deeply into the case of a woman who filled the roles of wife, mother, nun, and abbess, not in succession but in conflict. Legions of women have become religiously active in widowhood, but few if any have faced down so public a scandal caused by living husbands, while simultaneously trying to establish their monastic authority. In the rest of this article, I will compare Cornelia's struggles with Heloise's apropos of three issues: sexuality, motherhood, and the authority of an abbess. In the France of the trouvOres, one could speak of sex more freely than in Queen Victoria's Britain, but Heloise would have been scandalous in any age. To dis-suade Abelard from their ill-starred marriage, she made a case for free love, claiming that .she would rather be called his mistress'(arnica) than his wife--and even if Augustus, ruler of the world, had asked her to be his empress, she would prefer to be Abelard's whore (scortum)--a word she chose deliberately for its shock value.~2 In Heloise's eyes, the true prostitute was the Review for Religious respectable wife who married not for love, but for security and money. As if these ideas were not scandal-ous enough, after ten years as a nun she confessed that she still felt sexual yearnings, even during Mass, and declared that she could never forgive God for Abelard's castration.13 This was no mere private avowal, but a rhe-torical performance before an imagined if not actual public. Medieval letters were never truly "private," and contemporary documents show that Heloise's arguments were well known in French clerical circles.14 Romantics (including my younger self) have often been dismayed with Abelard for refusing to respond in kind.15 But how could he? Neither his castration nor the couple's vows were reversible, so Heloise had either to find a way of coping or face a lifetime of misery, ending in her damnation. Abelard thus faced the.unenviable task of cajoling her to love Christ, her new Bridegroom, in his stead. If his tactics seem ham-fisted to our age, in his own they were supremely pragmatic. When Heloise said that she would gladly follow Abelard to hell; that her "heart was never my own, but was always with you"; that in every decision she had sought to please him, rather than God--it was not from marital duty that she spoke.16 A self-consciously clas-sical lover, she even took the nun's veil with the cry of a pagan heroine on her lips.17 In Cornelia Connelly we see nothing of the. sort. If she too ended by trans-gressing her culture's cherished feminine ideals, it was not by her choice. Yet in displaying obedience to her beloved, she vied with Heloise. To please Pierce, she braved her family's disapproval; left home for the dis-tant, culturally alien South; abjured her Protestant faith (a drastic step in the 1830s); accepted a life of exile; and finally made the supreme sacrifice of her marriage itself, 349 70.4 2011 Newman ¯ A Tale of Two Scandals Where Heloise saw ,oppositiOn-; Cornelia saw con]'un ction:, L, vowing perpetual chastity so that Pierce could be ordained. But where Heloise saw opposition--she could obey either God's will or Abelard's, but not both-- Cornelia saw conjunction. As a dutiful Victorian wife, she followed the principle of Milton's Eve: "he for God only, she for God in him." In the end, Cornelia became a far more committed Catholic than the vain and shallow Pierce. Yet she would never have become one at all with, out the conviction that God was guiding her through her husband's will. As she wrote to her sister at the time, Pierce was "all that is estimable and far above what your sister ever deserved or looked for in her husband. It is not for me to praise him, but daily do I thank God for having so blessed me.''18 In entering religious life, both women faced the extraordinary challenge of renouncing their husbands' love at their husbands' bidding. When Heloise pro-claimed her immortal longing, Abelard commanded her to desire him no more, but rather the God who had castrated him. Cornelia confronted the same demand, except that Pierce's self-castration in will alone did not last. So in the end, having fallen genuinely in love with Christ, she had to fight her ex-husband in court to preserve a separation she had never wanted in the first place. Interestingly, it was Heloise who fared better in the court of public opinion. Abelard's friends and even some of his enemies sympathized with her, while later humanists like Jean de Meun and Petrarch admired her eloquence and uncompromising idealism29 Review for Religious Cornelia, on the other hand, fell afoul of both Catholic and Protestant sentiment. The English Catholic hier-archy, impoverished and terribly vulnerable, resented the scandal and expense of "Connelly v. Connelly." As for the Protestant majority, it eagerly believed Pierce's lies and blamed Cornelia for destroying her family. Caught between two patriarchies, faced with incompat-ible demands from husband and bishop, she could win neither public vindication nor private comfort. Her anguish is clearest--and the historical distance greatest--with respect to motherhood. We do not know what it cost Heloise to leave the infant Astralabe in Brittany, but upper-class women of her day often had their children fostered elsewhere, and it was not unusual for widowed mothers to enter monasteries. Moreover, we have good evidence that Heloise never envisaged moth-erhood as a career path. Before her marriage, she had even proposed a novel, feminist version of the old argu-ment that a philosopher should not wed. As she put it, "what husband could ever concentrate on philosophy or scripture and still put up with babies howling. ? What wife could stand the endless mess of children?''2° Later, in her letters of complaint, she never mentions her son's absence among her sorrows. Her only reference to him comes in a letter written after Abelard's death, asking the abbot of Cluny to find the young man a prebend.21 We do not know for certain what became of Astralabe,22 nor did contemporaries care, for motherhood in the twelfth century was not an admired vocation. St. Jerome, often quoted by Abelard and Heloise, had zealously praised mothers who steeled themselves against their children's cries to "become virile" and serve God alone:23 Seven centuries later, wives were no less subordinate to husbands, but the ideal of motherhood had changed 70.4 2011 Newman ¯ A Tale of Two Scandals utterly. Hence nothing hurt Cornelia's reputation more than the belief, fostered by Pierce, that she had willfully abandoned her children. An anti-Catholic pamphlet in 1853 put it this way: "When Rome once depraves the heart, or bows the will, . . . the fountain of all natural affection has been, by priestly art, so dried up within her--as that she can forget her children whom she has borne, as well as the husband whom she has sworn, before God, to obey.''24 But Cornelia had never con-sented to Pierce's abduction of their children. As soon as she realized that he was using them to blackmail her, however, she swore a solemn vow: "In union with my crucified Lord and by His most precious blood, in ado-ration satisfaction thanksgiving and petition, I, Cornelia, vow to have no future intercourse with my children and their Father beyond what is for the greater Glory of God and His manifest will, known through my direc-tor.'' 2s A few letters to relatives reveal the agony this cost her. In 1854 she wrote to her brother that, initially, "my dear children were as much under my eyes as if I had not left the world till their father broke his word and his promises and stole them away from me. may God forgive him.''26 Four years later she lamented, "Poor dar-lings! I little thought of their having to suffer in this way, while I can do nothing to help them except by prayer."27 Under English law the children belonged to their father, so there was literally nothing Cornelia could do. In any case the church, in stark contrast with secular norms, still preserved its medieval legacy of valuing marital renunciation as the high road to perfection?8 The motif of the "maternal martyr" occurs so often in medieval hagiography that, if anyone had suggested sainthood for Heloise, her separation from Astralabe might actually have bolstered the case.29 Today, how- Review for Religious ever, the fate of the Connelly children poses a major obstacle to Cornelia's cause. It does not help that all three apostasized, though her daughter returned to the Catholic fold after both parents died. Cornelia's pro-moters., must therefore show that she bore the loss of her children as a cross, but--this is the key point--not a cho-sen cross.3° The postulator of her cause did try to revive the maternal martyr topos, citing Jeanne de Chantal as an exemplary saint who demonstrated "heroic virtue" by stepping over her son's protesting body as she departed for the cloister.3~ But most of Cornelia's advocates have shied away from this theme. Her biographers instead link her devotions to the Holy Child Jesus and to Mary, Mother of Sorrows, with her son's tragic death. This dimension of her spiritual life was incomparably deep-ened by the loss of her other children, though her work as a pioneer in girls' education compensated in some degree for the sadness of her own motherhood.32 Finally, I turn to the less sensational domain of reli-gious rules, which define a nun's mission and daily life, because both foundresses had to cope with problem-atic rules composed for them by their former husbands. Heloise had explicitly asked Abelard to create a rule, writing deferentially that "you, through God, are the planter of our congregation, and you, with God, should be the guide of our religious life.''33 Abelard complied, though the lengthy document he produced is an eclectic farrago of the Benedictine Rule, the desert fathers, pas-sages from Jerome, Augustine, and .Gregory the Great, and a few provisions specific to Heloise.34 Differences between this text and her own, more practical rule prolonged an old controversy over the authenticity of Heloise's letters.35 Some of the discrepancies concern fairly small matters, but the most important involve 70.4 2011 Newman * A Tale of Two Scandals lines of authority. On this subject the two rules cannot be reconciled.36 Abelard was profoundly conflicted about gender. Like every cleric of his age, he could toss off slight-ing remarks about the "weaker sex" and denounce abbesses who presumed to govern their nuns--or even monks--without male superiors. Yet in his treatise on the dignity of nuns, he pro-duced the most significant "pro-feminine" tract of the era.37 Some scholars have discerned a gradual con-version to feminism where others see only unresolved tension, but in any case, "~ Abelard's rule for Heloise is so ambivalent as to be unworkable.38 One reason is that he envisages a double community of monks and nuns, an arrangement that was common elsewhere but never established at the Paraclete. On the one hand, the whole community should have a male head or pro-vost, but on the other, both monks and nuns should profess obedience to the female head. Abelard calls her not "abbess" but "deaconess," an exotic early Christian term. He compares the deaconess to a queen and the provost to her steward, who fulfills his lady's will in all things--save that he "declines in what may do her harm.''39 It is hard to see how such an arrangement could have worked in practice. As for Heloise, she might have been happy enough with Abelard himself as her superior. But Abelard was still the abbot of Saint-Gildas, and if he should pre-decease her--which he did--the authority could revert Abelard's rule for Helbis e: is so ambivalent as to ,- be unworkable,, Reviww for Religious to her old enemy Suger.4° So in fact, the Paraclete had no provost. Heloise styled herself abbess, a more pres-tigious title than "deaconess," and exercised the nor-mal authority of that role. Given Abelard's peripatetic life, his reputation for heresy, and his disastrous failure at Saint-Gildas, the Paraclete undoubtedly flourished under her leadership as it could never have done under his. In fact, despite her unwilling entrance into religious life, Heloise proved highly successful as both monastic reformer and administrator. Before her death in 1163, six daughter houses had been founded or attached to the Paraclete, and its property holdings were vast.41 In addi-tion to glowing letters of praise from contemporaries, the popularity of the name "Heloise" in the next gen-eration testifies to the esteem in which she was held.42 Despite the troubles Abelard and Heloise faced in reinventing their relationship, both had a deep integ-rity. Abelard could be intransigent, but he did not lie, and Heloise's gift for placating superiors equaled his for antagonizing them. Thus she was able to attain the sup-port she needed from popes, bishops, lay patrons, and powerful abbots. Cornelia, to her cost, lacked these advantages. On the one hand, she had to endure Pierce's outright treachery, and on the other, a long series of conflicts marred her relations with hierarchs. Less than two years after she founded the first Holy Child convent at Derby, Pierce circulated a rule of his own composi-tion in Rome, prefaced by a claim that "the good Lord had long inspired in [him] the desire to found a little Congregation, with the help of a holy person well known to me and quite obedient (bien docile) to me.''43 But this was far from the case. When she learned of his act several months later, she sent off an indignant protest disavowing any changes he had made to her rule. Nevertheless, the 70.4 2011 Newman ¯ A Tale of Two Scandals spurious text created so much confusion that at Cornelia's death, her own rule was still not approved. A year later, Pierce was claiming that the Derby convent was "worse than . . . a brothel," hence his first duty was "to rescue my blessed wife from the hands of devils.''44 With a lethal combination of lawsuits, apostasy, anti-Catholic propa-ganda, and his fraudulent rule, Pierce had made it nearly impossible for Cornelia to succeed in the vocation to which his own choice had driven her. It did not help that she and Cardinal Wiseman had a falling-out. Concerned that the Connelly scandal was making the church a laughingstock, Wiseman felt a need for rest and proposed that one wing of Cornelia's new convent in Sussex be converted to a seaside residence for his own use. Fearful of yet more scandal, Cornelia said no, infuriating her old ally. Hence Wiseman refused to support her pleas in Rome, where the authorities stud-ied both Cornelia's and Pierce's rules for years without action, still not realizing why they differed. The English bishops meanwhile dragged their feet, refusing to let the Holy Child nuns hold a general chapter to elect superi-ors. Wiseman insisted that the subsidiary houses should be canonically separate, rather than subject to the mother house4S--a disempowering move that Heloise, in her day, had managed to resist. The final blow came in 1874 when Bishop Danell of Southwark, Cornelia's immediate supe-rior, presented the nuns with a third rule that he himself had written, imposing a hopelessly complex system of governance. Without warning, he insisted that they set their rule aside and observe his for a "trial period" of three years.46 At the end of this time they begged Danell to restore their old rule--beginning with the youngest nun, who declared, "My Lord, it seems to me that the new Rule has been drawn up to correct abuses which Review for Religious never existed, and it does not lead us to love and obey our Superiors.''47 All agreed except Cornelia, who remained stonily silent in humility--or despair. But Danell refused their plea and imposed another three-year trial period, at the end of which the foundress died, her life and work in a shambles. It was not until Pierce's death four years later that Cornelia's rule could again be considered in Rome. Ten years after that, in 1893, it was approved in its original, unaltered form.4s To conclude, then--was Cornelia Connelly a nouvelle Hdloise? The real Heloise, who so vividly imagined her-self as a tragic heroine, turns out to have led a less tragic life than Cornelia. Successful abbess though she was, no churchman could call Heloise a saint. Not only did she defend illicit love and confess to religious hypocrisy, but by the standards that count, she didn't suffer enough-- or at least, not for the right reasons. Though she por-trayed herself as a martyr of love, she recovered from a devastating crisis to be reconciled with her beloved, win the esteem and admiration of her peers, and leave a lasting monastic legacy. But Cornelia--or should I say, the Venerable Cornelia--attained martyrdom on three fronts. As I have shown, she perfecdy fulfilled the medieval type of the maternal martyr, suffering the loss of five children through no fault of her own--three to premature death and three to her husband's perfidy, if we count Mercer twice. We can also call her a "mar-tyr of marriage," like other medieval saints who suf-fered at the hands of brutish husbands. The Connellys might have lived happily ever after if they had remained Protestant--but Pierce's short-lived infatuation with the Catholic Church decreed otherwise. Having first prod-ded his wife toward conversion, he would soon become her relentless persecutor, goading her toward sainthood. 70.4 2011 Newman * A Tale of Two Scandals Finally, Cornelia can be seen as a martyr of the church itself, having suffered nearly as much at the hands of bishops as of her husband. Admittedly, I have had to sim-plify her long, complicated tale. A full and fair account would not gloss over the abrasive side of her character-- or the odd moments of silence where resistance might have been more apt. It would also dwell on the unique difficulties attending the restoration of Catholic reli-gious life in Protestant England.49 Nonetheless, it seems strange that the defiant Heloise won more clerical favor in the twelfth century than the submissive Cornelia in the nineteenth. For twenty-five years after her death, her name remained under a cloud even among her nuns, who felt that the Society's goals were best served by silenc-ing their founder's scandalous memory,s° Returning to the longue durge, however, persecution has shadowed the church's most celebrated reformers; I need only mention Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, and Ignatius Loyola. If not a sine qua non for sainthood, it certainly helps. After all, Cornelia's long-suffering precursor in the sev-enteenth century, the Yorkshire foundress Mary Ward, was declared Venerable only a year ago. In each case, it remains to be seen if time, perseverance, and changing attitudes toward women will finally smooth the path from scandal to sanctity. Notes ~ These events are known to us from Abelard's autobiogra-phy, Historia calamitatum, and his subsequent exchange of let-ters with Heloise. I have cited these from the new translation by William Levitan, Abelard and Heloise: The Letters and Other Writings (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2007). ~ M.T. Clanchy, Abelard: A Medieval Life (Oxford: Blackwell, 1997), p. 152. 3 The treatise on the dignity of nuns is Abelard's "Sixth Letter" Review for Religious , in Levitan, pp. 127-69. For his hymns see Joseph Sz6v~rffy, ed., Peter Abelard's Hymnarius Paraclitensis, 2 vols. (Albany, NY: Classical Folia Editions, 1975); a few are translated in Levitan. The Problemata Heloissae (Heloise's questions on Scripture, with Abelard's replies) can be found in J.-P. Migne, ed., Patrologia.Latina 178: 677-730, and his Expositio in Hexaemeron (a Genesis commentary) in PL 178: 731-84. For the sermons see Paola De Santis, ed., I sermoni di Abelardo per le monache del Paracleto (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2002). 4 There are now eight biographies of Cornelia Connelly, all but one by members of her Society. I have used the only account by a laywoman: Juliana Wadham, The Case of Cornelia Connelly (New York: Pantheon, 1'957), and Radegunde Flaxman SHCJ, A Woman Styled Bold: The Life of Cornelia Connelly, 1809-1879 (London: Darton, Longrnan and Todd, 1991). I have also consulted an excellent biog-raphy of her husband by D. G. Paz, The Priesthoods and Apostasies of Pierce Connelly: A Study of Victorian Conversion and Anticatholicism (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1986). For a novelistic account see Sheila Kaye-Smith, Quartet in Heaven (New York: Harper & Bros., 1952), pp. 57-122. s Flaxman, A Woman Styled Bold, p. 18. 6 Cornelia Connelly to Adeline Duval, letter of 17 Oct. 1835, cited in Mother Ursula Blake et al., Positio: Documentary Study for the Canonization Process of the Servant of God Cornelia Connelly (nge Peacock), 1809-1879, 3 vols. (Rome: Sacred Congregation for the Causes of Saints, 1983), I: 79. 7 Flaxman, A Woman Styled BoM, pp. 72-73. 8 This was an ecclesiastical court that, until 1857, ruled on mat-rimonial cases under English canon law. Divorces granted by this court did not permit remarriage. Otherwise, the only way to obtain a divorce was by private Act of Parliament. Positio I: 330. 9 Brendan Larnen's play about the trial, Connelly vs. Connelly (New York: Blackfriars' Guild, 1961), was staged in New York and Los Angeles fifty years ago. See Kenneth L. Woodward, Making Saints: How the Catholic Church Determines Who Becomes a Saint, Who Doesn't, and Why (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1990), p. 267. 1o The Life of Cornelia Connelly, 1809-1879, Foundress of the Society of the Holy Child Jesus, by A Religious of the Society [Mary Catherine Gompertz] (London: Longrnans, Green & Co., 1930), p. 257. As of 1952, at the height of the Catholic educational system, the Society had established four additional schools and convents in England (including Oxford and Harrogate), three in Ireland, one in Switzerland, one in Rome, six in Africa, and twenty-two in the 70.4 2011 Newman ¯ A Tale of Two Scandals U.S. Kaye-Smith, Quartet in Heaven, p. 118. Many of these are now closed, but the Society has further expanded into Germany and Latin America. See the SHCJ website, http://shcj.org/today_ministries.html ii Woodward, Making Saints, p. 253. The author is Sister Elizabeth Mary Strub, former superior general of the SHCJ. ~2 As recalled by Abelard in Historia calamitatum ("The Calamities of Peter Abelard"), trans. Levitan, p. 17; Heloise, First Letter, in Levitan, pp. 55-56. 13 Third Letter (in the collection, i.e, the second from Heloise), Levitan, pp. 78-79. 14 Giles Consta~ble, Letters and Letter-Collections, Typologie des sources du Moyen Age occidental, p. 17 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1976); Peter Dronke, Abelard and Heloise in Medieval Testimonies (Glasgow: University of Glasgow Press, 1976). 15 Barbara Newman, "Authority, Authenticity, and the Repression of Heloise," in Front Virile Woman to WomanChrist: Studies in Medieval Religion and Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995), pp. 46-75 (pp. 73-74). 16 Heloise, First Letter, p. 61; Third Letter, p. 81 17 According to Abelard, Heloise tearfully declaimed the lament of Cornelia, the wife of Pompey, from Lucan's Pharsalia--"and with these words, she rushed to the altar, snatched up the veil which the bishop had just blessed, and bound herself to the convent in the pres-ence'of all." Historia calamitatum, in Levitan, p. 20. 18 Cornelia Connelly to Adeline Dural, letter of 17 Oct. 1835, in Positio, I: 81. ¯ 19 The letters of Abelard and Heloise were popularized by the poet Jean de Meun, who translated them into French: Eric Hicks, ed., La vie et les epistres Pierres Abaelart et Heloys sa fame: Traduction du XIIIe siOcle attribude i~ Jean de Meun (Paris: Champion, 1991). More famously, he incorporated the lovers' tale into his bestrselling Roman de la Rose, which remained by far the best-known version until mod-ern times. z0 Abelard, Historia calamitamm, in Levitan, p. 15. Abelard cites Heloise in direct speech; she was in turn paraphrasing Jerome's trea-tise Adversus Jovinianum (393), and Jerome was citing a lost anti-matrimonial tract by the pagan Theophrastus, sometimes called "The Golden Book on Marriage." Theophrastus, Jerome, and their numerous medieval heirs all argued that a wise man should not marry; only Heloise extended this counsel to women, as I first noted in "Authority, Authenticity," p. 67. This grammatical nuance was Review for Religious overlooked in the classic translation by Betty Radice, The Letters of Abelard and Heloise (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974; rev. ed. 2003), p. 14; Levitan corrects the error. 2, Heloise, letter to Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny, ca. 1144-49, in Levitan, p. 273. 2z He probably became a cathedral canon in Nantes, and may later have been a Cistercian abbot at Hauterive: Levitan, Abelard and Hgloi'se, p. 13, n. 26. Abelard wrote a lengthy didactic poem for him, the Carmen ad Astralabium, ed. Jos~ Rubingh-Bosscher (Groningen, 1987). 23 Barbara Newman, "'Crueel Corage': Child Sacrifice and the Maternal Martyr in Hagiography and Romance," in From Virile Woman to WomanChrist, pp. 76-107 (p. 81). 24 Thomas Hatchard, Case of the Rev. Pierce Connelly, 2nd ed. (London, 1853), cited in Judith Lancaster SHCJ, Cornelia Connelly and Her Interpreters (Oxford: Way Books, 2004), p. 250. 25 Notebook of Cornelia Connelly, 21 January 1848, in Positio I: 298. 26 Cornelia Connelly to Ralph Peacock, letter of 1854, in Lancaster, Cornelia Connelly, p. 274. 27 Cornelia Connelly to Ralph Peacock, letter of 18 November 1858, in Lancaster, Cornelia Connelly, p. 274. For a moving treatment of Cornelia's feelings about this loss, see Dorothy Bryant, '!Keeping Vows: Cornelia Connelly (1809-1879)," in Last Words: Imaginary Letters from Real People (2010). Online at http://www.dorothybryant. com/LastWords.html 2s Caritas McCarthy SHCJ, The Spirituality of Cornelia Connelly: In God, For God, With God (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1986), pp. 73-80. For the history of this idea see Dyan Elliott, Spiritual Marriage: Sexual Abstinence in Medieval Wedlock (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). 29 See Newman, "'Crueel Corage': Child Sacrifice and the Maternal Martyr." 3o Woodward, Making Saints, pp. 268-70. 3~ Woodward, Making Saints, p. 271. 32 McCarthy, Spirituality; Roseanne McDougall SHCJ, Cornelia Connelly's Innovations in Female Education, 1846-1864: Revolutionizing the School Curriculum for Girls (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 2008). 33 Heloise, Fifth Letter, in Levitan, p. 126. 34 Abelard, Seventh Letter, in Levitan, pp. 170-255. 361 70.4 201 ! Newman ¯ A Tale of Two Scandals 3s For Heloise's rule see Chrysogonus Waddell, ed., The Paraclete Statutes, Institutiones Nostrae: Introduction, Edition, Commentary (Trappist, KY: Gethsemani Abbey, 1987). On the discrepan-cies see John E Benton, "Fraud, Fiction and Borrowing in the Correspondence of Abelard and Heloise," in Pierre Ab(lard--Pierre le Vgngrable: Les courants philosophiques, littgraires, et artistiques en Occident au milieu du XIIe sikcle, ed. Ren~ Louis and Jean Jolivet (Paris: l~.ditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1975), pp. 469-506 (p. 474). In 1980 Benton retracted his arguments for the inauthenticity of the letters. 36 For discussion see Enid McLeod, H?loi'se: A Biography, 2nd ed. (London: Chatto & Windus, 1971), pp. 219-24; Clanchy, Abelard, pp. 251-60. Heloise's biographer states that she "worked entirely in har-mony with Abailard's wishes" (p. 222), though not slavishly. Abelard's more skeptical biographer says she "ignored" his rule (p. 258). 37 Mary Martin McLaughlin, "Peter Abelard and the Dignity of Women: Twelfth Century 'Feminism' in Theory and Practice," in Pierre Ab3lard--Pierre le V3n3rable, pp. 287-333; Mcuin Blamires, The Case for Women in Medieval Culture (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997), pp. 199-207. 38 See my "Flaws in the Golden Bowl: Gender and Spiritual Formation in the Twelfth Century," in From Virile Woman to WomanCbrist, pp. 19-45 (p. 27). 39 Abelard, Seventh Letter, in Levitan, p. 198. ~0 Clanchy, Abelard, p. 258. 41 McLeod, Hiloi'se, pp. 210-219. 42 Penelope D. Johnson, Equal in Monastic Profession: Religious VVomen in Medieval France (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), p. 234. 43 "Memorial of the Rev. Pierce Connelly to the S. Cong. de Propaganda Fide," 10 February 1848, in Positio 1:299. The original is in French; English translation mine. 44 Pierce Connelly to the Earl of Shrewsbury, letter of 28 Dec. 1848, in Positio I: 307. 45 Wadham, Case of Cornelia Connelly, p. 226. 46 Not only did Danell style himself "Bishop Superior of the Institute"; he also sent his rule to the order's American houses with no explanation. Left in the dark, the U.S. sisters assumed that the new rule was Cornelia's high-handed innovation and refused to obey it, provoking a schism. Review for Religious 47 Gompertz, Life of Cornelia Connelly, p. 235. 48 Gompertz, Life of Cornelia Connelly, pp. 248-250. 49 Susan O'Brien, "Terra Incognita: The Nun in Nineteenth- Century England," Past dr Present, 121 (November 1988), pp. 110-140. so Lancaster, Cornelia Connelly and Her Interpreters, pp. 51-55. Palimpsest Recycling isn't new. When writing was serious, words were costly, vellum was scrubbed, papyrus washed, reused. Sometimes earlier uncials appear in ghostly outline. A Syriac text of Chrysostom reveals a Latin grammar: amo, amas, amat. What comes to articulation has layers beneath the surface deeper than words, runic letters in languages we don't quite understand. Bonnie Thurston 363 70.4 2011 building community BEATRICE M. EICHTEN The Hum of Being: Spirituality for Leadership At the beginning of his ministry, after hear-ing the heady proclamation that he is God's beloved Son, Jesus is plunged into a desert experience. He is tempted by the devil, who invites him to have his physical needs met, to exercise power through the worldly skills of division and manipulation rather than forgive-ness and reconciliation, and to be safe from all unpleasant, negative experiences. Jesus is able to withstand these temptations because he knows who he is. In his baptism and prayer, the truth of Jesus' identity is revealed to him: he is the beloved of God, one in whom God takes pleasure. Knowing who he is, Jesus is able to face the tension between being loved and being hungry/needy, between being loved and being socially powerless, and between being loved and being safe from all negative experiences. 1 Beatrice M. Eichten OSF is community minister/presi-dent of the Franciscan Sisters of Little Falls, Minnesota. Her address is 116 8th Ave. SE; Little Falls, Minnesota 56345-3597. Review for Religiotts When we are elected to leadership in our religious community, we are called forth to fulfill a special role as both spiritual and organizational leader. Such a call is empowering as well as humbling. It is a moment of being loved, of being affirmed for our strengths, a moment of special promise. However, this moment gives way to many other moments, and we quickly learn, as we take on this new role, that we do not give up our vulnerability or foibles. We do not cease wanting to control and "manage" others "for their own good." Nor can we avoid criticism, negativity, or unpopularity because of decisions we must make. We come face-to-face with ourselves as we encounter new challenges in the ministry of leadership. Where do we in leadership go when we face chal-lenges, temptations, and limitations? We can adopt the mindset of working hard to live up to the idealized expectations of our culture and community, or we can trust our authentic selves--the truth that we are beloved daughters or sons who give pleasure to God in carrying out a leadership function. We can discover a spirituality of leadership by examining our ongoing response to the challenges, temptations, and limitations we encounter. When we come to our spiritual identity, when we know who we are, says John Shea, then our spiritual work begins. As it was for Jesus, coming to this knowl-edge is a co-working with God that engages the full-ness of the human person. Foundational to the process is metanoia, conversion, the change of mind and heart that occurs~when we come to know ourselves as open to Spirit. Conversion leads us to make ourselves accessible to God. We move beyond our sinfulness and limita-tions to knowing that we, like Jesus, bring pleasure to God. This is a fruit of prayer. We open ourselves "to 70.4 2011 Eicbten * The Hum of Being 366 receive what the Divine Source is waiting to give" (p. 99). Openness makes us ready to receive. God as God. Such openness comes in prayer, in the troubled sister, in vexing financial and administrative details, in the elderly and the sick, in the gifted ministry of so many of our members, in our team of ministry colleagues, in cre-ation, and on and on. Spirit enters into this world; we do not break into Spirit's world. God is always present; we are the ones invited to open ourselves to receive and to act from our deepest identity as beloved of and precious to God. Shea goes on to say that, though the origins and destiny of Spirit are mysterious, you are filled by the sound of it. It is the burn of being--present, vibrant, alive, now. You live by a spirit that is not you. Being born of this spirit is not an event "done and over." It is the "always-already- now" of life. It is the power of God liv-ing in you. Touch that ever so slightly in yourself and you will open to the teacher sent from God, and he will whisper things hidden since the foun-dation of the world, the things he has heard from his Father, the things he is yearning to tell you. He will entrust himself to you. (p. 86, emphasis added) This "hum of being" is "the vibration of pure exis-tence. It blows where it will because it is not produced by people . its origin and destiny cannot be traced, but we bear the sound of it. We know it because it is car-rying us away" (p. 94). Opening to Spirit The core of leadership ministry is spiritual leader-ship-- a way of being present to ourselves and to our God that informs and guides our organizational lead-ership. Spiritual leadership requires an openness and readiness to receive Spirit as she comes to us each day. Review for Religious "Spirit is shy," says Shea. "It does not want to compete with other allegiances. It wants open space, vacancies that it can move into without conflict. When we are detached, we wait in readiness . . . [with] hands empty and open" (p. 38). This calls for an emp-tiness with which we are often not comfort-able. It calls us to back away consciously from being overly busy, important, needed, in control, and responsi-ble. Shea suggests that it means being con-scious of our human dependence and vul- -°- - nerability, of the alienation that characterizes sin, and of the uncomfortable conversion that leads us to redemp-tion rather than isolation (pp. 141-42). Being attentive to our inner reality requires time to be engaged with our inner selves and with God. Wayne Muller says that "without stillness, without being pres-ent, we will miss the simple, quiet opportunities., to hear more accurately. We will miss the opening, the readiness, that place of grace waiting to be born.''2 Being quiet and present is a critical discipline and necessary attitude as we deal with the siren lure of daily demands and issues inherent in congregational leadership. Different personalities will attend to inner realities and find a life focus in different ways. One person's way of being open and attentive to God can, for another, be a "grit-your-teeth" effort. Joan Chittister OSB reminds us that even age does not have to be an "impediment Being quiet and present is a ~ri~tical discipline as we deal with the siren lure of daily demands and issues inherent in congregational leadership. 367 70.4 2011 Eicbten ¯ The Hum of Being 368 to the magnet for life in us.''3 When we discover what is the magnet of life for us, we will also discover clues to where we find the source of energy for our journey through life. Those clues can be particularly helpful for those in a leadership position. By knowing and trust-ing our way of being present to God, we will come to know the truth that "There are as many ways to pray as there are moments in life . In all these moments, [we] gradually make [our] lives more a prayer and . . . open [our] hands to be led by God even to where [we] would rather not go.''4 Inherent Call to Conversion Spiritual and communal leadership is an ongoing call to conversion. We begin with any of a wide range of attitudes: "It's my turn." "I am finally feeling ready." "Oh God, please not me!" "I am willing to serve and to offer my best." "If this is what God and the community want of me ." "This is how I will do leadership" . "This is what I will do to help community grow" . "This is what I will do to 'fix' the community . " Regardless of how we begin, we soon learn that this ministry is about entering into a way of life where, as an elected leader, we turn from the perspective of a mem-ber to a perspective that encompasses the whole com-munity. The position brings new responsibilities and a fresh awareness both of the community and of the local and global church. Community members express their varied expectations of leaders in titles that range from "Mother General" to "Servant Leader," but whatever the expectations, leadership is a way of life that calls for detachment and self-emptying? for becoming a channel for Spirit in the life and activities of the whole community. Review for Religious Leadership requires letting go of attachments, fre-quently of a beloved ministry. A move to a new location, may mean distance from family, friends, and colleagues. We often discover, painfully, that being called to lead-ership changes how friends and companions relate to us. We need to move from roles and responsibilities with which we have identified into those that may not be of our personal choice. How many of us have said, "Finances are not my thing"? Yet now we must carry major responsibility for financial stewardship of the congregation. We learn that even though we are vested with power in the community, we do not have full control over our schedule, our members, our decisions. I remember hear-ing a speaker say to a roomful of new leaders that they had control of their schedules and could schedule days off. Having been in leadership before, I almost laughed out loud, knowing how many days off or team plan-ning days had been cut short by a death or a commu-nity crisis. While congregations talk about "part-time" leadership, the fact is, once elected, we are never not an elected leader. Leadership ministry is full-time, is exercised whenever and however it is called for, and is a ministry around which we wrap part-time responsibili-ties as chaplain or pastoral minister or whatever. The position calls for detachment from personal and minis-try commitments in order to carry out leadership minis-try. It also calls for circumspection as we come to realize that everything we say and do reflects on "leadership"; personal opinions become "Leadership believes . " Response to the Call to Conversion We can fight against the inevitable demands for detachments or we can allow them to be invitations to 70.4 2011 Eicbten ¯ The Hum of Being go within, to come to deeper self-knowledge, to get in touch with our spiritual center. I remember fearing that leadership would move me into falsity and role-playing. Then I heard Angeles Arrien, a cultural anthropolo-gist, speak about the necessity for leaders to exercise "response-ability"--not responsibility as duty or obli-gation ("I have to . . ."), but as the ability to respond from one's authentic self ("I choose to . . ."). Such an understanding invites a freely given choice. Richard Nahman OSA, in a reflection on gospel spirituality,5 points out that the word "authority" comes from the same root as "author" and "authenticity." He poses some probing questions: "How authentic am I? . . . do I challenge myself, asking, 'Am I "selling" a heart-rending "product," or is the Word of God alive in me?'" His questions encourage us to ask our own: When is my action more about me than about service to my sis-ters and our mission in the church? In facing the daily challenges of leadership, do I aim to win or do I enter into the call to conversion? Am I reacting to a particular sister because of some past experience with her? Or am I able to step back and consider how I would respond to that same request or situation if it involved someone else? Do I need to control, or can I open myself to living with ambiguity and other ways of thinking? How am I dealing with stress? Am I numbing myself by eating or drinking too much? What am I avoiding? To whom am I accountable? Questions like these help keep us honest, invite us to face the challenges we encounter with open-ness to our personal blindness and need for conversion, and move us to prayer and reflection. Acting from Gift or Obligation? If we are serious about conversion, in leadership we Revie~v for Religious will come face to face with our inner self and our bodily reality--our truth in all its beauty and messiness--and will be invited to make a choice to live and minister out of a gift economy rather than an obligation economy. God is gifting me with this opportunity. Can I offer my ministry out of a generous abundance, or do I move into resentment because I "have to do it"? Can I own the reality that leadership does involve some "have tos" and do them graciously rather than grudgingly? How approach a situation shapes how I enter into it and how others experience me in it. None of us is perfect; nor is anyone the perfect leader. But a leader is invited to go beyond duty or obligation and make a choice for life, a choice to love and to serve the com-munity members out of love. This, I believe, is a choice for conversion, a "turning away from one's past [and] entrust-ing oneself to the unex-pected, uncharted way into the incalculable future in which God comes to us.''6 Conversion is not just giving up and letting go, adapting our lives to the necessities of the ministry, but is a life-long project of committing one's whole life to God. And leadership ministry offers abundant opportunities to move toward that commitment. Gradually, if we are open to conver-sion, God becomes that "hum of being" that accompa-nies us whether or not we are aware of it. We need to choose intentionally to open ourselves to conversion, knowing that we do not control when or how it will happen. God has a way of unsettling our Conversion is a life-long project of committing one's whole life to God. 371 70.4 2011 Eicbten ¯ Tbe Hum of Being carefully controlled world and "tipping" it sideways. VChen we least expect it, God will find ways to unsettle us and invite us to make "soul" decisions in which we recommit our hearts and lives to the sacred journey-- inward, outward, and forward--the "always-already-now" of life that Shea speaks of. It is a journey wherein we are called to be witnesses to the gospel and to be changed by God's abundant love into true disciples. As leaders, we are sustained in this conversion pro-cess by our own prayer, by the love and prayer of our leadership team, by friends and companions, by the liturgy, by the beauty of creation, and by the grace of office itself---"the quiet, sudden infusion of some power beyond [one]self. the unbidden, unsought, unexpected emergence in the soul of a capacity hitherto unacknowledged" (Spoto, pp. 59-60). Leadership as Loving Relationship When Jesus came to proclaim the Good News, some were gleeful that the Messiah had come and things would be good for the downtrodden Jews. However, Jesus in his preaching and ministry taught that the peo-ple of Israel should not presume privilege. He began his ministry not from a place of power but from a realiza-tion that he was loved and that his mission was to draw others into God's love. Whatever he did, he did out of his identity as the loved one. When we are elected to leadership positions, we must realize that we are elected for mission and not for our own prestige. Shea suggests that when we realize we are loved, we are energized, and it is then that we begin, even if we continue work we have been doing for years (p. 113). We can draw on personal skills and abilities and become good administrators in our communities, but Review for Religious spiritual leadership is about knowing ourselves as loved; about loving and receiving love in our sister-to-sister, brother-to-brother relationships; and about speaking truth in love. George Wilson says that we are "held irre-vocably by a profound sense of charity." A deep love for God and for one another enables us to face the uncom-fortable and often contradictory movements in our lives and in the lives of our sisters and brothers. "The Gospel mandate of love--not a romanticized abstraction but an interpersonal engagement with a challenging flesh-and-blood sister or brother--will always remain the ultimate touchstone for truth.''7 The mandate of love moves us to relationships characterized by dialogue, forgiveness, and reconciliation. As leaders, we are called to create deeper understanding among our members, to uncover a base of shared meaning that helps us coordinate and align our actions with our values. We enter into a pro-found dialogue when we relate from a deep well of love, even in what may seem simple and ordinary. It is not just words that we share; it is a relationship8 that finds its source in our relationship with God. Our sisters and brothers may or may not remember a major project that was completed or that it was accomplished during the term of leadership. What they will remember is our relationship with them--whether we loved them. Leadership as Pilgrimage Spiritual leadership is not static but is a process that draws us into a vital and life-changing relationship with God and with our community. We can think of that process as a pilgrimage. Doris Donnelley identifies five characteristics that distinguish pilgrims from tourists.9 Perhaps we can appropriate these as we strive to become pilgrim leaders: 70.4 2011 Eichten ¯ The Hum of Being ¯ Valuing the internal. Pilgrim leaders are motivated by a hope for something to happen within, something that alters their attitudes and ways of looking at life. ¯ Valuing self-investment. Pilgrim leaders invest themselves and surrender to the experience. They sur-render all that clutters their lives so that God takes cen-ter stage. ¯ Valuing transformation. Pilgrim leaders are awak-ened to new dimensions of life, community, and church. Such awakening requires listening at a deep level--at the level of Spirit and the "hum of being"--to avoid falling into disillusionment and cynicism as they learn more about the human failings and limitations of their community members and their church--and perhaps of themselves. ¯ Valuing the journey as well as the arrival. Pilgrim leaders prepare both before and all through their term of office by "taking time seriously and elegantly--the right here-and-now time of [their] lives" (Muller, p. 167). At the end of their leadership ministry, they "go home" and allow the internal dimension of their journey to continue to unfold. Those who allow this to hap-pen are changed, and the rest of their life's pilgrimage begins in new ways. ¯ Valuing community. Pilgrim leaders know that they are on a particular journey at a particular time and with a particular group for a reason. As the journey unfolds, the connections they make and the experiences they share with the group help them to understand that they are part of something much bigger than their own per-sonal growth and decisions. All of us, both leaders and members, are on a pilgrimage. We are a community within the larger community of our church, both the pastoral and the Review for Religious hierarchical church. We allow ourselves to realize that we are about witnessing to our loving God, not about building the perfect community. Parker Palmer1° speaks about the necessity of "de-illusionment," that is, moving from the "illusion of salvation by interaction" (having an idealized community of love, understanding, and true dialogue, having lots of new vocations, etc.), to under-standing that we are people in search of God, that God is always present, and that salvation is pure gift of God. I conclude with words for all who are called to com-munity leadership: trust your pilgrimage of leadership. Open yourself to God's love so freely given. Surrender yourself to God and listen to the hum of your being as God guides your community into the future and guides you daily in your leadership service to your sisters and brothers. Your authenticity is a source of Spirit. You are strengthened and supported when you are able to be open to Spirit, when you can allow enough emptiness and detachment to make room for Spirit, and when you can trust God enough to enter into the call to con-version. When you know yourself as beloved and pre-cious to God, that love will overflow into those around you; and, if you allow it, you will experience the return of love in abundance. Returning to the words of John Shea: "You are filled with the sound [of Spirit] . . . the hum of being . . . present, vibrant, alive, now. Being born of this spirit is not an event 'done and over.' It is the 'always-already-now' of life. It is the power of God living in you." In these days, when there are no clear answers or directions for our communities, we are invited to enter into the pilgrimage of religious communal life and min-istry with trust, courage, hope, and gratitude. As lead- 70.4 2011 Eicbten ¯ The Hum of Being ers, let us journey together with our sisters and brothers and with our God into a future filled with hope. Notes ' John Shea, Gospel Light: Jesus Stories for Spiritual Consciousness (New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 1998). This theme is developed more fully in Chapter 4, pp. 97-116. 2 Wayne Muller, Sabbath, Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives (New York: Bantam Book, 2000), p. 167. 3 Joan Chittister, Gi~ of Years. (New York: BlueBridge, 2008), p. vii. 4 Henri Nouwen, With Open Hands (Notre Dame: Ave Maria Press, 1972), p. 158. s Richard M. Nahman OSA, "My Gospel Spirituality," Review for Religious (2009): 41-48. 6 Donald Spoto, Reluctant Saint, The Life of Francis of Assisi (New York: The Penguin Group, 2003), p. 48. 7 George Wilson, "Something Tells Me. ," Human Development (2008): 13. 8 William Isaacs, Dialogue and the Art of Thinking Together (New York: Doubleday, 1999), p. 19. He notes that the ancient meaning of the word logos suggests "an intimate awareness of the relationships among things in the natural world," making "relationship" the best English translation for logos. "In that sense, logos may be best rendered in English as 'relationship.' The Book of John in the New Testament begins: 'In the beginning was the Word (logos).' We could now hear this as 'In the beginning was the Relationship.' " 9 Doris Donnelly, "Pilgrims and Tourists: Conflicting Metaphors for the Christian Journey to God," Spirituality Today 44:1 (1992): 20-36. www.spiritualitytoday.org/spir2day/9243.1donnelly.html l0 Dr. Parker J. Palmer, "Borne Again: The Monastic Way to Church Renewal," Weavings: A Journal of the Christian Spiritual Life (1986), p. 12. 376 Review for Religious THOMAS A. KROSNICKI Architecture and Religious Life ~ ver the years, Review for Religious has covered a wide range of diverse topics that touch religious life. The indices of the preceding 69 volumes of the periodical attest to a rich and significant contribution. Yet it seems to me that one topic is conspicuous by its absence. There seem to be no articles dealing with the relationship architecture has with the life of religious communities in general or about the impact buildings have on the members of those communities. In this brief presentation, I intend to raise several salient points for reflection and possible discussion by religious men and women about the impact of architecture--the houses we live in--on religious life. Your House Is a Self-Portrait Granting that the statement "Your house is a self-portrait" holds a measure of truth, one might rightly Thomas A. Krosnicki SVD is a former Director of the Bishops' Committee on the Liturgy. He may be addressed at Divine Word House, 832 Varnum Street NE, Washington, DC 20017-2143. 70.4 2011 Krosnicki ¯ Architecture and Religious Life 378 ask: What is the identity that a religious community intends to project by its buildings? It could be worth-while, therefore, for community members to step back and take a good look at their present living quarters, particularly if they are contemplating renovations or the construction of a new building in the future. What com-posite self-portrait do the present buildings or plans for future ones project to members and non-members alike? There should normally be a correlation between the edifice and the self-definition of the religious community that it houses. Ideally, building and self-definition posi-tively reinforce each other. As there is no set design for th~ shape of a religious house, no one can convincingly claim that "this is how a house for religious should look." During the 1950s and 1960s, when religious com-munities were expanding in the United States, archi-tects designed new houses for religious communities that today remain clearly identifiable as from that era. Basically, many look very much alike--pejoratively described as "1960 Penal." They ended up strikingly similar in both design and material. I can, for example, point to the two houses across from my residence in metropolitan Washington DC and say unequivocally, "Clearly, from their appearance, both were built dur-ing the unprecedented growth phenomena of Catholic religious life of the 1960s." Unfortunately, in the States such buildings were generally designedto last for 75 to 100 years; they will be standing for another 25 or more years, even though their primary purpose may have morphed into something else, given the decline of voca-tions and dwindled need for large residential buildings. How did that kind of building style come about? Financial constraints? The pressure of urgent need for expansion? A lack of creative imagination? Government Review for Religious restrictions? Regardless of the reason, the basic princi-ple "Every house is a self-portrait" seems to have been unwittingly overlooked. One hopes that we religious have better images of ourselves than these buildings project. But, a corporate self-image is not always easy to come by. How might it be achieved? Rule and charism, as well as the function and ministry of the particular religious community are central to the large equation that feeds into an architectural design. Therefore, in plan-ning or renovating a house, a religious community must col-laborate with a care-fully selected architect in a process of "defin- ~, ing" the building so it truly fits with and looks like the community and not just shows off the architect's latest ideas. As qualified and inspired as the architect or builder might be, they still may not truly understand religious life and must watch the bottom line of overall cost and materials. In short, the community must school the architect, as well as itself, in its unique religious ethos, its particular rule, and its designated ministry so that the completed proj-ect images or reflects the community at its very best. Thus, a rural Trappist monastery should not have the appearance or design of an inner city residence for the Missionaries of Charity of Mother Teresa of Calcutta. One hopes that we religious have better images of ourselves than these buildings project. Form Follows Function The architectural principle of Louis Sullivan (~'1896) that "form follows function" remains both valid and in 379 70.4 2011 Krosnicki ¯ Architecture and Religious Life 380 vogue today. Unfortunately, one can still find designs that have proven to be decidedly dysfunctional in spite of that basic principle. Frank Lloyd Wright ('c1959), the renowned American assistant to Sullivan, accepted the axiom in principle but moved beyond it to "organic architecture" promoted by the "Prairie School" move-ment. Recent attention has focused on the organic archi-tecture of the Sagrada Familia Basilica in Barcelona, designed by Antoni Gaudi (t1927). Nature was Gaudi's inspiration. He saw that plant forms clearly stem from their organic function, and he incorporated those forms into the functionality of his imaginative edifice. Function does not necessarily dictate that the end product be prosaic, sterile, or crassly utilitarian. Paradoxically perhaps, structural forms can be functional without being deprived of the truly creative, void of the artistically challenging, or stripped of the esthetically appealing contributions of architecture. Religious residences are generally built in view of their multiple and unique functions. So, the first chal-lenge is to attempt to define the multifunctionality of a religious building that is to be something more than a warehouse for people or a residence for transient day-laborers, not unlike a Motel 6 or Holiday Inn. The bui~ldings are residences for women or men dedicated to a life in community (mensa communis remains an apt term) and bound together by common religious life and ideals, expressed in vows, vocation, and ministerial commitment. A first consideration, when looking at form-func-tion, is the physical arrangement or basic design of the building. What structural units are judged major-- i.e., the central, common spaces of the community? The community chapel, gathering room, library, and Review for Religious dining facility--characterized by their size, location, and accessibility--are generally considered primary. A well thought out floor plan needs to facilitate patterns of movement to these central community areas. Secondary structural units are necessary community service areas and the rooms for individual members, which provide commodious but not ostentatious living. I recall that some artist--perhaps Michelangelo-- stated that "small rooms beget small ideas." Although the personal rooms of the members remain secondary in terms of designed structural units, they are not unimportant for the general well-being of the commu-nity. Each community has its own approach and its own reasons for making its deci sions. One religious community that initially provided private rooms for members in initial formation decided to redesign the space into areas that could be occupied by several persons because they felt that during the ini-tial formation stage private accommodations fostered too much individualism, egocentrism, and even narcis-sism-- a concern that the 'T' might loom larger than the "we." Such questions remain open to serious reflection and debate based on various issues that come into play --e.g., culture, maturity, and background of the indi-viduals concerned. Ultimately, what must be considered in any situa-tion is the basic interrelationship of major and secondary structural units and their impact on the daily life and well-being of the community. Consciously or unconsciously, Some artist stated that "small rooms beget small ideas." 381 70.4 2011 Krosnicki ¯ Architecture and Religious Life decisions about their size and placement will identify and underscore community priorities and emphases. The physical environment does influence the persons who occupy the building, 382' The Building Shapes the Community We must accept the fact that the physical environ-ment does influence the persons who occupy the building. In a process that is subde and for the most part uncon-scious, the edifice can take hold and mold the minds and hearts of the occupants for good or ill. A house at architectural peace with itself can pro-mote harmonious peace for the inhabitants. A house bereft of structural harmony and beauty can, unfortunately, exacerbate division and conflict. That alone is a good reason for "getting it right" on the draw-ing board from the very beginning. Buildings, even for religious men and women, need to support and enhance the individual emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually. Consideration must be given to how the psychological and spiritual well-being of the community members can be fostered by the house they inhabit. Is there an appropriate balance between community and individuality? What about the tension between the need for private and for public spaces? Areas of silence and communication? Flexibility and stability? Buildings architecturally designed like rabbit burrows or mazes, where one can easily hide away from others, do not facilitate communication (and therefore community itself) any more than open ended "glass houses" neces-sarily foster or encourage healthy solitude and needed Review for Religious silence. Other problems can be compounded by poor physical layout. Anger, for example, can be triggered by a person's assigned living space within the commu-nity (e.g., "We built the rooms too close to--or too far from--the elevators"). Inadequate light might contribute to depression--e.g., "It's too dark here. I need the sun. I'm depressed." Community and interpersonal tensions can arise when the building itself does not reinforce per-sonal identity, enhance self-worth, or affirm self-esteem. [Editor's Note: One, however, must admit that while some difficulties can be remedied by a change of rooms or by the purchase of adequate lamps, even the best architec-tural planning can go only so far in addressing deeply engrained attitudes and longstanding difficulties.] Serious interpersonal conflicts might be symptomatic of a systemic error in the very environmental package in which one "lives and moves and has his or her being." "You act the way you dress" is a maxim that might be buttressed with another: "You live the way you're housed." Physical, emotional, psychological wholeness and well-being along with spiritual growth are nourished by an environment of beauty and are enhanced by tran-quility begotten of right order. Go Green A new, but significant, consideration in the design and use of religious buildings is the "green" movement. Care for the earth and its natural resources is not only an environmental issue but a theological one as well. In the design and construction of new buildings by reli-gious communities, attending to this "green" factor can stimulate new thinking, practical cost-saving, and aware-ness of environmental issues. There are already positive examples in this regard. 3,83 70.4 2011 Krosnicki * Architecture and Religious Life The Holy Wisdom Monastery of Benedictine Sisters in Middleton, Wisconsin, (www.benedictinewomen.org) that opened in August 2009 addressed "green" issues such as geothermal heating and cooling, solar panels, rain and roof gardens, tankless water heaters, optimum use of natural light, restored natural prairie habitats, and use of regional building materials. The goals are clear: an environmentally sound structure, respect for the environment, use of energy-saving programs, affordable housing, and the manifestation of a spirituality aligned with a care for the earth and all creation. One resource for any religious community consider-ing the construction of a new building or the retrofit-ting of an old one would be the U.S. Green Building Council (USGBC). LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design), a program developed by USGBC, "provides building owner and operators a concise frame-work for identifying and implementing practical and mea-surable ~green building design, construction, operations, and maintenance solutions" (see www.LEED.org). The LEED program can be applied to all buildings regardless of where they are in their life cycle (old, renovated, new). Impact beyond the Community It is my contention that, with few exceptions, reli-gious women and men have not given enough attention to the architectural impact their buildings--in particular their residences--have on their membership. In addition to all that has been said above, it would be important to know what impression our buildings have on those who are shopping around for a religious community. Could it be that the building that clothes the community is of far more significance--more, even, than the religious habit--than heretofore granted? Certainly, in the pro- Review for Religious cess of designing new structures or retrofitting old ones, the psychological, spiritual, and physical well-being of the individual, and therefore of the community, must be carefully weighed. In all these areas, there is ample reflection material for the community, the architect, and the construction company. The fruit of that reflec-tion would benefit religious life and those that religious touch by their life and ministry. Approaching Fall As the drone of locusts saws through evening silence, summer quietly collapses. No encore of merry gardens, rains trelsy of wrens, aroma of cut grass. I gird my soul as I view the spent zucchini plants fiat and pallid. No sly submarines left. And so goodbyet. My God, pull back these fingers reaching for what's gone. Teach them to renounce for the needed span all blush and bloom, all sun-nursed freshness. Stiffen my spine for sterner days, arthritic stalks in dying fields, the grief of trees soon to weep their leaves. Let me trust the grace all losses offer. Patricia Schnapp RSM 70.4 2011 focus on JOEL GIALLANZA Be Saints: Pathway to a Holy Life Joseph On 17 October 2010, Pope Benedict XVI can-onized Brother Andr4 Bessette CSC, the first member of the Congregation of Holy Cross to be so honored. His canonization did not really surprise anyone who knows anything about his life and work and, of course, about the Oratory of Saint Joseph in Montreal. Even before Andr4's beatification in 1982 and now his canonization, it was easy to think of him as a saint. He was considered such even during his lifetime. And, in the interim period of forty-five years between his death and his beatification, it was generally assumed that one day he would be officially recognized as a saint by the church. It was easy to think of him as a saint because of the many healings and Joel Giallanza CSC is the administrative assis-tant to the provincial of the South West Province of the Holy Cross Brothers. He can be addressed at 1101 St. Edward's Drive, Austin, Texas 78704. Revi~ for Religious other miracles associated with him. Though not often mentioned, those other miracles included bi-location and the gift of insight through which he could read (or "see," as he said) people's souls. These types of miracles came to light during the testimony of witnesses in the processes for his beatification and canonization. Brother Andre's frequent exhortation to others was simple and direct, "Be saints." His life and work set before us a way to holiness, a way to "be saints." A Life and A Work Alfred Bessette was born on 9 August 1845, in Saint Gr~goire d'Iberville, Qudbec, Canada. He was the eighth of twelve children. By the time he was twelve years old, both his parents had died; he and his siblings were separated and sent to live with various relatives. Alfred did not receive much education; he learned to sign his name and to read a little. His health was always weak and it was difficult for him to keep a regular job. As a young man, he worked for various factories and mills in Canada and the northeastern United States. In 1870, when he was twenty-five years old, he applied for admission to the Congregation of Holy Cross, a community of brothers, priests, and sisters founded in France thirty-five years earlier by Blessed Basil Moreau CSC, a diocesan priest of Le Mans. Alfred was accepted, and took the name Brother Andre. Because of his poor health, his approval for profession of vows was delayed. After his initial formation, he was assigned to Notre Dame College in Montreal, a secondary boarding school sponsored by the Congregation of Holy Cross. He served as doorkeeper, infirmarian, barber, and jani-tor. In 1872, he was approved to profess his vows as a 387 70.4 2011 Giallanza ¯ Be Saints Brother of Holy Cross. Though he was not involved in the school extensively, he was particularly sensitive to students who were ill. When an epidemic of smallpox broke out in another school in Montreal, Andr~ rec-ommended a procession with a statue of Saint Joseph through the school. The epidemic diminished imme-diately. Increasingly, the sick began to visit Brother Andr~ and ask for his prayer and advice. His usual recom-mendation was that they pray to Saint Joseph to ask for his intercession. In the early 1870s, the first heal-ings began to occur. Brother Andr~ always insisted that Saint Joseph accomplished all these things. His typi-cal "response when people requested his own prayer was simple: "Ask Saint Joseph to bring your petition to God." Because the sick were coming to the school to see him, parents and community members objected that the students were being exposed to various sicknesses and diseases. It became difficult for Andr~ to meet with those who came to him for prayer. In 1896, the Congregation of Holy Cross purchased a piece of property across the street from the school, near a trolley stop, where the sick could meet with Brother Andr& A small chapel was built in 1904, and in 1909 he was assigned full-time to be in charge of this place of prayer. In 1915 construction began on a larger chapel, the crypt church of the present Oratory of Saint Joseph, to accommodate more people. The number of pilgrims seeking Brother Andre's counsel and Saint Joseph's intercession steadily increased. After comple-tion of the crypt, construction continued and the upper church began to take shape. When funds fell short and the work was suspended prior to the placement of the roof, Brother Andr~ said, "If Saint Joseph wants a roof Review for Religious over his head, he will take care of it." Saint Joseph even-tually did take care of it, but Andr~ was not alive to see it. Over the years Brother Andre's health never improved. Two days after Christmas, 1936, he had a severe attack of indigestion, and a few days later he was admitted to the hospital. In the days that followed, his pain increased; during that time he was constantly pray-ing and asking that God's will be done. On January 4 he went into a coma. Brother Andr6 died at 12:50 AM on 6 January 1937. His body was brought to the Oratory. During the next seven days more than one million people waited in line, in the bitter cold, to pass his body, to touch their rosaries and other objects to it, and to pray. Many extraordinary cures were reported during those days. Saint Andr~ did not live to see the completion of Saint Joseph Oratory as it is today; however, he is buried in the crypt church he knew so well. The Oratory contin-ues to be a place of prayer and pilgrimage. Andre's name is forever linked to that of Saint Joseph because of the obvious similarities between these two saints. Both were simple laborers through whom God chose to do extraordinary things; both knew pov-erty and suffering; both experienced exile. Above all, both remained faithful to whatever God asked of them; both point out to us a pathway to holiness. A Way to Holiness Though Andre's life was filled with miracles and other extraordinary phenomena, our faith teaches us that such things do not de facto constitute a person's holiness. Holiness is not about singular actions within a person's life, regardless of how impressive those may be. Holiness 70.4 2011 True holiness is enduring 390 is reflected through the person's entire life, the complete example that is given to others. Further, the standard for such holiness is not arbitrary; it is nothing less than God's own person. Jesus taught, "Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect" (Mt 5:48). Another transla-tion says, "Be holy, as God in heaven is holy." With the Incarnation, Jesus becomes the standard. Holiness is simply to live as Jesus lived, to love as Jesus loved, to do what Jesus did; we do it in our own lives, in our daily relationships and responsibilities. Each and accessible, time Jesus confronts those . who would sum up the law in terms of what they do or what they have accom-plished, he counters it by referring to the priority of mercy, detachment, compassion, forgiveness, charity-- in brief, following him and his way. We look to people we consider holy for encourage-ment and guidance, for insight about how to follow Jesus. Brother Andre's entire life and example speak to us of following Jesus, of being holy. His is an endur-ing holiness that reaches beyond the historical period in which he lived. His life also reflects an accessible holiness; a way of life that is possible, even though we may never do exactly what Andr~ did. His instruction to us is simple, "Be saints." True holiness is enduring and accessible; temporary holiness is counterfeit and conceited. In our own way, in our own life, we can be holy. Brother Andr4 shows us a pathway to a holy life. What are the recommendations for the way to holiness that Andre's life and example place before us? These reflections will focus on four recommendations. Review for Religious Believe First, believe. Andrd used to say, "God never forgets us." "Never" is a strong word and leaves no room for variation. And yet, that is what our faith teaches us. God is always with us. God always loves us--always, without exception. Do we believe that, without exception? This is the faith to which we are called. The challenge for us emerges when our faith is confronted by experiences that do not speak to us of God, or by events that seem to be in direct contradic-tion to what we hold to be true of a loving God, a good God. Then we are tempted to think that God possibly has forgotten us or is looking the other way for the moment. Yet, faith teaches us that such are God's ways, such is the way that Providence works. We are called to trust Providence, to believe Providence, even when things point in directions that, to all appearances, have nothing to do with God. This was true in Andre's life. The fact that he was admitted to the Congregation of Holy Cross is evidence that God was at work when the normal pointed in the opposite direction. He was not educated, he learned to read very little, and could barely write much beyond his name. His health was always precarious. From a voca-tion perspective, it was uncertain if he would ever have the capability or stamina for any kind of ministry. These facts provided more than sufficient reasons for the com-munity to think that it would be too much of a risk to accept him. Still, Andr~ remained faithful to the work that had been assigned to him and hoped he would be accepted. As he said, "If you do not believe in God, you will get nothing." Andr~ believed; and though his formal acceptance and profession of vows were delayed, he was admitted to Holy Cross. 391 70.4 2011 Giallanza ¯ Be Saints Similarly, the fact that the Oratory came into exis-tence is a testimony to Andre's faith that God, through Saint Joseph, would complete what Andr~ believed God was calling him to do. Even after permission was received from the community to proceed with the con-struction, there were financial setbacks. Each step along the way required the conviction that God and Saint Joseph would provide. Brother Andr~ continued his work as if God and Joseph were already in the process of providing. As con-struction work was well underway, when asked how he had succeeded, Andr6's reply was simple, "I have always left the work of the Oratory in the hands of the good God." In late 1936 and early 1937, when it became evi-dent that Brother Andr~ would die before the comple-tion of the upper basilica, his own perspective never varied: "The good God has no need of me to complete this work. Saint Joseph will see to it." The foundation for our own spiritual life is faith, the conviction that God does not and will not forget us or abandon us. In reality the questions before us are not about God's side of the relationship; rather they arise about our side of the relationship. VChen are the times that I tend to forget God? What experiences or events distract me from God's constant presence to me? What can I do to maintain a conviction about the constancy of God's presence? Pray A second recommendation for the way to holiness that Andr~ teaches us: pray. Andr~ used to encourage others by telling them, "When we pray, God's ear is pressed to our lips." It is an intriguing image for at least two reasons. Review for Religious First, there is an intimacy about the image, illustrat-ing God's desire to be as close to us as possible. There are obviously times when we do not sense or perceive that proximity as a reality. Andr~ assumed it. He believed that God would be near when we prayed regardless of whether we experienced that nearness. Such an insight builds upon the faith that was mentioned as the first rec-ommendation for a way to holiness. There is no incen-tive to pray if we think that the words and thoughts and desires that we bring to prayer simply disappear into a vacuum. To pray at all, we must believe that God is near to us. The Book of Deuteronomy teaches us: This commandment that I am commanding you today is not too hard for you, nor is it too far away. It is not in heaven, that you should say, "Who will go up to heaven for us, and get it for us so that we may hear it and observe it?" Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, "Who will cross to the other side of the sea for us, and get it for us so that we may hear it and observe it?" No, the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe (30:11-14). Such is God's closeness to us when we pray. Second, it is interesting that in this perspective on prayer Brother Andr~ saw God as quite active. He had the firm conviction that God was listening and listening closely. It is God who presses an ear to our lips. God is interested in our prayer and wants to hear what we have to say. It was said by witnesses that Andr~ prayed as if he was speaking to someone from whom he expected an answer. We must be willing to bring the happenings of our daily life into our prayer, honestly and directly. Andr~ used to say, "In prayer, one speaks to God as one speaks to a friend." We can speak to God in this way because there is an intimacy about prayer and because God draws close to us when we pray. 393 70.4 2011 Giallanza * Be Saints Prayer may not be so much about changing the world around us as it is about changing our perspective on that world. 394 Brother Andr4 prayed about what was going on in his life and his ministry. He brought his concerns to God, very explicitly. Whether it was his concern about the continuing development of the Oratory or about the condition of a particular person who had asked for his prayer, he believed that prayer could and would have a real impact in the world. He says in his customary sim-plicity, "If we prayed more, things would go better in the world." Given the complexities of the world in which we live, it would be too easy to dismiss this as naive. And yet, prayer may not be so much about changing the world around us as it is about chang-ing our perspective on that world, enabling us to make a difference, enabling us to see ways in which God is present and active. Genuine prayer always urges us to action; prayer apart from action is no prayer at all. When it came to Saint Joseph, we know that Andr4 had a special relationship with him. For Andr4 it was sim-ply a matter of presenting to Joseph whatever needed to be done and then trusting that it would get done. He said, "If people knew how to pray better, they would obtain everything from Saint Joseph." The challenge is two-fold: first, to be clear regarding what we are praying about; and second, to refer everything to God's will. What we envi-sion as a response to our prayer may or may not be what God has in mind. Praying "better," as Andr4 understood it, required attentiveness to whatever God has in mind. Review for Religious Prayer builds upon the foundation of faith and is necessary for our continued progress and growth in our faith life. Our approach to prayer and our fidelity to prayer say more about its quality than does the actual content and method of our prayer. What is my method of prayer and am I faithful to it? Do I bring to prayer the reality of my everyday life: my hopes, struggles, fears, expectations, aspirations? Is my prayer more a demand or a desire, a litany or a longing, a performance or a passion? Ser~e A third recommendation for the way to holiness: serve. Brother Andrt's sense of service direcdy echoes the gospel; he said, "We cannot love God without lov-ing our neighbor." Service must flow from our prayer. As prayer expresses our love-relationship with God, so service expresses our love for others. Brother Andr6 used to say, "The door of heaven is the heart of Jesus and the key to that door is prayer and love." These two--prayer and love practiced in service--flow into and out of one another. They form a dynamic cycle of our relationship to God and our apostolic relationships with others. Andr~ does not speak about service as much as he speaks about loving others, caring for them, and respond-ing to their needs. Clearly he understood loving others in very practical, immediate terms. Serving others, loving others, in some way engages us with them. Andr6 often said that it was not sufficient to give money in respond-ing to needs; it was also necessary to give compassion from the heart. Money could assure that there would be a distance maintained between ourselves and the reality to which we are responding; compassion demands that we 70.4 2011 Giallanza ¯ Be Saints 396 know about and be touched by the actual circumstances of others. It is clear in studying Brother Andre's example that he was willing to be very engaged in the lives of oth-ers. Witnesses testified that even brief encounters with him left them with the impression that they had been lis-tened to and even known by him much more profoundly than they had anticipated. Brother Andr~ often said that the Lord was our big brother and that we, as little brothers and sisters, have the responsibility to love one another as members of the same family. This is a key theme in the spirituality of the Congregation of Holy Cross. Still, it is especially interesting that Andr~ would use the family as a refer-ence for loving others. His own experience of family, that is, his biological family, was quite disjointed as he was growing up. In fact, his experience of family could have left him bitter or with a feeling of being deserted, due to the death of his parents and the separation from his siblings. Yet he overcame that potentially debilitat-ing reality to grow into a person who genuinely cared for others and responded to their needs. Rather than going through life with a bitterness because he had no natural-family identity, he chose to center his sense of family around the Lord Jesus. And that center was espe-cially necessary because there were times when even his Holy Cross religious family was not very supportive. Brother Andrd is known for his very close relation-ship with Saint Joseph. His mother introduced him. to practices of praying to Saint Joseph and, over time, he developed a strong and intimate relationship with this great saint. However, it is clear that the priority in his life was his love-relationship with Jesus, and he lived that relationship through his service to others. He served simply because that is what Jesus did; as Jesus Review for Religious cared for the people, so too Andrd cared for the people; as Jesus healed, so too he healed. For Andrd this was a very straightforward reality: do what Jesus did and so become like Jesus. Service, in whichever form it takes, demonstrates the reality of our spiritual life. Service--the giving of ourselves, our talents and gifts--is a necessary part of the Christian life. The alterative is that our spiritual life becomes narcissistic and self-enclosed. Neither the type nor the extent of the service that we render to oth-ers is as significant as that we build some form of ser-vice into our life as a way of continuing the mission of Jesus. Our service must be consistent with our gifts and respectful of our priority commitments in life. How do I serve others? In which ways do I continue the mission of Jesus? How has the service that I offer been a source of spiritual growth for me? Trust The fourth recommendation for the way to holi-ness: trust. Trust, in terms of the spiritual life, involves the recognition and acceptance of the abilities we have and the efforts we make to do what our relationship with God and our spiritual life require of us. Trust also involves the conviction that God will support us in those abilities and efforts. Brother Andr6 teaches us, "God does not ask the impossible. God asks that we offer our good intentions, and accept the inconveniences that come with each day, and offer our daily work." Such simplicity reflects Andr6's basic approach to the spiritual life: we do what we can with what we have. But this simplicity should not be equated with ease. Sometimes when we are con-fronted with daily inconveniences and the work that is 397 70.4 2011 Giallanza * Be Saints before us, the good intentions of which Andr~ speaks may not be so evident. Even though God does not ask the impossible, that does not mean that what each day brings to us does not feel impossible or at least over-whelming at times. Trust is to be convinced that God will remain faith-ful, that God will provide the grace we need to be good Christians, even when we encounter difficulties or experience setbacks. If we do not believe that God will remain faithful, we will gradually move toward discour-agement and, in the worst case, despair. Andr6's recom-mendation is explicit: "We must pray that God does not abandon us in our trials and pray to accept with confi-dence the trials that the good God judges appropriate for us to carry." Trust is especially necessary when confronting the cross, of whatever kind. We know that Andr~ most certainly had his share of crosses, both from the Holy Cross community and from those outside Holy Cross. Brother Andr6 speaks about the cross and about trusting God in the midst of experiencing the cross. However the cross comes, it is yet another expression of God's love for us; it is part of our transformation into the liv-ing likeness of Jesus; it is part of resurrection. This is why. Andr~ refers to trials that "the good God judges appropriate for us to carry." He saw the cross in our life as part of God's will even as it was in Jesus' own life. He said to someone who did not see any improvement in a bothersome physical condition, "If it is God's will that you be sick, why would you refuse to accomplish God's will?" The appropriateness of the crosses we carry is based upon what we need for our transformation. It also reflects our capacity to carry a particular cross and our openness to the grace necessary for carrying that cross. Review for Religious Brother Andre's name is tightly linked with that of Saint Joseph, and yet it is said by those who knew him well that his principal devotion was to the Passion of Christ. They said he spoke of the Passion as if he had lived it. This makes perfect sense for one who expe-rienced many obstacles along the pathways that he believed God was calling him to follow. And, beyond that, it makes perfect sense for one who shares in the heritage that Father Moreau, as founder, passed on to the Congregation of Holy Cross. Accepting the Passion of Christ as a model for our life requires trust, the con-viction that what we experience will truly lead to our transformation into the living likeness of Jesus, that it will guide us to resurrection. Andr6 is a saint, but if we distance him from us, then we make it impossible to use his example as a support for our own life. Each of us has ~he potential to be a saint. To realize that potential we must trust that God will give us the graces we need. The alternative to trust is self-reli-ance; it is to assume that we are self-contained in terms of the resources we need to be holy. Trust is practiced by fixing our attention on God, accomplishing our everyday responsibilities, and placing our gifts at the service of oth-ers. Do I trust that God will give me the graces I need to be a good Christian? When have I experienced trust as essential for my continued spiritual growth? Which crosses have been the most transformative in my life? "I Have Asked to be Always in God's Presence" When asked about his own prayer and spiritual life and what he was called to do, Brother Andr~ said, "I have asked to be always in God's presence." Whatever images we may have of him, his work and his miracles, it is interesting that his desire was simply to be in God's 399 70.4 2011 Giallanza ¯ Be Saints 400] presence, to do what he did in cooperation with God. At another point he said, "We must not be attached to earthly things, otherwise we cannot be attached to God." To be one with God, to be attached to God - this was his deepest longing. And that constitutes Andre's holiness more than any of the extraordinary accomplish-ments that occurred during his life or since his death. For him, this union with God, this being in God's presence, was essentially an act of love. He frequently recommended, "Pray to obtain a true love for God." A true love for God would be reflected in the desire to be ever close to God, to complete God's will, to live those qualities of life that are reflected in the gospel: humility, faith, compassion, generosity, patience, etc. It is interesting that, in commenting on his ministry, Andr~ once said, "It is su.rprising that people often ask me for healings, but rarely for humility, for the spirit of faith." While a particular healing might be important in response to what a person was suffering, he believed the priorities for the spiritual life were more closely related to humility and faith than to any healing. Before Brother Andr6 died, his last words were, "This is the seed.;' Though it is an allusion to several gospel texts, he did not expand on his statement; so we can reflect on this self-description from several perspec-tives. All of them can give us some insight into the way to holiness that Andr6 points out to us. In Matthew's Gospel, in the parable of the sower, Jesus says, "As for the seed that was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hun-dredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty" (13:23). The seed in this case is God's word that is meant to bear fruit. It is evident that Andrd's life has produced fruit Review for Religious far beyond what he may have imagined. Responding to God's word was for him a simple act of love. As he often recommended, "Love Jesus as he has loved us, effectively and openly." This is what it means to receive the word and have it grow within our life. In Luke's Gospel, while teaching the crowds, Jesus says, "What is the kingdom of God like? And to what should I compare it? It is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in the garden; it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches" (13:18-19). The seed in this case is a very small, even minuscule, real-ity that becomes ~ large enough to welcome and sustain life. As Brother Andr~ said on more than one occasion, "The Oratory is the work of the good God." Andr~ sowed a small seed, even in the midst of opposition and criticism; today it is clear how extensive the influence of the Oratory is. It continues to be a place where people find comfort and healing for their life, refreshment and encouragement for their faith. Also in Luke's Gospel, when the apostles ask for an increase in faith, Jesus responds, "If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it would obey you" (17:5-6). In this instance the seed is faith that accomplishes what needs to be done. The amount of faith is not of significance to Jesus; some mustard grains are almost like powder. It is the conviction and confidence underlying faith that make the difference. If we could be The priorities for the spiritual life were more closely related to humility and faith than to any healing. 401 70.4 2011 Giallanza ¯ Be Saints 402 one with God's will, our faith would have the same effec-tiveness as Jesus' own. What Andr~ did, he did in faith, confident that God and Saint Joseph would respond. He used to say, "You must submit yourself to God's will; it is the teacher of everything." Andr~ had learned well God's will; in his work for the development of the Oratory and in his healing ministry, the confidence and strength that came from that learning are clearly evident. In John's Gospel, Jesus teaches, "Truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (12:24). In this case the seed is the death that leads to new life. This may very well be the seed with which Brother Andrd identified himself. His perspec-tive, not only on the Oratory, but on everything he did, was that God and Saint Joseph were doing what needed to be done. His own task was to remain close to God and to accept whatever came. He had learned that close-ness to God came at a price. He said, "The closer one is to God, the more one suffers." There was dying to do as the Oratory developed; more than once plans did not go exactly as Andr6 had hoped or envisioned they would. But he remained faithful because he knew that God had called him to do this. " Brother Andr~ could say "This is the seed" near the end of his life precisely because that is what he had been throughout his whole life. Regardless of the gospel lens through which we reflect on his words, Brother Andrd has become a seed. His life has become an example of living God's word; of believing that the smallest efforts, if sincere, can produce enormous results; of bringing faith to all that we do; and of dying to self so that new life may emerge. Review for Religious "Be Saints" Brother Andr6's exhortation is simple: "Be saints." The assumption in this, of course, is that we can be saints. The truth is, we can. We do have the potential for a holy life, within our own life. As Andr6's example has been and continues to be a seed of encouragement for countless people, so too we are called to be a seed for others. The soil necessary for that seed to flourish requires that we believe and pray, serve and trust. These will provide the fertile ground that is the foundation for the pathway to a holy life. Reference Quotations of Brother Andr~ are taken from Frbre Andrd disait souvent. (Saint Joseph Oratory; Montreal: Editions Fides, 2010). Translation provided by the author. Imagining the Journey Retracing the route from the San Salvador airport taken by the four North American churchwomen on 2 December 1980 What did they do, I wonder, when the road turned toward death ? Gaze at the sleeping corn, longing to taste harvest? Pass by the gnarled ginger root tree, with hope for the next day's shade? Did they sense the holy ones gathered around them, arms outstretched in welcome? Did they reach for the hand of another who also trembled, finding courage and comfort in her clasp? Did they, I wonder, hold the shining beauty of this world for one last fleeting moment? Chris Koellhoffer IHM 403 70.4 2011 JOHN M. SAMAHA St. Joseph in Focus: Husband of Mary and Guardian of Jesus 404 Hw)w much do we know about the man who as the husband of the Mother of Jesus and the guardian of our Redeemer? St. Joseph is the often-overlooked member of the Holy Family. Scripture says little of him. We seem to give him scant attention. Yet devotion to St. Joseph has deep roots in Christian tradi-tion. Just how do we honor and appreciate him? Do you remember when, as children in Catholic school, we wrote "J.M.J." at the top of our papers? We did so to remind ourselves to have the same intentions that Jesus, Mary, and Joseph had in life. Husband of Mary We must remember that Mary and Joseph are a couple. And Jesus is their child. We picture the mem-bers of the Holy Family side by side. They belong Brother Jolm M. Samaha SM writes from Marianist Center; 22683 Alcalde Road; Cupertino, California 95014. Review for Relig$ous together. When separated, their significance in God's plan of salvation is clouded, because their importance lies in their relationship to each other. While honor-ing the perpetual virginity of Mary, we cannot disre-gard Joseph's privilege and happiness of being Mary's husband. Artwork has often depicted Joseph as an old man--possibly so that he would seem to be less of a threat to Mary's virginity. Such depictions tended to undervalue the loving relationship of Mary and Joseph as husband and wife. St. Teresa of Avila, for one, always insisted that Joseph was a young man when he married Mary. The special preface for Joseph the Husband of Mary in the Eucharistic Liturgy reinforces this positive approach: "With a husband's love he cherished Mary, the Virgin Mother of God." Foster Father of Jesus Since Joseph is the husband of Mary, he is also father to Jesus. While we know that Joseph was not the physical father of Jesus, Luke, in the gospel account about Jesus being lost in the temple, has Mary say to Jesus: "Son, your father and I have been searching for you in sorrow." And the preface cited above goes on to testify: "With fatherly care he watched over Jesus Christ your son, conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit." If one were to think that Joseph's fatherhood was diminished because he did not physically procreate Jesus, let that person speak with adoptive parents-- especially the ones who have conceived a child of their own and adopted others. They will let you know how real Joseph's fatherhood is. Head of the Holy Family Joseph played an important role as Jesus "grew in 405 70.4 2011 Samaba * St. ~osepb in Focus 406 wisdom, age, and grace before God and men." In the Jewish tradition children were in the special care and tutelage of their mothers until they reached the age of five. Beyond that age children came under the special guidance of their fathers. Joseph was the rabbi of the Holy Family and it was his duty and privilege to teach Jesus the Jewish faith and practices. Joseph would have led his family in worship in their home at Nazareth. At meal times both Mary and Jesus looked to Joseph at the head of the table to offer the prayer of blessing. Each year when the Passover was celebrated, the youngster Jesus played his role and addressed the ritual question to Joseph: "Father, why is this night different from every other night?" Then he listened with his mother to Joseph's narration of the glorious events of the Exodus and the explanation of the meaning of the paschal lamb. He could easily have recalled Joseph's explanation years later when he heard John the Baptizer proclaim him the Lamb of God who would take away the sins of the world. When Jesus was of age, Joseph introduced him to syn-agogue worship and the rituals to which Jesus remained faithful throughout his life. Joseph also taught Jesus the skills of a carpenter. By practicing this trade Jesus sup-ported himself and his mother after Joseph's death. Jesus' human experience of fatherhood was drawn from his relationship with Joseph. When Jesus said, "What father would hand his son a stone when he asks for a loaf, or a poisonous snake when he asks for a fish," surely he had in mind Joseph's gentle kindness to him as he was growing up. When Jesus told the parable of the prodigal son, Joseph could easily have been the model of the loving father in the story. As Jesus described how the father Review for Religious embraced and welcomed the son who had been lost, might he have been recalling how Joseph hugged and kissed him after he had been lost in the temple for three days? When Jesus taught us how to pray, he began with the same loving tide, abba, with which he had addressed Joseph all his life. His deep affection for Joseph is evident in scene after scene throughout the Gospels. Joseph obviously made a profound impression on Jesus. St. Joseph's Relation to Us Has Joseph made an impression on us? How do we think of St. Joseph? How do we honor him and pray to him? Do we appreciate the special place he has in Christian spirituality and in our own heritage? Let us wholeheartedly revere the husband of Mary, the foster father of Jesus, the patron of the universal Church. He is, after all, the man who is closest to Christ. Surprise Visit We much preferred Him At a distance. He could not be bought. He would not be made Into a code, A ritual Or a system. Our minds simply Could not contain Him. We wanted a distant Diety. How were we to know He would come close enough To wear our wounds ? Teresa Burleson 407 70.4 2011 potpourri CAREY ELLEN WALSH Lighting Our Modern Spirit: Pope John Paul II's Luminous Mysteries Pope John Paul II was unmistakably a Marian pope, as shown by his encyclical Redemptoris Mater, his visits to prominent sites of Marian apparitions, and his papal motto, Totus Tuus ("Totally Yours") addressed to Mary--all this in an age when Marian devotion had gone into public decline. The Catholic faithful seemed either to love this about their pope or to for-give it as the pious by-product of his hav-ing grown up under Nazi, then Communist, oppression and having lost his mother at the tender age of eight.1 Both reactions missed the theological aspect of John Paul II's pastoral leadership of the church. Mary, for John Paul II, is not relegated to private devotion, but is the "school" for a 408 Carey Ellen Walsh, an associate professor of theology, is a Benedictine Oblate of St. Meinrad's and teaches theology at Villanova University. Her research inter-ests include biblical theology and Catholic spiritualities. Review for Religious new evangelization in the modern world. She invites us to communal study, deepens our understanding of the gospel, and so eases our isolation. As pastor of the universal church, the pope was drawing on an image of the familiar and universal--a mother's love for her child--as a means for spiritual nourishment. Yet because he used the ancient devotion of the rosary, the spiritual contribution of his example in learning from Mary has not received sufficient attention. It is the intent of this essay to demonstrate the spiritual gift of John Paul II's meditation on the rosary. For a pope's foremost role is that of pastor, with "supreme, full, immediate, and uni-versal power in the care of souls.''2 My focus therefore is precisely on how John Paul II's Marian reflections tend to the hunger in our souls. Given his devotion to Mary, it was no surprise when John Paul II recommended anew the rosary as a devotion and declared October 2002-October 2003 as the Year of the Rosary (Rosarium Virginis Mariae). He wrote lovingly of Mary in the gospels, shared the influence the rosary had had on his own life, and suggested that the rosary was a "school of Mary''3 for learning about Christ. It was, indeed, one of his most intimate reflections. What did occasion surprise, however, was that the pope added a new set of mysteries, the luminous, to the long established joyous, sorrowful, and glorious myster-ies- something no one had done for eight centuries, although many popes had written on the rosary.4 In fact, from the start the rosary had been pre-eminently a prayer of the laity, not of the hierarchy. It had first arisen as a popular practice in tandem with the monastic recitation of the Psalter. The 150 Hail Marys recited in the people's prayer, the rosary, corresponded to the 150 psalms, chanted by the monkss and gave a way for 409 70.4 2011 Walsh ¯ Lighting Our Modern Spirit Theology was no abstraction with this pope~ He used it to electrify~ and empower his hearers. 41:0 the laity to contemplate scenes from the gospel. This is how the rosary long functioned in the prayer life of Chris6ans who were largely illiterate. After considering why John Paul II thought it neces-sary for the papal office to enhance this lay devotional prayer, I will assess the theological reason for his having done so. While the pope could easily have been accused of authoritarian interven-tion in the private devo-tions of the faithful, or have been dismissed as a retrograde pope clinging to a pre-Vatican II tradi-tionalism, his Rosarium Virginis Mariae honors the lay contribution to tra-dition and was in accord with the Second Vatican Council's definition of the church as the "People of God," in which the laity plays an important participatory role. One consequence of the council's definition of the church as the people of God, rather than primarily as a clerical institution, was the erosion of the line between popular piety and theology. From the start, this pope's audience was the church as People of God, not the curia. This was evident in his use of the media, his international appearances, his World Youth Days, the popularity of his international best-seller Crossing the Threshold of Hope, and in the response of lay workers under Communist Poland who, heed-ing their pope's conviction on the dignity of all human beings, brought down the Iron Curtain. Theology was no abstraction with this pope. He used it to electrify and empower his hearers. In an age that saw the aban- Review for Religious donment of churches in Europe and the United States, he nourished the church spiritually by returning to the foundations of the faith. When John Paul wrote on the rosary, he did not segregate the professional theologians from believers in the pew, but embodied the Second Vatican C

Issue 68.4 of the Review for Religious, 2009. ; Theology and Life Religion; Life Models ,Exemplars of Faith Sharing ,Experience QUARTERLY 68.4 2009 Review for Religious fosters dialogue with God, dialogue with ourselves, and dialogue with one another about the holiness we try to live according to charisms of Catholic religious life. As Pope Paul Vl said, our way of being church is today the way of dialogue. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published quarterly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Telephone: 314-633-4610 ¯ Fax: 314-633-4611 E-Maih reviewrfr@gmail.com ¯ 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 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. ©200~ 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 distribution, 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. ~ gournalof Ca~hohc ~pirituah~y eview for religious Editor Associate Editor Scripture Scope Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming sJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Eugene Hensell OSB Mary Ann Foppe TracT Gramm Judy Sharp Paul Coutinho sJ Martin Erspamer OSB Margaret Guider OSF Kathleen Hughes RSCJ Louis and Angela Menard Bishop Terry Steib SVD QUARTERLY 68.4 2009 contents prisms 340 Prisms 342 353 theology and life Christian Existence and Theology's Relevance Randall S. Rosenberg sketches how the theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar challenges us to ask whether theology is not simply about understanding, but about an understand-ing that includes aesthetic-dramatic encounters. How You Eat Matters A. Paul Dominic SJ draws the implications from sacrifice, meals, and human eating in the Hindu, Jewish, and Christian traditions that all human eating is truly meant to be a religious act. Questions for Personal and Group Reflection 364 379 religious life models Opening a New Window: Fifteen Years after the FORUS Study Patricia Wittberg SC proposes that current religious , congregations consider encouraging social-movement organizations (SMOs) as viable versions for future religious life. Revisiting Religious Identity William P. Clark OMI carefully reflects on how Vatican I! presented religious life and brought a freshness once again to the special vocation offered by God to those consecrated by religious profession. " Questions for Personal and Group Reflection Review for Religious 389 exemplars of faith ~ Encounters Early and Late: John Bosco and Paul Leo J. Heriot SDB draws upon the experience of St. Paul and of St. John Bosco to show how God may communicate with us, telling us to find him in our contemplative awareness of others and ourselves. 395 On Hilda of Whitby Sister Hilda Kleiman OSB reflects on the origins and spirituality behind her new religious name, Hilda, which means "Battle Maiden." 4O4 411 sharing experience ~ World Youth Day and Religious Life William Prospero SJ describes how World Youth Day promotes consecrated vocations by providing young Catholics with a joyful experience of living the evangelical counsels. Marriage and Celibacy: Rivals or Complements? Benny Phang OCarm works from an insight from John Paul lI's Theology of the Body to see the complementarity of the vocations of marriage and celibacy rather than viewing them as rivals. 427 432 443 departments ~ ,~ ~ Scripture Scope: Praying the Psalms with an Elephant in the Room Book Reviews 2009 Index 339 68.4 2009 prisms I n early January 2009, I was told that I had less than a year to live. As I come to write these reflections in our final issue of the year 2009, I share various reac-tions that have been part of the landscape over the past months. My first response to the doctor's prognosis ff)r pancreatic cancer was that it is a gift to be told that one has so many months to live and that an end is in sight. The doctor, of course, went on to give options. I could have an operation, and it would likely add some months. I could also have the operation, followed by chemotherapy/radia-tion, and it would add some months and likely some years. The doctor wanted to give me some time to think about the options, but I immedi-ately agreed with his own stated preference that I would undergo the operation and follow up chemotherapy. It seemed that medically I was in a place where I should follow the biblical injunc-tion, "choose life." The operation seemed to be successful in removing the visible cancer, and the six-month- long chemotherapy treatment has been an experimental study program including a vaccine that eliminates radiation. I have fin-ished the program as of the publication of this issue. Now I live within a wait-and-see time of measurement and ~esting. Revie~v for Religious November remains a church time to remember the dead and remind ourselves of our own mortality. I have been feeling even more attuned to the reality of my own personal dying throughout these past months so that it is easy to celebrate November liturgy. It is nice to be put "on notice"--which is how I consider the identi-fication of my cancer. The likelihood of dying is just made more real and, as it were, within reach. It allows me time to reflect and pray how I face this kind of time, what attitude I want to take, and how I want to use the time I have. It does not seem fearsome or dark. In fact, it seems full of surprises of how God wants to meet me in unexpected ways, sometimes not initially pleasing to me. I seem to be taught a lot about powerlessness, patience, and the goodness of strangers. I also believe strongly in the efficaciousness of the prayer support of others. Advent is a church time of looking forward to new life and especially of our life forever with God. It con-eludes with Christmas, a celebration of how God, in Christ, enters into our human life, never to let it go. Throughout 2009 with all its medical focus, I have con-tinued to be blessed with finding new life and I again look forward to entering into Advent with greater ¯ appreciation. Christmas will be God's own gift to me of celebrating the gift of human life for however many more months and years God intends. With celebrating Christmas, it is good to remember that we were all born to be living a life forever with God, and that remains my hope too. David L. Fleming SJ 341 The Review for Religious Advisory Board and Editorial Staff wish all of our readers a most blessed Advent and Christmas season. 68.4 2009 RANDALL S. ROSENBERG Christian Existence and Theology's Relevance theology and life 342 "Ihe Swiss thinker Hans Urs yon Balthasar is something of an enigma. He has been called the greatest Catholic theologian of the 20th century. He is the inspiration behind many believers who understand themselves as "orthodox" or "solid" Catholics. His work has been seen as an example of greater integration of spirituality and theology. He is the author to whom Jon Sobrino SJ refers in his reflec-tions on the "faith of Christ," a controver-sial position which has been criticized by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. His ideas about gender complementarity and women's ordination have angered many. Some scholars, with strong Thomist commitments, have vigorously criticized his Christology and ¯ soteriology. Other scholars besides Sobrino are Randall S. Rosenberg is assistant professor of religion and philosophy at Fontbonne University (a school spon-sored by the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet); 6800. Wydown Boulevard; St. Louis, Missouri 63105. Review for Religious beginning to make use of his thought to meet the con-cerns of liberation and political theology. My plan here is not to analyze all these currents. Rather, I intend to look at Balthasar's distinctive ideas about the aesthetic-dramatic constitution of Christian reality. He sees God's revelation, God's self-disclosure, as occurring first in aesthetic and dramatic forms, and he sees Christians as called to be co-actors in this "theo-drama" through liturgical ritual and a distinctive way of living. A Generational Concern Some of my attraction to Balthasar is probably gen-erational. I was born ten years after the Second Vatican Council. Although my childhood was shaped by a won-derful Catholic parish and school, my contemporaries and I still experienced what William Portier has called "the dissolution of the American Catholic subcul-ture." Not that I particularly desire a restoration of the good old days; for many, those days were apparently not so good. But it seemed to me, as I began to read Balthasar, that he was not only restoring something of the Christian vision's rich particularity and oddness, but also pointing out to people how beautifully and dra-matically that vision has enhanced all kinds of human lives, the great variety of saints most eminently. As he writes in Love Alone Is Credible, "Lovers are the ones who know most about God; the theologian must listen to them" (p. 12). It was exciting to discover a thinker who brought into his theology the witness of holy people and great texts not normally found in systematic theologians' reflection: Th~r~se of Lisieux, John.of the Cross, Gerard Manley Hopkins, and Dante, to name just a few. 68.4 2009 Rosenberg * Cbristian Existence and Tbeology's Relevance Balthasar preserved what he called a "kneeling theology," without downplaying the use of reason in Christian life. And yet this same thinker also engaged seriously the thought of Hegel, Nietzsche, and Heidegger. In other words--Rodney Howsare has shown this in his book Baltbasar and Protestantism: The Ecumenical Implications of His Theological Style--Balthasar's theological vision had room both for God's revelation in Christ and for the works of reli-gious- philosophical scholars as legitimate moments in under-standing and present-ing Christian truth. Balthasar preserved what he called a "kneeling theology," without downplaying the use of reason in Christian life. His enviable dis-play of both loving devotion and a critical engagement with modernity prompts me to see him as embodying in important ways the dual task of ressourcement and aggior-namento set by Vatican II. Christian Existence as Theo-Drama The aesthetic-dramatic nature of Christian life is shown in the Scriptures. Moses and Paul experienced, aesthetically, the beauty or glory of God in the burn-ing bush and on the road to Damascus. These aesthetic encounters were also dramatic, and they led to the rest of their lives' being high drama as well. It is a com-mon feature of the Jewish and Christian Scriptures that experiences of God are not just holy feelings; they have a vocational, missionary purpose. The first part of Balthasar's multivolume trilogy, The Glory of the Lord, describes the way we first encounter the phenomenon Review for Religious of divine revelation as beautiful. The second part of the trilogy, Theo-Drama, recognizes that God's revelation is not something we merely look at; rather, we are drawn into the drama of revelation and are called to respond. Robert Barron nicely captures Balthasar's aesthetic-dra-matic emphasis: Christianity--like painting, baseball, and philoso-phy- is a world, a form of life. And, like those other worlds, it is first approached because it is perceived as beautiful. A youngster walks onto a baseball dia-mond because he finds the game splendid, and a young artist begins to draw because she finds the artistic universe enchanting. Once the beauty of Christianity has seized a devotee, she will long to submit herself to it, entering into its rhythms, its institutions, its history, its drama, its visions and activities. And then, having practiced it, having worked it into her soul and flesh, she will know it. The movement, in short, is from the beautiful (it is splendid!) to the good (I must play it!) to the true (it is right). In my own encounter with Balthasar, I have most appreciated his dramatic emphasis. In the first volume of his breathtaking five-volume Theo-Drama, Balthasar gives attention to the drama of human existence by using writers like Shakespeare, George Bernanos, Bertolt Brecht, Eugene Ionesco, and even the American Arthur Miller in a kind of prolegomenon to his understanding of Christian existence as "theodramatic." His range of reference to Christian, non-Christian, and even anti- Christian dramatists is astonishing. He uses the theater to illuminate the risk and gravity of human life, the catastrophes and tensions that constitute our existence, and the finite time span within which we must struggle for the good, under judgment and in the face of death. The theater can offer an opening to people's encoun- 68.4 2009 Rosenberg * Christian Existence and Theology'$ Relevance 346 ter with revelation. Balthasar's theodramatic approach employs the metaphor of the world stage. As actors in history, human beings share in the Son's mission, under the Holy Spirit's direction. Just as an actor's role in a theatrical drama constitutes a limited part of the play for a particular purpose, the finite lives of persons who share in the mission of Christ, no matter their life span, dis-close meaning that is relevant for the whole of history. On a personal note, I have appreciated Balthasar's dramatic treatment of the tragic in human existence. I have made my own the following remark of Rowan Williams: "What I found in Balthasar's work was an extraordinary depth of contemplative understand-ing, along with vivid awareness of the tragic quality of human existence--the hellishness of humanity and God's involvement in it--which resonated very deeply with me." Ever since I was a child, I have been par-ticularly sensitive to this tragic dimension, a disposition that has been heightened by my wife's daily work with children who suffer from cancer. The problem of evil as it manifests itself in sickness, natural disasters, random acts of violence, war, oppression, and genocide is never far from my mind. The late British theologian Donald MacKinnon, noting that Balthasar rarely treats the horror of the Holocaust directly, adds that "the nervous ten~ion of the whole argument witnesses to the author's passion-ate concern to present the engagement of God with his world in a way that refuses to turn aside from the over-whelming, pervasive reality of evil." Balthasar does not paper over the pathos of the real world, a pathos full of darkness and ambiguity. For him, God, in the incarna-tion and passion of Jesus, "steps to his opponent's side and, from within, helps him reach justice and freedom. Review for Religious Hnitude, time, and death are not negated: they are given a new value in a way that is beyond our comprehension. Indeed, even what is hostile to God, in all its profound abysses, is not abandoned; God does not turn his back on it: it is taken over and reworked." Balthasar never taught academic theology at a uni-versity. He spent many years, however, as a university chaplain. In the Switzerland of the 1940s this kind of work was largely cultural. Balthasar the chaplain spent his time giving lectures, in the evening debating in various student societies, and giving retreats. To borrow John W. O'Malley SJ's useful catego-ries from his Four Cultures of the West, Balthasar's thought more resembles cultures three and four--"Poetry, Rhetoric, and the Common Good" and "Art and Performance"-- than it does culture two--"The Academy and the Professions." O'Malley's remarks on Erasmus could be said about Balthasar: "He felt he could criticize Scholastic theology because he had an alternative to offer: a return to the more literary and rhetorical style of the Fathers. That was the 'ancient and genuine' the-ology, quite different from the 'modern' theology. It was genuine because it was drawn directly from the sacred texts and because it had led to a 'theological life.' It touched the heart and centered on the few truths that were essential to Christianity rather than on the second-ary issues the Scholastics pursued" (p. 160). Balthasar once remarked that his study with the Jesuits, largely in Neo-Scholastic mode, was a "grim struggle with what men had made out of the glory of revelation." He Balthasar never taught academic theology ,at a university. 68.4 2009 Rosenberg * Christian Existence and Tbeology's Relevance 348 ~ "could not endure this presentation of the Word of God and wanted to lash out with the fury of Samson," tear "down the whole temple," and bury himself "beneath the rubble." It is often true that Balthasar's mode of presentation resembles a patristic sermon more than a scholastic treatise. In my recent experiences of presenting papers, giv-ing academic lectures, and doing job interviews, it has become evident that this aesthetic-dramatic emphasis genuinely excites scholars and ordinary laypeople. This emphasis could also be said to be Balthasar's greatest shortcoming as a "systematic" theologian. He is called "unsystematic" by those who argue for the indispens-ability of a more scientifically or theoretically con-structed theology in the manner of Thomas Aquinas. Let me address both sentiments. On the one hand, I am convinced that Balthasar's aesthetic-dramatic emphasis nurtures an appreciation for the inexhaustible mystery that resides at the heart of Christian revelation. He offers a richly symbolic and imaginative approach--one that fosters better Christian living, namely, the dramatic artistry needed for fulfill-ing our own unique missions. That is, his theology can give momentum to the religious feelings and beliefs that help us accomplish good in the particular circumstances of our lives. On the other hand, the aesthetic-dramatic emphasis is not always helpful when one does "system-atic theology" in order to answer the further questions that arise out of one's aesthetic-dramatic, liturgical, or devotional life. Balthasar's theology, besides being eclectic, has a contemplative emphasis that prefers to let "paradox" be the answer, rather than carefully working out a set of terms and relations and bringing a theo-logical intelligibility to the concrete conditions in which Review for Religious Christians live their lives. One is more likely to find this kind of intelligibility in Bernard Lonergan or Karl Rahner. Let me offer an example. It was my encounter with the writings of Balthasar that helped me discover the "weightiness" of the mystery of the cross. Balthasar is not content with presenting the cross as merely a consequence of Jesus' prophetic stance in the world. It is that, but it is also much more. It contains a vicarious element, which somehow involves Jesus' "taking on" the sin of the human race. Balthasar desires to do justice to a dominant theme in the Fathers, namely, the admirabile commercium, God's "wondrous exchange," with sinners. With aesthetic and dramatic power, Balthasar communi-cated to me the cross's power and centrality. And yet as questions arose--How did Jesus "take on" sin? Did he also take on our guilt? If so, did he also experience a loss of hope and the kind of darkness sinners experience?-- I became less satisfied with his systematic answers (or lack thereof). In my own research I have been more satisfied with a Thomist pattern of explanation (also not without its critics), given contemporary expression in Bernard Lonergan's writings on "Satisfaction" and the "Law of the Cross." Such writings offer terms and relations that can be used in engaging the modern sciences construc-tively. Balthasar has often prompted in me an excite-ment and concern about such theological questions Balthasar's theology, has a contemplative emphasis that prefers to let ',paradox" be the answer. 349 68.4 2009 Rosenberg * Christian Existence and Tbeology's Relevance and then failed to give me adequate answers. In his De Verbo Incarnato, Lonergan writes that, if one approaches Christ's passion and death with primarily a "symbolic mentality," where image and feeling predominate, then one is likely to express the meaning of the cross in terms of "substitution" or "satispassion," that is, in terms of Jesus' "suffering enough" for sins. These words do not do justice to the sophistication of Balthasar's approach, but they indicate something about his theological style in general and his theology of Christ's passion and death in particular. In my estimation, because of its dramatic terminology and its reliance on the mystical experiences of Adrienne von Speyr, Balthasar's theology of Christ's passion and death is often unclear and even reckless. I wonder, though, whether this theological question, sparked by the power of Balthasar's presentation, would have occurred to me at all without his help. Balthasar himself was not concerned with meeting the requirements of a technical, theoretical, systematic theologian. He once said in an interview, "My books are not the kind of theology that belongs to the aca-demic guild and therefore they are not particularly suited for dissertations." He remarked, "I have to say that for me the only truly interesting theologians are the saints: from. Irenaeus through Augustine to Anselm, to Bonaventure, or figures that allow the radiation of holiness to show forth, such as Dante or Newman; one could also mention Kierkegaard and Solovyov." A Call for Fruitful Integration My concern goes beyond the question of Balthasar's adequacy as a systematic theologian. I have accentuated his aesthetic-dramatic approach here, but I know there are many other approaches as well. My concern is the Review for Religious shape of Catholic theology in the 21st century and the place of the aesthetic-dramatic style therein. Vv'hat does theology conceived in Anselmian fashion as "faith seek-ing understanding" mean in light of the many theologi-cal styles we have inherited from the 20th century, from what Fergus Kerr has called "the Heroic Generation"? In my discussion of the cross, I have offered a "the-oretical" or "explanatory" challenge to Balthasar's theological style. Let me now say that Balthasar, too, offers a challenge. He makes us ask: Must not theol-ogy go well :beyond understanding to an understand-ing that is aesthetically and dramatically in touch with the joys and challenges of ordinary Christian existence? Shouldn't theology be more attentive to the Mystery that is encountered in aesthetic and dramatic form in our workaday world's prayer and worship? A question remains regarding what to do with the diversity of theological styles we have inherited. R.R. Reno has suggested that "we need a period of consolidation that allows us to integrate the lasting achievements of the Heroic Generation into a renewed standard theology." Let me suggest, without adequate exposition, one possible way forward, a way which has been similarly outlined by Robert Doran SJ. The chal-lenge of this generation is to integrate three 20th-cen-tury theological movements--contemporary Thomism, the ressourcement project of la nouvelle thdologie, and the various expressions of political-liberation theol-ogy. These three movements could be of help (1) in explaining theological doctrines in a theoretical man-ner that is capable of engaging with the natural and social sciences in search of a unity of knowledge; (2) in experiencing and mediating Catholic thought and culture through aesthetic-dramatic forms; and (3) in 68.4 2009 Rosenberg * Christian Existence and Tbeology's Relevance dealing with concrete human suffering of all kinds in light of the gospel mandate to transform a world in need. Such a grand vision would require sympathetic and critical conversations, the highlighting of comple-mentarities and dialectical differences, and the humil-ity to be open to revision. If such an integration were to occur, it would require doing justice in an orderly way to the richness of being human in the flow of his-tory, that is, being psychological, intellectuall rational, moral, loving, mystical, and worshipful. For this enter-prise Balthasar would certainly not have all the answers, but he would have much to contribute to it. By Beauty Tethered God of the dawn and high noon and of twilight and midnight; God of the tides and the myriad droplets of dew; God of gardenias and larkspur and tulips; by beauty, God,~ tether my being to you. Mary Anne Huddleston IHM Review for Religious A. PAUL DOMINIC How You Eat Matters I fEatthien gti,t lAe sJeoeymous sa Sbaict rpiufizczel.i"n gIn, It hper ompoatstee ra noof tehaetr-: ing, as in every other human exercise or experience, there is surely more to it than meets the eye, or indeed the tongue or any other sense organ. Perception of such impalpable reality may take no time or consume no little time. Communicating that reality, however, normally requires time, and maybe a detour. Anyway, in the present case, the process has been for me an experience of obscurum per obscurius, though at the end it was all darum (clear), bathed in light. "Hindu Prayer: A First for Congress"--that was the title of the news item from India Abroad News Service on 14 September 2000. The news was the historic event of a Hindu priest delivering the opening prayer in the United States House of Representatives.1 The prayer ran as follows: "O God, you are omnipresent, omnipo-tent, and omniscient. You are everything, and nothing A. Paul Dominic SJ wrote for us about dreams in 2008. His address is Aishalton c/o St Ignatius Mission; Lethem P.O.; Rupununi, Guyana (South America). Emaih pauldominicsj@yahoo.com 68.4 2009 Dominic ¯ How You Eat Matters is beyond you. You are our mother and father, and we are all your children." It continued: "Whatever you do is for our good. You are the ocean of mercy, and you forgive our errors. You are our teacher, and you guide us on to righteousness . Today, in this great hall, are assembled the elected representatives of the people of this nation. They are ready to perform their duties. God, please guide them in their thoughts and actions so they can achieve'the greatest good for all." The prayer ended with an invocation from the ancient scriptures of India. "May all be happy, may all be free from disease, may all realize what is good, may none be subject to misery; peace, peace, peace be unto all." The fact of the Hindu prayer in the U.S. Congress was objectionable and even threatening to some. Many others strongly counterprotested. Anyway, the words of the prayer cannot be construed really offensive to any-one, except of course an atheist. As a matter of fact, they breathe the deepest longings of harried humanity hop-ing in the Divinity. The way they are addressed to God smacks of no narrow Hinduism nor any sectarianism for that matter, but an inclusive theism. The God invoked is everybody's God.2 If the Hindu priest had his own traditional or peculiar thoughts about God, in no way does that show itself in his prayer. Even the concluding prayer, taken from the Hindu scriptures, sounds indeed more universal than particularly Hindu. It seems to show that genuine prayer cuts across ,barriers of religion. Everything connected with prayer in Hinduism can-not, of course, be explained thus. There are aspects of Hindu worship that are confined and meaningful only to adherents of Hinduism with its practices and tenets. Even here, however, it is wise to distinguish between what is exclusively Hindu and what is purely religious-- Review for Religious even though in practice the two are generally too inter-twined to detect. We should, however, exercise ourselves in this regard, for we can be surprisingly enriched as Christians and, what is more, find ourselves agree-ably bonded with other sincere believers. For example, though the ritual of sacrifice in various religions is dif-ferent in all of them and likely to distract and distance other people, the faith element in those sacrifices can be heartwarming and edifying to all those who can intuit it. Some reading I did about Hindu sacrifice proved to be quite inspiring. From it I got a sense of the homely and heavenly meaning of sacrifice beyond the altar's formal vesture, furnishings, and ceremony. I have grown to believe that eating at table has the character and odor of a true sacrifice. I was confirmed in my belief when I found a simi-lar thought in a poet with a Christian background. He shares his vision charmingly and persuasively: Since you must kill to eat, and rob the newly born of its mother's milk to quench your thirst, let it then be an act of worship, And let your board stand an altar on which the pure and the innocent of forest and plain are sacri-ficed for that which is purer and still more innocent in man.3 I have no inkling of how the poet arrived at his vision of profound truth. I can recount, however, my experience in this regard, recalling first the Hindu insight. i have grown to believe that eating at table has the character and odor of a true sacrifice. 68.4 2009 Dominic * How You Eat Matters A Hindu Adumbration The universe in the ancient Hindu vision originat-ing from the Vedic4 times of 2000 BC consisted of three worlds: the physical, the psychological, and the spiritual manitCesting themselves not as separate but congruent spheres. Fire (Affni in Sanskrit) at the physical level was obviously visible flames, like those burning a sacrificial offering to the deity. At the psychological level it was the mind exercising itself in thinking and knowing. At the spiritual level the same word was a name of God. Given the superiority of the spiritual over the physical and the psychological, the latter two were regarded and grasped as manifestations of the one supreme Spirit called Agrni, extending through the three-tiered universe. "The fire which is the sun, the fire which is the earth, that fire is in my own heart," as a Vedic verse put it pithily. One cannot miss the images of the three worlds: the sun standing for the spiritual, the earth for the material, and the human for the psychological.5 Anyone who is not at ease with this ancient under-standing needs only a moment's thought to see its con-nection with reality. For this a comparison with another religious tradition may help. In the Judaic tradition, physical fire serves the cultic needs of purification and liturgical rituals of offering. Fire that necessarily burns can signi~ blazing anger and, more importantly, the tribulation that cleanses the heart and proves the soul righteous. Fire is predicated of God's own self in theophanies of saving presence, transcendence, and benevolence. God appears as the burning bush and the pillar of fire and indeed as consuming fire (Dt 4:24, 9:3; Is 33:14). God purifies his servants and sets them afire with zeal so that the whole universe may shine in glory. Christian tradition has inherited this entire view Review for Religious and given it its own emphasis. Recall Jesus saying: "I have come to bring fire on the earth and desire that it be kindled" (Lk 12:49).6 Observing parallels in the Vedic and Biblical views of the world, one may see other ones as well. In the Vedic thought, sacrifice involves a conscious perception that the three worlds are bound together as one universe. Sacrifice involves lighting a fire and burning an obla-tion on the altar. The idea behind the ritual is that the spiritual fire that is in heaven is also buried in the earth, and so it bursts forth when stones or sticks are struck. By being burned, the gifts laid on the altar are carried to heaven. The fiery sacrifice returns all that is on the earth to its original source in heaven. The ideal of sacrifice behind this graphic picture is not absent in the Bible. Elijah's successful sacrifice when the prophets of Baal miserably failed (1 K 18:22.-38) comes to mind here. To continue still further with the inner significance of the Vedic sacrifice, as long as sacrifice is performed everything keeps returning to its origin, and human beings find themselves living in harmony with the uni-verse. When people fail in their duty of sacrifice, they interfere with the cyclic rhythm that sustains the world of which they are a part. They use the mountain of gifts without attending to their nature, thereby isolating both themselves and all things from their origin. They violate the law of the universe. But, when sacrifice is duly and gratefully done, it redounds to universal prosperity. This seems reflected in Psalm 50: "Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving and pay your vows to the Most High." The last element of all sacrifice is perhaps too obvi-ous to be striking: it is eating the sacrificial offerings. What is offered in sacrifice is normally things that peo-ple eat, and so a sacrifice ends as a sacrificial meal. But 68.4 2009 Dominic ¯ How You Eat Matters In the matter of sacrifice, the universal beliefwas that, when humans ate something of the sacrifice, the deity had partaken of it first. who eats in sacrifice? Those who sacrifice, of course. But, as the sacrifice is not offered to themselves, they do not eat alone. When the sacrifice is consumed by fire, it is believed that the deity above consumes it. This understanding is highlighted in the Hindu scriptural verse: "I, the Lord, become the fire of life, and seated in the body I consume the four kinds of food." This passage is certainly obscure for many, though it is for Hindus a familiar verse (vakya in Sanskrit) of the Bhagavad Gita, perhaps the most personal of all their scriptures. Anyway, what it says links human eating with divine eat-ing. In the matter of sacrifice, the universal belief was that, when humans ate something of the sacrifice, the deity had partaken of it first. Similarly, one may well conclude that what humans eat in ordinary meals is at the same rime consumed by "the fire of life," which is none other than God dwelling in human bodies. And so a human meal itself becomes a sacrifice to God. Bede Griffiths, the English Benedictine who, along with other foreign pioneers in India, continued the Indian tradition of ashram (akin to monasticism in the Western tradition), explains the point thus: "That fire, which is in the heaven above and in the earth beneath, is in our own bodies; we offer our food in sacrifice in that inner fire and it is consumed in the fire and surrendered to God again. So a meal is a sacrifice." Here is a subtle move from a sacrificial meal eaten on occasion to daily Review for Religious meals eaten in the joyous, harmonious spirit of sacri-fice. Drawing from another stanza in the Bhagavad Gita, Griffiths concludes that "anyone taking a meal without sacrificing is a thief; this is to take the gifts of God and appropriate them to oneself instead of receiving them as gifts and returning thanks.''7 A Christian Follow-Up Such a thought can startle nominal or profane Christians who have no thought of God whatever when they satisfy their hunger and thirst or overly indulge their tastes. Normal devout Christians accustomed to their routine mealtime prayer may well find more mean-ing in their daily practice. The grace before and after meals will then become the grace of meals as sacrifice. The whole meal from start to finish becomes an exercise and experience of grace, with the grace understood in terms of sacrifice. If sacrifice involves material fire for burning the oblation, daily meals as sacrifice ought to burn with the psychospiritual fire of desire--desire not merely for food, but for the One who gives the food. The Giver of food gives not only the natural and won-derful food and drink, but also the hunger, thirst, and taste buds necessary to enjoy it. Further, through our gratefulness God raises our minds beyond the mean philosophy of eat, drink, and be merry before it is too late. Enkindled by this grate-fulness, we cannot but experience a burning hunger for God. This does not produce asceticism in us so much as refine our taste for the simple, healthy, necessary food that makes for joyous living. At the same time it enables us to find God in food itself.8 This way of eating, that is much more than munching and gulping, becomes a sacrifice by virtue of the prayer surrounding our meals. 68.4 2009 Dominic ¯ How You Eat Matters As St. Paul says, food is for the stomach and the stom-ach for food, and ultimately the body is for the Lord (1 Co 6:13). Sacrificial prayer, then, from hearts burn-ing with fervor for God, rises like incense and raises people's spirits while leaving them contented with their daily bread. It is the very opposite of making a god of one's belly (Ph 3:19)9 and sacrificing to it. This talk is not farfetched or feverishly imagined. It breathes the spirit of Jesus who, being more a mystic than an ascetic, ate with much gratitude to his Abba God and with the childlike merriment of having been blessed. When necessary he gave hungry people food, but he also chided them for not understanding their hunger aright. One may learn a lot from his controversy with them as they were looking for him the day after he had miraculously fed them with bread and fish to their hearts' content (Jn 6). He unveiled to them their own undignified thoughts regarding food and satisfaction. He warned them not to work for food that cannot give life, but for the food from God that gives eternal life. "God's bread comes down from heaven and gives life to the world." Jesus told them that people do not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from God's mouth (Mr 4:4). Jesus' conduct in eating teaches about meal as sac-rifice. He takes the bread, looks up to heaven where his Abba Father dwells, gives thanks to him, and shares the bread with those around him generously, then pre-sumably eats along with them till finally making sure that nothing that remains goes to waste (Mt 14:19-20). While this pictures partly the proper Jewish uttering of a blessing such as "Praised be thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who bringest forth bread from earth," Jesus portrays more faithfully and characteristi- Review for Religious cally what his Abba intended when he led his people, feeding them with manna and so training them for life. His counsel to his eager listeners on the Mount is not to worry about food and drink. His words are meant to uplift them with the realization of their blessings on any given day, making of it a sacrifice of praise and grati-tude. The same spirit suffuses the prayer Jesus taught people to pray: "Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread" (Lk 11:2-3). Because our daily meals are ideally sacrifices filling us with gratitude and.uniting us with the bountiful Abba Father, Jesus began his unique sacrifice at an ordinary, if festive, meal, his last meal before he died. And there he bequeathed his new sacrifice in the form of a unique meal. It is with the same inspiration that he spoke of the heavenly life with God as a banquet of communion with God and all God's beloved (Mt 8:11, 22:2). What happens when, thinking of a penitential aspect of sacrifice, we lose sight of the sublime aspect of eat-ing and drinking? One answer is that then we cannot fully engage in the divine mystery of our Christian sac-rifice. We would even act contrary to the spirit of the sacrifice when we are not celebrating the Liturgy for-mally. The Corinthians did this, as Paul reminded them. When they came together for the Lord's Supper, they did not wait for the Lord. Paul says: "When you meet together, it is not the Lord's Supper that you eat. For in eating, each one goes ahead with his own meal, and one is hungry and another is drunk" (1 Co 11:20-21). To spell out an implication in Paul's words, ordinary human meals should be much like the Lord's Supper. There is or should be etiquette and the spirit of sacrifice in every ordinary meal. 361 68.4 2009 Dominic * How You Eat Matters 362 The Hindu version of what happens when we do not honor the sacrificial aspect of human eating is best illustrated by a Hindu story. A man sought to know from a Hindu priest the greatest being in the universe worthy of a sacrifice. Following the clear instruction, he began offering food to the newly acquired idol in his house. One day he found a rat eating the offering. Inferring that the rat must be greater than the idol, he began making his sacrificial offering to the rat, till one day he saw a cat threatening the rat. So he began mak-ing his sacrifice to the cat. One day the man's wife saw the cat on an eating spree in the kitchen and chased it away with a stick2 Made aware of this greater power of his wife, he began making his sacrifice to her. Then one day, finding the meal she cooked and served too salty, he shouted at her. She quivered at his anger. That encounter made him feel superior to his wife, and so he began to offer food sacrificially to himself. He ate and ate until he died. Can anyone be so foolish? Not in such an obvious way, but most of us are probably about half that foolish. The really wise, of course, would know how to enjoy food and drink while recognizing that they are also part of the grateful sacrifice due to God. There is something beautiful and divine in such sacrifice pervading daily life without formal rubrics and yet illumining the rubrics of the altar. "So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God" (1 Co 10:31). Notes ~ There was a similar first occurrence of prayer, this one in Sanskrit, spoken by a Hindu in the Nevada State Assembly on 19 March 2007 and in the Nevada State Senate on 7 May 2007, both in Carson City. See Kaumudi USA-News, March 2007 (front page). 2 Some Muslims, however, would not agree on this. Review for Religious 3 Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet (New Delhi: Allied Publishers, 1976), p. 30. 4 The word derives from the Vedas, the earliest Hindu scriptures in Sanskrit. s See Bede Griffiths, A New Vision of Reality (New Delhi: Indus, 1992), pp. 58-59. 6 See John L. McKenzie, Dictionary of the Bible (Bangalore: Asian Trading Corporation, 1998), pp. 277-278. 7 Griffiths, New Vision, p. 61. The verse itself runs thus: "Nourished by your sacrifice, the Gods will grant you your heart's desires. / What a thief is he who enjoys their gifts but gives nothing in return!" (3:12). See Raimundo Panikkar et al., The Vedic Experience (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1977), p. 428. s As Jesus overturned the notion of unclean food in Jewish Pharisaism and declared all food clean (Mk 7:19), he would also declare all food good against what may be called Christian libertinism. 9 Of course, in the Pauline context the reference was to Jewish dietary laws that in Christianity were being superseded, whereas here it is the regrettable exaltation of food for food's sake. Questions for Personal and Group Reflection 1. How do you consider grace before and after meals meaningful to your Christian living? 2. Can you explain that the Last Supper exemplifies for us how our daily meals are "ideally sacrifices filling us with gratitude and uniting us with the bountiful Abba Father"? 363 68.4 2009 PATRICIA A. WITTBERG religious life models Opening a New Window: Fifteen Years after the FORUS Study More than fifteen years ago, Miriam Ukeritis csJ and David Nygren CM published their groundbreaking study, The Future of Religious Orders in the United States) In it they predicted that religious congregations had only a ten-year window of opportunity before the aging of their current members and the lack of new entrants would render them nonviable. Many resisted this prediction, refusing to believe it. Some spun visions of an alternate (and socio-logically naive) future in which religious con-gregations would expand to include married and single, vowed and nonvowed, Catholic and non-Catholic, male and female, all somehow gathered together under the aegis of a vaguely defined charism? Others, not knowing what to believe, considered religious life's future Patricia A. Wittberg SC wrote about the "recipro-cal identities" of apostolic life and consecrated life in our July-August 2002 issue. Her address remains 2141 Dugan Drive; Indianapolis, Indiana 46260. Email: pwittber@iupui.edu Review for Religious something they could do litde about and focused their diminishing energies on their ministries instead. Fifteen years later, for many religious congregations, the window of opportunity appears to have closed. Few if any of their members are under the age of sixty; no one has entered for ten or even twenty years; vocation directors are burned out or depressed. Many members coverdy believe--and some openly argue--that it is use-less and unethical to invite young people to enter. It is for these congregations, especially, that I am writing this article, but I offer it as well to communities which are in less dire straits. I. believe that both could profit from the following alternative. I would like to point out a different--and more sociologically feasible--path for the future of declining religious congregations. I do not see this as replacing traditional religious life--which is thriving on a smaller scale in some (but not all) of the CMSWR congregations in the United States, and on a larger scale in Africa and South Asia. There will always be a place in the church for the traditional model of religious life. But U.S. Catholic culture is no longer as hospitable to this model as it once was. If it were, several hundred, not a few dozen, traditional religious congregations would be springing up in this country, and they would be doubling in membership every decade. Such explosive growth was the norm for religious congregations founded in the 19th century, and it obviously is not happening today. This comparative lack of interest, however, does not indicate that present-day U.S. Catholics are unspiritual heathens. They simply are not attracted to the traditional model. I believe that American Catholicism would be bet-ter served if several other versions of religious life were also available to young Catholics. By"other versions" I 68.4 2009 tVittberg ¯ Opening a New Window A social movement is a wave of beliefs and/or actions that sweeps large numbers of persons into working toward a specific goal. 366 do not mean the lifestyles currendy being modeled by most of the non-CMSWR religious congregations. These are faring even worse than the traditionalist orders in attracting new members. Their charisms are still beau-tiful and, for the most part, still valid in today's world. But they are not being presented in a form that appeals to young Catholics today. Instead, I want to suggest a different strategy for handing on a congregation's charism to a new generation: starting one---or preferably severalmsocial-movement orga-nizations. To explain how this would work, I first need to define a few terms. Broadly considered, a social movement is a wave of beliefs and/or actions that sweeps large numbers of persons into working toward a specific goal. Examples are the civil-rights movement, the women's movement, the envi-ronmental movement, and the right-to-life movement. Each of these movements may con-tain dozens of separate social-movement organizations (SMOs) which focus on particular activities, particular groups of people, or particular issues related to the larger movement's goals. Thus, the environmental movement includes large organiza-tions like the Sierra Club, the Nature Conservancy, and Greenpeace and also many smaller groups that focus on saving the monarch butterfly, cleaning up a local river, opposing the dumping of toxic waste, and so forth.3 There have been religious social movements and, thus, religious social-movement organizations as well. In Review for Religious Protestantism, a succession of social movements called "Great Awakenings" sparked a host of religious revival groups throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, several of which developed into full-fledged denominations such as the Mormons, the Seventh-Day Adventists, and the various Pentecostal churches. In Catholicism, waves of devotionalism swept through both 17th-century France and 19th-century North America,4 spinning off pilgrim-age societies, sodalities, and prayer groups devoted to particular saints, scapulars, or novenas. These were not .religious orders at their inception, but some later did develop in that direction. Other times they simply strengthened the existing orders. I am suggesting that religious congregations con-sciously try to foster something similar today. Most still have one or more members who are passionate about meeting some particular need in today's world, be it sav-ing the environment, feeding the poor, sheltering home-less women and children, providing free medical care to the uninsured, or mentoring the spiritually searching,s Many of these members have already worked out a more or less specific theology to ground their activities and to explain how their passion fits with the congregation's charism. Some have recruited a corps of volunteers to help them in. their work. To paraphrase the famous line from MoliEre,6 they are already "forming a religious SMO without knowing it." However, these passionate members are often less connected to the rest of the con-gregation. For years, even decades, the other members may have left them alone to "do their own thing." But it is only a small step from what these indi-vidual religious are already instinctively doing, for their congregation deliberately to form and maintain several SMOs to enflesh its charism for subsequent genera- 68.4 2009 Wittberg ¯ Opening a New Window 368 tions. All that remains is to help each incipient group to articulate its identity publicly, to specify clearly its religious grounding in the congregation's charism, and to take specific steps to ensure its leadership continuity and stable membership. This might simply involve: ¯ Picking a name connected with both the charism of the congregation and the specific focus of the group: "Vincentian Servants of the Homeless," "Franciscan Brothers and Sisters of the Earth," "Centering Pray-ers," and so forth. ¯ Adopting an identifiable sign of group affiliation, for example, a common T-shirt or a medal. ¯ Maintaining a public-relations effort to inform potential volunteers, donors, other members of the con-gregation, and the church at large about the group's existence and to attract them to its mission. ¯ Spelling out the criteria for entering and exiting the group, expectations of membership, and ongoing group governance. Previous evidence indicates that, paradoxically, groups with more rigorous expectations are more likely to succeed than those which demand less of their adherents.7 The first two steps are relatively simple, and may already have been taken. But they are not enough. Unless some provision is made for the continuance of the SMO, it may not survive its founder's retirement. The founding brother or sister may be neither inter-ested in nor skilled at such bureaucratic maintenance activities. For the remaining steps, therefore, a religious congregation may be able to offer valuable help from its communications office (for the third task), and its leadership (for the fourth). The kind of social-movement organization I am advocating may or may not be represented by a con- Review for Religious gregation's associate program. A congregation's associ-ates could certainly be this kind of group--but only if they are organized around a readily articulated spiri-tual focus and/or apostolic activity that distinguishes associate membership from the larger call given to any Catholic. Simply stating that associates are devoted to "living the charism of the founder" is not enough. The more focused the associates' commitment--whether in monthly or weekly prayer/lectio according to the founder's spirituality, or in working on a regular basis with the vowed members in their ministry, or in staffing some auxiliary ministry that complements that of the vowed members--the more my SMO proposal here can be applied to them. Otherwise, an associateprogram will not be sufficiendy distinct from the lifestyle of non-associates to enflesh the order's charism on its own. Advantages of the SMO Model I am suggesting that some congregations--especially those whose members have tacitly abandoned the hope of attracting new vowed members--make a point of acknowledging this and then start to recruit people for their present members' particular SMOs. What would be the advantages of such a strategy? First of all, any given religious congregation will survive only to the extent that its members are passionately devoted to some particular version of their founding charism. The future of religious life does not rest with the tired or apathetic, but after a long period of decline many religious now are both. Most congregations have only a few members with the needed passion and enthusiasm. Moreover, these members may not all be focused on the same passion. Some may live and breathe God's call to serve the poor; others may devote their energies to preserving God's 68.4 2009 Wittberg ¯ Opening a New Window Any given religious congregation will survive only to the extent that its members are passionately ~devoted to some particular version of their founding charism. 370 creation through environmental activities; still others, with a more contemplative bent, may foster spirituality through centering prayer, pastoral counseling, or reli-gious art or music. A religious order faced with only a handful of healthy and passionate vowed members, each deeply devoted to a different passion, faces a serious dilemma. It can either focus on one of these passions to the exclu-sion of the others (which would be profoundly alien-ating to those left out), or it can try to include all of them (which dilutes the con-gregation's spe-cific identity and its ability to rally its members around a common goal). Either way, a congregation's ability to recruit to vowed membership is weakened if its remaining passion-ate members are devoted to different articulations of its charism, because its overall corporate mission identity will be weak.8 In contrast, enfleshing these articulations in several different SMOs would strengthen a congregation and improve the chances for its charism to survive. Since each SMO's participants are not necessarily vowed to the congregation, it is not only possible but desirable that several could exist under the same congregational "rOOfo''9 The more different SMOs a congregation's members "spin off," the greater the chance that one, at Review for Religious least, will catch fire. As I will argue below, this may then become the seed for the congregation's future. A second advantage of the SMO approach is that it is a sociologically feasible way of incorporating temporary members or inviting specific demographic groups into the congregation's family. The prospect of temporary membership in permanently vowed religious congrega-tions has been discussed for over thirty years without ever coming to fruition.'° This is probably a sign that the concept is unworkable. A host of decisions would need to be faced in a congregation that included both permanent and temporary members: financial expec-tations, for example, or voice and vote in chapters. Maintaining a distinction between the two groups could imply a second-class status for the temporary members; erasing the distinction would depreciate the perpetually vowed members' commitment. Also, there is not now and never has been any indi-cation that large numbers of potential entrants are clamoring for the option of temporary membership in communities with perpetual vows. If anything, the opposite is the case. In contrast, however, various lay movements that are similar to SMOs are thriving in the church--which may be a sign that the model is a more compatible and sociologically viable Way of enfleshing a religious call in today's world.'1 Lay social-movement organizations are compat-ible with temporary commitment. In fact, many actu-ally expect that their members will stay no more than three or four years. Prayer or volunteer groups specifi-cally targeting high school or college students would be examples of these. A recently begun group is the St. Joseph of Arimathea Society--groups of high school students in Cleveland and Louisville who help provide 371 68.4 2009 Wittberg ¯ Opening a New Window A final advantage of religious ¯ social-movement organizations is that it is less devastating for the members if they dissolve. dignified and reverent funeral services for homeless peo-ple, and for murder victims and deceased old and young people whose relatives are too few or too devastated to arrange a funeral themselves. The students provide sing-ers and pallbearers, tend the "potter's field" cemetery, and collect money for flowers and grave markers. More traditional examples of student organiza-tions include prayer groups (Athletes for Christ, rosary or adoration societies) or twinning arrange-ments with a school in a poor area. There is no expectation that the students will remain members of these groups after their graduation, although they may be directed to affiliated adult groups which they may or may not choose to join. A final advantage of religious social-movement orga-nizations is that it is less devastating for the members if they dissolve. While no data exist on the number of failed attempts that preceded or accompanied the suc-cessful founding of religious orders in previous centu-ries, anecdotal evidence in our histories indicates that at least as many attempts to found religious orders have failed as succeeded. This appears to be true today as well. Of the 97 new religious communities listed in the 1999 Directory of Embrging Religious Communities, 24 had dissolved by 2006, and another 21 had lost members.~2 Founding or truly refounding a religious order is a chancy business, and those who commit their lives to one of these new groups risk losing both financial security Review for Religious and mental/emotional health if they fail. Committing oneself to an SMO carries with it many fewer risks. Outcomes For those religious who are concerned for the pres-ervation of their congregation's charism, forming one or more SMOs could have several beneficial results: ¯ Social-movement organizations may be effective recruit-ment vehicles for vowed membership. With few religious teaching in Catholic schools, most young Catholics have never seen a sister or brother. And few religious inter-act with anyone younger than fifty on a deep or regu-lar basis. How can young Catholics join a lifestyle they know so little about? How can religious invite those they never see? Participating with vowed religious on an ongoing basis in a soup kitchen, a prayer group, or an ecological project will help young people get to know the religious involved--and vice versa. ¯ One particular social-movement organization may develop into the vehide that will carry a congregation's charism into the next generation, after all of the former vowed mem-bers are gone. If so, this would finally realize the inclusive ¯ scenario that the "Transformative Elements" painted for the future of religious life twenty years ago. How could anyone say that a religious charism was extinct if, instead of a small number of vowed religious, an SMO of married, single, Catholic, and non-Catholic men and women were living it out by feeding the hungry, praying a particular devotion, tutoring poor children, or in some other way were bringing the founder's original vision into the 21st century? "Life is not ended, merely changed." ¯ A truly successful social-movement organization will often, however, contain a number of members who do want to devote their entire lives to its vision. It may 373 68.4 2009 Wittberg ¯ Opening a New Window be that these members will not join the original community, but will instead begin a new one. If the first community is still around at this point, their wisdom and experi-ence would be invaluable for the new group. If not, the stories of the SMO's original founder--the sister who started a free clinic in Appalachia, the brother whose soup kitchen mobilized a city to feed the poor--will serve as a template. After all, Frederick Ozanam (the founder of the St. Vincent de Paul Society) lived sev-eral centuries after Vincent himself. St. John Bosco had never met St. Francis de Sales. Throughout the millennium and a half that Catholic religious life has existed, many new religious orders or lay groups have been formed from old templates. SMOs could provide templates of this very kind. Next Steps I believe that social-movement organizations could be useful, both for religious congregations that have given up on recruiting vowed members, and also for more-viable communities that still attract some young people. For the former, it may be the last remaining way they have of passing on their charism to a new genera-tion. For the latter, it may help them attract even more new entrants. The next steps I would suggest to con-gregations wishing to found such organizations--or to foster the ones their individual members have already begun--are as follows: ¯ Take inventory of today's society: What are its deep-est needs or desires? As I have noted previously,~3 the best way to determine these needs is to look at what larger social movements are currently growing. The most pressing social movements reveal themselves by the large number of SMOs they spawn. Are there already Review for Religious a lot of small environmental groups? Prayer groups? Adoration groups? Groups working with the poor? Women's groups? Check out the directory of associa-tions on the Internet Public Library (http://www.ipl. org/div/aon/)to find out. Is there room for another SMO, locally, in this movement? For example, is there a group that the movement currently does not reach, such as Hispanics or high school youth? Is there a new tactic or way of addressing the issue that existing SMOs do not use? Could adding your congregation's spirituality or charism deepen commitment to the social movement? ¯ Take inventory of your congregation: Who are your passionate members? What are their passions? How, if at all, do these passions relate to the charism of your founder? What larger social movements do these pas-sions relate to? Are your community's passionate mem-bers interested in leading or organizing a group to assist them in their work? Or, better, have they already done so? Are other members in your congregation interested in helping them? ¯ What does the group still need in order to succeed? Does it need to expand its pool of potential volunteers? Secure more stable funding? Plan for the founder's retirement? What is the optimum size for the group? Would expansion be good for it--or dilute its unique character? If the latter, can the group's model be "fran-chised" in some way, with separate independent chap-ters in various cities?14 ¯ What assistance can the congregation render? Can your communications office help to publicize the group? Can your vocation personnel and/or associates help locate new volunteers? Does the group need a place to meet? Need mentoring in finances or grant writing? What about retreats or prayer days on the charism? And 68.4 2009 Wittberg ¯ Opening a New Window 376 who in the congregation could provide these services? A weakness in any new religious organization is its "liabil-ity of newness," which may lead to mistakes that imperil its very survival. A more experienced mentor could be a tremendous help. It is obvious by now that religious life is at the end of one of the cyclic downturns which have recurred over the centuries. Rather than resign ourselves to our "inev-itable" extinction--and thereby create a self-fulfilling prophecy--I think we should notice that the SMO model offers a way to midwife the new forms of religious life that will thrive and grow in the years ahead. The many permutations of this model already appearing--associ-ate programs, lay ecclesial movements, mixed emerg-ing communities--are foreshadowings, I believe, of an absorbing future. This is true even if most of them fail, as new ventures often do. More will continue to spring up until some "get it right." With their centuries-long experience and the passions of at least some of their vowed members, today's religious congregations could help in this rebirth. Notes ~ David Nygren and Miriam D. Ukeritis, The Future of Religious Orders in the United States: Transformation and Commitment (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1993). 2 A good example would be the third and fourth of the so-called "Transformative Elements" developed by the joint CMSM/LCWR meet-ing in Louisville in 1989--and cited on pp. 255 and following of Nygren and Ukeritis's book. Supposedly, this is what religious life would look like in the year 2010. In hindsight, it reflects more wishful thinking than any real-world trends for vowed religious life. 3 Fora fuller discussion of social movements and social-movement organizations, see my Pathways to Re-Creating Religious Communities (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1996), chap. 4. 4 See Elizabeth Rapley, The D~votes: Women and Church in Seventeenth Review for Religious Century France (Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press, 1990), and Anne Taves, The Household of Faith: Roman Catholic Devotions in Nineteenth Century America (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1986), for these waves of devotionalism. s My own congregation has individual sisters--of whom I am extremely proud--deeply involved in all of these activities. 6 Or maybe not so famous--the citation refers to a line from Moli~re's comedy Le bourgeois gentilhomme, in which a nouveau riche man is being tutored in literature and discovers that he has been speak-ing prose all of his life without knowing it. 7 See, e.g., Rodney Stark and Roger Finke, Acts of Faith: Explaining the Human Side of Religion (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), chap. 7. 8 According to the Nygren and Ukeritis study, mission identity is the principal variable influencing a congregation's success (see pp. 97-98). 9 Several religious families have known this instinctively. For exam-ple, my own Vincentian tradition includes, not only the Congregation of the Mission, the Daughters of Charity, and the various Sister of Charity Federation congregations, but also the St. Vincent de Paul Society, the Ladies of Charity, Vincentian Marian Youth, the Association of the Miraculous Medal, and the Missionary Cenacle, all of which are move-ment organizations of nonvowed laypersons. Similarly the Salesian family includes, not only the Salesian priests and Visitation nuns, but other vowed religious such as the Sisters of Mary Help of Christians, the Missionaries of St. Francis, the Salesian Missionaries of Mary Immaculate, and the Oblate Sisters of St. Francis de Sales, plus lay groups such as the Association of St. Francis de Sales and the Oblates of St. Francis de Sales. to I am not referring here to societies of apostolic life like the Daughters of Charity, who make annual vows, but rather to including an option for temporary membership in congregations whose members are now expected to make perpetual vows. Moreover, even among the Daughters of Charity, there is the assumption that one's annual vows are really for life. ~' According to the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate (CARA), Emerging Communities of Consecrated Life in the United States (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 2006, p. 16), ten of the twelve most rapidly growing new indigenous emerging communities in the U.S. are mixed communities with some, or all, lay members. t2 CAP, A, Emerging Communities, p. 16. 377 68.4 2009 Wittberg ¯ Opening a New V~ndow ,3 Wittberg, Pathways, pp. 80-85. ,4 The above-mentioned St. Joseph of Arimithea Society seems to operate through "franchises"--the Cleveland and Louisville chapters appear to be separate from each other. Many.other groups enlisting high school or college students operate similarly. A Sampler of Potential (and Actual) Religious SMOs 1. "Franchised" Youth Groups (local school chapters, perhaps with a national headquarters supplying materials or training) a. Volunteers supporting a local soup kitchen b. A high school or college centering-prayer group c. Group spiritual direction, big brother/sister spiritual mentoring d. Adoration societies, sodalities 2. Ministry Groups (non-age-specific, perhaps linked nationally in a network or association) a. Supporting crisis pregnancies b. Companioning the dying c. Running a women's shelter d. Strengthening marriages 3. Spirituality Groups (may have a centralized head-quarters and/or a youth branch - see #1, above) a. Devotion to a particular saint b. Performance of a particular spiritual practice (Eucharistic adoration, centering prayer, pilgrimages) c. Spiritual mentoring, group spiritual direction 4. Lifestyle Groups a, Simple living b. Intentional communities c. Peace and reconciliation Review for Retigious WILLIAM P. CLARK Revisiting Religious Identity mnthe years following the Second Vatican Council, uch attention was focused on changes in religious life. Much writing and much effort have been directed toward rethinking or reimaging religious life. In light of all that, one might be tempted to say "Enough already!" An old saying has it that familiarity breeds contempt. Familiarity can also breed complacency and neglect. It might be good, then, to look once again at what it means to be a religious, to reflect on our religious iden-tity. Besides the decree on the renewal of religious life, Perfectae caritatis, Vatican Council II also spoke of the role of religious in Lumen gentium, the dogmatic con-stitution on the church. In chapter 6, §44, we read that the religious state "manifests in a special way that the kingdom of God and its high requirements transcend all earthly considerations, bringing home to all people William P. Clark OMI, longtime teacher and administrator, lives at St, Henry's Oblate Residence; 200 North 60th Street; Belleville, Illinois 62223. 379 68.4 2009 Clark ¯ Revisiting Religious Identity the immeasurable greatness of the power of Christ in his sovereignty and the infinite might of the Holy Spirit marvelously working in the church.'" The council is simply saying religious life gives special witness that, above and beyond earthly values, there is something we call the kingdom of God. While religious life's characteristic witness is spe-cial, it is not exclusive. It is the duty of all Christians to give witness to the kingdom of God. All Christians, be they lay or religious, are committed to living out their baptismal consecration. Emphasis on the common voca-tion of all Christians highlights what is of fundamental importance, the fullness of Christian life informed by charity. That emphasis also counteracts any tendency to draw unfavorable comparisons between the lay and religious states, as though laypersons are somehow sec-ond- class citizens or "children of a lesser God." That broad emphasis on all Christian life is rooted in the most ancient tradition of monasticism. In his masterful study The Spirituality of the New Testament and the Fathers, Louis Bouyer finds certain constants in the literature of monasticism. He affirms them because they were some-what obscured by later developments. One such insight is that the primitive monk did not appear special. Whether by himself or others, his vocation was not considered par-ticular or exceptional. The monk was simply a Christian, a devout layperson who took the most radical means to live the Christian life to the fullest. The monk proposed no other end than to be saved. All his life, the monk asked for no other teaching from his elders than the means of attaining that goal. His fundamental and persistent ques-tion was: "Tell me. How can I be saved?" Two points need emphasis. First, holiness, the fullness of Christian life, is not something reserved Review for Religious to religious, while laypersons are called to something less. Second, religious are to focus on the essential, on the search for union with God, and not see holi-ness as something incidental or distinctive which sets them apart from "ordinary" Christians. Fundamental to religious identity is one's identity as a Christian. It is the fullness of the Christian experience that constitutes Christian identity. There are three major elements in the Christian expe-rience. The first is not distinctively Christian. It is the human preamble. It consists in discovering that human happiness and fulfillment are not brought about by tak-ing. We all start out that way, looking for that certain something or combination of things which, if we could only latch on to it and make it our own, would provide fulfillment. The Christian experience becomes possible once we realize that what we really seek is something or someone to give ourselves to, something or someone greater and nobler than ourself. It is a search for some-thing or someone that will endow our life with meaning and purpose. Finding that something or someone is the beginning of faith as a lived reality. It becomes the basis of all commitment worthy of the name. The second element makes the experience specifi-cally Christian. It consists in finding that greater-than-self reality in the person of Jesus Christ. It is finding in his words meaning for our life. It is finding in his life the pattern and model for our own. The third element is the desire to share what we have found. We want others to find the meaning and purpose that have become our own. We want to live out this meaning and purpose in love for one another. The full Christian experience, then, is apostolic and missionary. 381 68.4 2009 Clark * Revisiting Reli#ous Identity 382 If this Christian experience is not real in our lives, no amount of theorizing about what it is or should be will ever make it so. Furthermore, theorizing will not help much in our lives as religious. If the Christian experience is real, it can be progressively liberating, freeing from all those attitudes of mind and spirit that limit us to operating within the narrow confines of self-ish interests. Like all Christians, religious are to give witness by their lives to the possibilities open to everyone for liber-ation from enslaving attitudes like inordinate ambition, defensiveness, possessiveness, self-pity, and cynicism. The life of religious should also be an active witness to joy, to hope, and to love. The call to the fullness of Christian life and to the perfection of charity seems so daunting that peo-ple often try to evade its challenge. In doing so, lay-persons sometimes say that holiness is something for religious and priests, not for "ordinary" persons like themselves. Likewise, religious sometimes find a type of escape through dependence on the system. Religious life involves a kind of system that includes public vows, constitutions and rules, and a goodly number of prac-tices found in the traditions of various religious insti-tutes. We might think just plugging into the system will make us as holy as we need to be. It is easy to just coast along. All too easily we can come to rate as virtue whatever is conformable to our religious surroundings. Custom and routine can so enslave us as to dispense us from personal decision. Of course, custom and routine, as well as the regular practices and exercises of religious life, are also great helps--if we understand and use them righdy. They do not, however, carry us all the way. They reflect the fact Review for Religious that in choosing to be religious we have set the direction of our lives. But they do not guarantee we never lose that direction. The need for ongoing renewal is simply the need to reaffirm, to reset our direction. The human condition is such that nothing can be taken for granted except the constancy of God's grace, of his invitation. Another point on which the council spoke explic-itly is religious consecration. Everyone of the faithful is consecrated to the divine service by baptism. Clearly, in various contexts the word "consecration" has various meanings, causing difficulties to be raised about how this idea applies to religious. In address-ing those difficulties, the council begins by relating religious con-secration to baptism. Religious consecra-tion adds nothing to the baptism's sacramental character. It is, however, in the line of baptismal grace. That grace can be lived in varying degrees of intimacy. The coun-cil speaks of religious as being "more intimately conse-crated to the divine service." That phrase is significant. It does not say "more strictly" or anything that might seem to emphasize some form of legal obligation. What the council points out by those words is that baptismal consecration can be interiorized to a greater or lesser extent by grace and by love. Ultimately, the truth of every Christian life consists in one's baptismal consecration. But God calls people to live out that consecration in different ways. For religious The call to the fullness of Christian life and to the perfection of charity seems so daunting that people often try to evade its challenge. 68.4 2009 Clark ¯ Revisiting Religious Identity the call to God's service is more explicitly determined. It takes on a particular form or style. To put that a bit differently, for religious the vital response called for by God's loving initiative is made concrete in a specific and distinctive way. By making a certain explicit profession of the evan-gelical counsels, persons technically become religious. The purpose of such profession is to commit ourselves more explicitly and more profoundly to living our bap-tismal consecration. At one time religious profession was commonly called "a new baptism" in homilies at profession ceremonies. In those days it was not always adequately explained. The council statements revitalized and clarified that idea. In reflecting on religious consecration, it is important to realize that such consecration is the work of God. Virtually every page of Scripture speaks of God's initiative in regard to creatures. Jesus told his disciples: "You have not chosen me. I have chosen you." Passages like that have a particular resonance for religious. It is God who calls religious and consecrates them through the church's ministry. Because it is God's work, religious consecration is permanent. God's choice and God's fidelity are unchanging. God is constant in the grace he offers, in his call. Our challenge is to keep trying to respond generously to that call. Religious consecration represents a special instance of the mysterious interaction between grace and human freedom. Obviously it is essential that those consecrat-ing themselves to God's service be free. At the same time we must recognize that the consecration is ulti-mately God's work. Religious profession has never been considered a sacrament by the church. In recent years many things have been referred to as "sacraments," in a broad sense Review for Religiot~s of the word. In the strict sense, religious profession is not a sacrament. That does not mean, however, that religious profession has no reality beyond the disposi-tion and conduct of the subject. Religious consecration is something accorded to free persons precisely as free. To be received, the consecra-tion requires a personal response to God's call. That response includes certain characteristics. It must be sufficiently enlightened, conscious, and free. A person's intention and the vows which formulate that intention are eminently free acts. Conversely, when the church dispenses from vows, she judges that in reality there was some impediment to freedom in the original profes-sion, something lacking in what was offered for divine consecration. The fact that religious consecra-tion is not a sacrament does not mean nothing more is involved than the liberty of the one making vows. On God's part the engagement is indefectible. A vocation consists in a person's being called to a cer-tain manner of life. Each vocation has its own structure and laws. Those laws are not to be understood as some-thing imposed from the outside. They derive from the very nature of the life in question. To ignore structure and laws proper to religious life would be to think of reli-gious life as funny putty which can take on any shape one gives it. History shows significant variations in the forms of religious life. But, in the last analysis, that life must always be directly related to what is most fundamental in Christianity, the search for God and growth in charity. A vocation consists in a person's being called to a certain manner of life. 68.4 2009 Clark * Revisiting Religious Identity In the Christian understanding of life, the goal is progress in charity. Jesus made it clear that love of God and love of neighbor sum up the whole law. Love gives ultimate value to what we do. That is why religious con-secration is wholly directed towards love of God and neighbor. It is precisely that love which gives the value of consecration to the activity of the religious. The idea that one's activities must continuously be animated by charity is certainly not new. We have heard it countless times in one form or another. Nor is it distinctive. It is true for everyone. By religious profession we are committed to that goal more explicitly, more officially, as it were. On the part of religious, the consecration of one's life consists in using distinctive means for achieving the common Christian goal of progress in charity. My cir-cumstances, my state of life, determine the means that are most appropriate for me. Jacques Maritain offered an excellent definition of means. He said means are the end in the process of coming to be. Thus, at each moment of our journey toward the perfection of love, we make that end real by employing the appropriate means, Perhaps we should emphasize the word "journey." While we hope we are on the right road and we try to keep moving in the right direction, we never reach the end, the perfection of love, in this life. Another way to put that is to say that holiness is not so much a place we arrive as it is the way we travel. Consciousness of our shortcomings and failures makes us reluctant to think of ourselves as holy. A num-ber of years ago Archbishop John Roach of St. Paul, in a pastoral letter on spirituality titled A Friendship Unlimited, offered a valuable insight in this regard. He wrote: "It's a funny thing, but for years I couldn't imag- Review for Religious ine thinking of myself as holy. I was equating holiness with perfection, and I knew I simply didn't have that. It is clear to me now that holiness is the desire to be a friend of Jesus Christ and to surrender my will to God. I may stumble along with that. I have so far--but, so long as I continue a sincere effort toward that goal, I am holy." It might help also to remind ourselves of one charac-teristic of holiness that is often overlooked. It is compat-ible with human frailty. Many stories and most statues of saints give a wrong impression, an impression of otherworldliness that obscures the fact that those saints were real human beings with human faults and weak-nesses. Examples are plentiful. St. Augustine was given to rages. St. Thtr~se of Lisieux had bouts of depression. St. Vincent de Paul, the great saint of charity, was said to be bilious and subject to fits of anger. St. Jerome was aggressive and insulting to persons who disagreed with him. In fact, one of his contemporaries said of Jerome that his malice was such that no saint could live within miles of him. The secret of all of those people is that they never gave up struggling and working to overcome their human weaknesses. They knew what counts is not the triumphant victory of total perfection, but persevering effort. Teresa of Avila said we should strive and strive and strive, for we were made for nothing else. She was right, of course, but the way she said it makes it sound hard. And it is a constant challenge. We cannot gloss over that. But I like the way T.S. Eliot put it when he said: "We are only undefeated because we keep 6n trying." In question 186 of the Secunda Secundae of his Summa Theologiae, St. Thomas treats of things that per-tain to the religious state. He speaks at length of the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience and argues their ,387 68.4 2009 Clark ¯ Revisiting Religious Identity necessity for religious perfection. He points out that "a person cannot offer his whole life to God directly because that life is not lived all at once, but only suc-cessively. Hence, a person can only offer his whole life to God through the obligation imposed by vows" (my translation). Thus, our real challenge is not the perfor-mance of heroic acts, however beautiful, however noble, for every human act is by nature transitory. Our real challenge is the heroism of a whole life, offered to God without measure, without reservation, without regret. This is done through religious consecration, through the vows. And in this the entire person, mind and heart, must be involved and permanently involved. Note ' The Vatican translation and the revised Flannery translation, melded. See Lumen gentium, chapter 6, §44: "Regni Dei denique super omnia terrestria elevationem eiusque summas necessitudines peculiari modo patefacit [status religiosus]; supereminentem quoque magnitudi-nem virtutis Christi regnantis atque infinitam Spiritus Sancti potentiam in Ecclesia mirabiliter operantem, cunctis hominibus demonstrat." Ed. 388 Questions for Personal and Group Reflection If religious sisters and brothers are identified with the laity, how do you claim their special religious identity? 2. Has Clark been helpful in underlining aspects of religious identity that distinguish religious life for priests, sisters, and brothers? Would you want to add or subtract anything? Review for Religious LEO J. HERIOT Encounters Early and Late: John Bosco and Paul Saul was present at the stoning of the lov-able Stephen, and perhaps this increased the Pharisee's desire for Christian blood. Fernand Prat says, "Not content with being present at the torture of the victims, he entered into houses and dragged out the inmates, both men and women, to hale them to the dungeons."' Saul set out on the trail of Christians not to evangelize them but in pursuit of them to bring them to what he thought was justice. He had asked the priests to give him the offi-cial mission to seek out Jesus' disciples in the synagogue of Damascus and drag them before the Sanhedrin. In the Acts of the Apostles we have three accounts of the vision on the way to Damascus (9:1-19; 22:3-21; 26:12-20). It is Luke who makes the first announcement of Leo J. Heriot SDB wrote for us about Margaret Bosco in 2007. His address is now Don Bosco House; PMB Government Buildings; Suva, Fiji-Islands. exemplars of faith 389 68.4 2009 Heriot ¯ Encounters Early and Late this event; later we hear Paul giving his own account. The accounts agree on the important points: the occa-sion, the place, the time of day, the dazzling light, Saul's fall to the ground, his dialogue with the mysterious voice, his blindness, the return of his sight, and the total change in his life. From being a firebrand of a persecutor, he became a sower of the Good News of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. The whole change of his behavior, his heeding of the strong voice's words, and his subsequent dedica-tion to a new cause make us aware that he was not led by fanaticism or goaded on by personal ambition. Jesus Christ seized him, pulled him close to himself. From the accounts of this conversion, nothing presaged it, noth-ing hinted that the fierce Pharisee would change regard-ing this person Jesus Christ, changing and becoming a disciple of Jesus and a preeminent apostle. Looking at this conversion, one gets the impression that it is beyond human explanation. It would be folly to try to find some simple plausible human causality. Pauline theology gives pride of place to the empow-erment of grace, and Saul was certainly under the influence of grace. It is not possible to explain this con-version apart from divine grace. Paul helps us with these assertions from his writings: "Have I not seen Jesus, our Lord?" (1 Co 9:1). "Last of all, as one untimely born, he appeared also to me" (1 Co 15:8). Grace found in this man fertile soil that would produce a great extension of the stoW of Jesus, a stoW that would make people aware of the immense, unfolding gift God gave to Saul and to the world on Saul's way to Damascus. Saul's encounter with the risen Lord as he sought to obliterate that Lord's message had a huge influence on him. One of the Apostle's boldest and most profound Review for Religious teachings was that of Christians' being incorporated into Christ's mystical body. For this Pharisee, Paul, Christ becomes all in all; Christ becomes everything. This idea is contained in seminal form in the question Jesus puts to the blinded Saul: "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?" (Ac 9:4). Paul was not attacking Jesus directly; he was defending his Pharisaism by trying to prevent Jews from falling into the ways of this crucified "reformer" of Judaism. In Saul's conversion God's grace is evident, work-ing a transformation immediately. It is like the blinding flash of light. The extraordinary illumination appar-ently brought about Saul's immediate com-pliance with Jesus' words and his swift transformation into a disciple and apostle. The stunned Saul changed his course once and for all. He found himself in a new world, a world almost alien to the life he had lived until then. Paul was overwhelmed by a new faith, a belief in the person of Jesus Christ as his Lord and master. He began a new and demanding life that only a strong and deep faith and love could sustain. He expresses that faith in his Letters to the Galatians and the Romans, an active faith that revolutionizes the whole person and alters the direction of people's lives. From the moment of his conversion the gaze of Saul is riveted on the person of Jesus Christ. We would go too far, however, if we reduced Paul's life to the moment One of the Apostle's boldest and most profound teachings was that of Christians" being incorporated into Christ's mystical body. 391 68.4 2009 Heriot ¯ Encounters Early and Late of his conversion. His continuing deep reflection on the mystery of God's love strengthened him as he went about his apostolic life. Our beliefs, too, are not simply the result of our reading or reflection, but come from God's communication with us, often in the quiet con-templation of a Divine Master stretching out his hand to us and telling us to find him in our contemplative awareness of others and ourselves. 392f The Boy from Becchi, Another Man of Zeal In an audience on 21 March 1858, Pope Pius IX, now Blessed, told the priest from Turin: "When you get back to Turin, Don Bosco, you write down these dreams and everything else you have told me, minutely, and in their natural sense. Save all this as a legacy for your Congregation so that it may serve as an encouragement and norm for your Sons.''2 After nine years this same pope questioned him once again. Don Bosco's reply was "I truthfully lacked the time. I was so taken with [any number of things]." The pope said, "Well then, I not only advise you, but order you to do it." Don Bosco promised to write down his early experiences, and he kept his word.3 In his poor handwriting Don Bosco scrawled out his first dream. "At the age of nine I had a dream that really changed my life and influenced me throughout my life. I dreamed I was near my house at Becchi, and a crowd of young boys had gathered there to have fun and play games. Some were playing, some were laughing, and not a few were cursing. Shocked by their expres-sions, I jumped in among the boys, swinging wildly and shouting at them to stop saying those things. At that moment a Person appeared among us. He was dressed in a long white robe, and his face radiated such light Review for Religious that I could not look at it. Suddenly he called me by name. 'Giovanni, you have to win these boys not by blows but with gendeness and kindness (bont~). So begin right now to show them that evil is ugly and virtue is beautiful.'" Although these words confused him, this little boy, nine years old in 1824, was being commissioned for God's work. He said, "I am so small and these are young men. What you are asking me to do seems to be impos-sible." But he was told: "What seems so impossible, you must achieve by being obedient and acquiring knowledge." The boy shouted, "You ask me to do the impossible!" The voice said, "I will give you a teacher under whose guid-ance you will learn and without whose help all knowl-edge becomes foolishness." Beside this Person stood the Lady to whom young Bosco's mother had taught him to pray regularly. The Lady, taking his hand, said, "Giovanni, look carefully. What do you see?" The crowd of boys was changed into goats, dogs, cats, bears, and various other animals. The Lady of his dream said to him, startlingly: "This is your field of labor." Then she gave him a one-word recipe for getting these boys to improve: "amorevolezza" (loving concern). The wild animals disappeared, having been turned into sheep. The Lady then told him, "In due time you will understand," and with that she put her hand on his head. At table for morning coffee he told his family about his dream. Each one said something different. His "At the age of nine I had a dream that really changed my life and influenced me throughout my life." 393 68.4 2009 Heriot * Encounters Early and Late brother Joseph said, "Oh, Giovanni, you are going to become a farmer looking after sheep and goats, caring for them." His brother Anthony said, "Oh, Giovanni, you are going to become the leader of a gang of ban-dits!" After other such remarks, their wise old grand-mother said in an authoritarian tone: "Giovanni, take no notice of dreams." And Mama Margaret said con-vincingly, "Prepare yourself, Giovanni, for your future apostolate." This, then, is what Pope Pius IX referred to in 1858 when he told Don Bosco: "This is the begin-ning and the foundation of your work. Give this dream to your Congregation and make it a part of their life." On the road to Damascus, Paul was astonished by the voice that changed his life. It had the power to change his life and send him on a new mission. While any comparison of nine-year-old John Bosco's dream to Paul's experience near Damascus would be lopsided, we may remind ourselves that both of them were impelled into a new life, a new apostolate, by mysterious expe-riences beyond usual explanation. Are there not many other divinely wondrous experiences as well? Why not keep them in mind? Notes ~ Fernand Prat, The Theology of St. Paul (London: Burns and Oates, 1964), p. 25. 2 The Biographical Memoirs ofSaintJohn Bosco, ed. Eugene Ceria SDB (New Rochelle, New York: Salesiana Publishers, 1980), vol. 5, p. 577. 3 Ceria, Biographical Memoirs, vol. 1. pp. 95-96. Review for Religious HILDA KLEIMAN On Hilda of Whitby ~ah~na tIr oennt eorre da tfheea msto dnaayst.e Ir yw, Ia hs ando nt orta cisheodse an Catholic, and I was not named after a saint, though I had a lovely name. After I entered, the prioress asked me to choose a patron, and I chose St. Hilda of Whitby. Initially I hesitated to choose her because, generally speaking, we do not know much about her. We know when she was born and died, where she lived, and some of the activities she pursued, activities for which she was well known and respected. But we know little about her character, her spirit, or her inner life. How did the tone of a gathering change when she walked into a room? How did she regard those whose lives and souls were entrusted to her care? Was her glance warm or cool? Did she have a glint in her eye? Answers to these ques-tions seemed permanently unavailable. A few months after I entered my community, I attended a concert given by Festival Chorale Oregon, Hilda Kleiman OSB writes from Queen of Angels Monastery; 840 S. Main Street; Mt. Angel, Oregon 97362. Email: ajkjune@juno.com 68.4 2009 Kleiman ¯ On Hilda of Wbitby a local, award-winning choir directed by Dr. Solveig Holmquist. I had been a student in her college choir for three years at Western Oregon University. I was excited to see her again, even from a distance, even from the back as she conducted the choir. When she entered the concert hall, she was as I had remembered--not tall or physically imposing, yet filled with a presence that shot through her spiky hair, her sharp eyes, and her earrings and many bracelets. I saw a woman in full possession of herself and the situation at hand. She stood before the choir and the orchestra, and they knew what to do sim-ply by the movements of her hands and a thin baton. I remembered standing before her with my eyes on every move she made. In every gesture, every expression, she embodied musician and conductor. She made the vocalists and musicians one as we let her lead us--as, with our minds but also our hearts, we let her be our breath to the very last note. When Dr. Holmquist arrived at Western, she had clearly learned how to draw people together. Shortly after being hired, she was told there were no students at Western who could really sing. Given that this was untrue, and even uncharitable, Dr. Holmquist did not listen. She simply set up a table at the activities fair at the beginning of the school year and started signing students up for auditions. By the end of the year, she had set the choral music program on its feet, doubling the size of the choir, planning tours, and establishing a student-led choir council. I began to see that music was Dr. Holmquist's life, and part of that life was invit-ing the rest of us into the music in whatever way was appropriate for each of us. I loved her for it, and I still do. Though I do not think I would have used the word at the time, I see now Review for Religious that what I received from Dr. Holmquist was a deep and vigorous image of vocation. I have no doubt that through the music she is doing what God created her to do. Shortly before I graduated, I tried to say as much to her. In her office one morning, I described what I saw in her. I said I was not a born musician like her, but rather a writer and a reader, and I was looking for my own purpose in life. The day I attended the Festival Chorale concert was November 17th, the feast day of St. Hilda, and the first time I observed her feast day as my own. As I watched and remembered Dr. Holmquist, some of the reasons why I choose Hilda began to emerge. It was not about wanting to be an abbess as Hilda was, any more than it was about wanting to be a cho- , ral conductor. It was not about imitation in such a specific sense, but about living in the presence of someone who could play a part in calling me to be who I am supposed to be and to do what I am meant to do. It was about the profound effect just one person who is living her vocation may have on those around her. If I imagined myself as a member of Hilda's monastery, much as I had been a member of Dr. Holmquist's choir, what could I learn about who I am supposed to be here and now? It was about the profound effect just one person who is living her vocation may have on those around her. 397 The Venerable Bede, an English monk and writer of the 8th century, is our sole source of historical infor- 68.4 2009 Kleiman ¯ On Hilda of Wbitby marion on Hilda. After serving as the abbess of several monasteries, she established at Whitby a double monas-tery, a community of monks and nuns. In his history of the English church, Bede tells us she taught those within her community to study the Scriptures thoroughly, to observe good works, and to foster many virtues, "but especially peace and charity." In part, the influence of her goodness was seen in the five outstanding men from her monastery who became bishops. In addition to her own monks and nuns, others from all walks of society sought her direction. In this way Hilda, "whom all her acquaintances called Mother because of her wonderful devotion and grace," guided many people to God along the path of their particular gifts and circumstances. Bede also gives us the story of Caedmon, a shy sheep-herder whom "God's grace made remarkable." One night Caedmon received a vision from God in which a man asked him to compose and sing him a song. Caedmon answered that he could not sing, and the man replied "But you shall sing to me," and he did, thus becom-ing the first poet of the English language. When Hilda learned of Caedmon's gift, she invited him to become a monk and be instructed in sacred history, which he then rendered into beautiful music and poetry. Caedmon soon became not just a poet but a disciplined and beloved member of the community as well. At his death he asked if there were any who held any ill will against him, and he was assured that there was not. When then asked if he was at peace with those attending him, he replied, "I am at peace with all the servants of God." Among well-known events of church history, Whitby is known as the site of the synod in 664 at which the controversy between the Celtic and Roman dates for observing Easter was resolved. The problem disturbed Review for Religious many people, Bede tells us, even to the point that they feared "that they might have received the name Christian in vain." Those arguing for the Roman date were victo-rious, yet Bede describes Hilda and her community as favoring the Celtic practice. While he tells us the results of the synod, Bede does not describe Hilda's response to the decision. We do not know if in the end she was saddened, relieved, or pleased. From what we do know about her leadership, however, we can perhaps assume that many looked to Hilda for guidance as to how they should respond to this decision. We can see the great respect she had for the Scriptures and the wisdom of the church. We can see that she taught those around her to be of service in all peace and charity. Even as she neared her death, she urged those in her monastery to "maintain the gospel peace among themselves and with others." I imagine that Hilda had a profound sense of perspective, of knowing, in the end, which beliefs and practices held priority. Unity within the church mat-tered more than any particular date, and gracious accep-tance of the decision of the synod mattered more than the content of the arguments. I was aware of St. Hilda before I was a Catholic because I attended St. Hilda's Episcopal Church for sev-eral years during high school and college. St. Hilda's is a small community; the church holds perhaps fifty peo-ple on a Sunday. I met the vicar, Noel Knelange, when I first arrived, and about a year later Noel's husband Bill was ordained a deacon. I attended the ordination and sang in the choir, helping to lead the congregation out of the church singing "The King's Highway" for the recessional. During the service I was taken aback 399 68.4 2009 Kleiman ¯ On Hilda of Whitby Bill's ordination gave me the image of dedicating one's life to God alone, and Noel, bluntly and without~ pretense; connected ~that image, to me, 400] by the beauty of the liturgy and the fact that Bill was grounding his life and identity in his faith. Somehow God wanted him. God wanted exactly who Bill was, a middle-aged man, a deaf man deeply involved with the deaf community of the diocese, a man who loved to fish so much that during the homily the bishop gave him a new fishing pole, now that he would be a fisher of men. Afterwards, during the reception in the parish hall, I was standing near Bill and Noel, probably eating a cookie, when Noel turned to me and said, "Well, you could do this too you know!" What? I did not want to be a deacon or a priest. I did not understand why she said that, and we never talked about it later. I forgot about Noel's words until after I had become a Catholic and been a member of the Benedictine Sisters of Mt. Angel, Oregon, for several years--even though I had often wondered when the thought of becoming a nun first came to me. Bill's ordination gave me the image of dedicating one's life to God alone, and Noel, bluntly and without pretense, connected that image to me. The seed of the idea of staking everything on "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen," as we read in the Letter to the Hebrews, was planted and would take root in ways I never suspected. Just a few years Review for Religious later, I was led to the Catholic Church, to a Benedictine monastery, and to a surprising new relationship with St. Hilda, a relationship reflected in women like Solveig Holmquist and Noel Knelange. Regardless of whether they were aware of all the details, they could and would change the course of a life in a single breath, with a single word. The name Hilda comes from the Old English and means "Battle Maiden," a fact I learned only after I received the official word from .the prioress that I could take Hilda as my new name at my final profession. I took to the image of the Battle Maiden immediately--the tension between toughness and gentleness, knowledge and innocence, between what we think we know and what we in fact do not, a tension not to be resolved but used as ingeniously as possible until the day of death. Other people have taken to my choice of the name Hilda, to the "Batde Maiden" too. "Battle on, maiden!" says my mom before she hangs up the phone. After ask-ing me to explain the meaning of Hilda to my class-mates, one of my seminary professors warns that "from now on, you gendemen better look out!" The best, how-ever, is my friend Ania. With her I have established The Society of Honorary Battle Maidens. We have taken as our charter the words of St. Paul to the Corinthians: "But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, to show that the transcendent power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed, perplexed, but not driven to despair, persecuted, but not forsaken, struck down, but not destroyed, always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies." To bet- 401 68.4 2009 Kleiman ¯ On Hilda of Wbitby ter understand our society, I have listed qualities of the Battle Maiden, which include the following and will surely be added to as I ponder this further: ¯ A persistent love, grounded in the love of God that pursues us without end. She can keep extending her love for other people, regardless of how they respond, if at all. If she feels hurt by this, she takes it to mean that her efforts were not the most gracious way to love this particular person, and it is time to try something else. She is intelligent, so her persistence does not suggest beating her head against a wall, but rather keeping her wits about her and being willing, always willing, to try again. ¯ The beginning of an understanding of the fourth step of humility in the Rule of St. Benedict: "The fourth step of humility is that, in this obedience under diffi-cult, unfavorable, or even unjust conditions, his [or her] heart quietly embraces suffering and endures it without weakening or seeking escape." She does not, in the end, resent that this step asks her to endure injustice, even contradiction, for the sake of the God she loves. She accepts that sometimes such endurance will require her to speak her mind, to name what is difficult, recognizing that endurance can be more than just waiting for the bad to run its course. Bravery of heart becomes part of her core. She understands that false sisters and broth-ers (and are not we all false and contradictory at one time or another) are part of reality; to deny this is of no use to anyone. She uses their words and actions to strengthen her reliance on the Lord so that it remains possible for her to pray for her enemies. ¯ An enduring kindness that she tries to exercise in any situation, par.ticularly in her words. At times, she may manifest her kindness in ways that are more tra- Review for Religious ditionally recognized as kindness--offering to lend a hand in household tasks, greeting guests with courtesy and assisting them in their needs, acknowledging the accomplishments of others with a sincere compliment. Kindness, however, is also needed in more challenging situations. It is a kindness to try to change the sub-ject when she hears murmuring or gossip about some-one who is not present. It is a kindness to walk away and not participate even by listening when this tactic fails, perhaps biting back the words rising in her throat that she would like to put everyone in their place with. Kindness calls her to address only in private any embar-rassing situations that involve another person, so as not to worsen the pain her words would likely cause if spo-ken publicly. To enjoy membership in The Society of Honorary Battle Maidens, you and I do not need to be in full possession of these qualities. We do need, however, to recognize their worth and strive to live with their inher-ent tensions, tensions that in the end are simply the tensions of the cross. Image Bearer One of a kind, Here for a reason, Plucked from the mire, Now wearing white, Bearing His likeness, I am immortal, A soul crafted By the Holy. Teresa Burleson 403 68.4 2009 Vv'ILLIAM PROSPERO World Youth Day and Religious Life sharing experience 40_4] Many vocation directors will confirm that a substantial number of candidates for seminar-ies and institutes of consecrated life consider a World Youth Day (WYD) experience to have been an important part of their discernment. Many candidates say they first thought seri-ously about religious life or the priesthood while on a WYD pilgrimage. What is it about WYD that promotes consecrated life? Sister Joseph Andrew, of the Dominican Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist, asked me to speak about this very topic at a recent discernment retreat at the motherhouse in Ann Arbor. No less than a hundred 'thirty young women attended. When I asked how many had been to WYD, about one third raised their hands. The main reason for "only" a third, I William Prospero SJ is pastor of St. Mary's University Parish (on the campus of Central Michigan University); 1405 South Washington; Mount Pleasant, Michigan 48858. Emaih will.prospero@stmarycmu.org Review for Religious believe, is that most of them were too young to have attended any other WYD than the one in 2008 in Sydney, Australia. Sydney did not draw huge numbers from the United States because of the travel cost. Nonetheless, many of the young women present had managed to attend that WYD. I believe there are several reasons why WYD pro-motes consecrated life and priesthood. Though I do not have any statistical analysis to prove my points, I have a wealth of experience assisting young WYD pil-grims in their discernment about consecrated life or priesthood. I have attended four WYDs: Denver (1993), Toronto (2002), Cologne (2005), and Sydney (2008). I have served as a priest on the last three. I have wit-nessed more than ten pilgrims enter religious life or the seminary. The main reason, I believe, for the wealth of WYD vocations is that WYD gives a taste of life as a conse-crated person. Pilgrims experience about two weeks of consecrated living. WYD provides a veritable "trial run" of living the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. In. living the vows on WYD, pilgrims experience the intense joy of the universal church gathered around the pope. They make the connection that living as a religious could be enjoyable and meaningful. The possibility of consecrated vocation becomes real for the first time in many pilgrims' lives. Pilgrims experience poverty the first day of com-mitting to go on WYD. They realize that the costs can be high. As I began recruiting for Sydney, I recall sev-eral students resisting, sa.ying $2,850 was too costly. My response was: "Do you want to go? Has God put this desire in your heart? If so, then commit and the money will come. I promise. And, if not, I will personally cover 405 68.4 2OO9 Prospero ¯ World Youth Day and Religious Life Trusting God for material needs is a tangible experience of religious poverty. 406 whatever you can't. But you must promise you will com-mit to this and try your best to raise the funds. I prom-ise you, God will provide." Every pilgrim had enough funds. On four WYDs I have never met a pilgrim who fell short of funds. For the 2008 WYD in Sydney, we took seventy pilgrims from the Diocese of Saginaw, each paying $2,850. There are stories of pilgrims finding funds flow-ing in from fund-raisers and from the most unexpected sources. Trusting God for material needs is a tangible experience of reli-gious poverty: God provides. Pilgrims trust him, and all works out. From the beginning, they learn that those who commit to a reli-gious pilgrimage are cared for by God. They learn this throughout WYD, beginning with their first moment of commitment. Poverty finds many manifestations, usually very inconvenient ones. As the pilgrimage officially begins, I speak of the "great ball of suffering" that one endures on WYD. For some reason, chaos and inconvenience reign. This makes trusting God mandatory, not optional. For example, because of delayed flights, our travel time from our departure to our host parish in Kiama, south of Sydney, was thirty-eight hours. And the last two hours were in a bus with a broken heater (it was winter there) while rain and forty Fahrenheit degrees of damp cold were welcoming us. These horrendous situations created the proper spirit in which to celebrate Mass, Revie;v for Religious namely, our sense of spiritual and actual poverty: "We are not in control!" Having celebrated Mass at a crowded boarding gate in the Los Angeles airport (LAX), we found special meaning in celebrating Mass again, hungry and cold, at the very end of our trip. I was reminded of the four thousand hungry and tired people in Mark 6:1-8 who were worn out from their journey, so Jesus fed them. It was as if Jesus intentionally brought the people out to a deserted place to experience their poverty and to see and taste the goodness of God. Poverty makes pilgrims hungry for Jesus. Another example of poverty happened at the Papal Welcome at Sydney's harbor. Afterwards we were hun-gry and cold. Several pilgrims collected our chits or tickets and got our meals, bags of hot stew (option: beef or pork). After getting the same victuals several days in a row, pilgrims were cheerfully dubbing them "barf bags." Our meals were being eaten on the ground or on cement blocks or wherever we could prop ourselves up. One night, however, several alert pilgrims found some plastic chairs and brought enough over for the group of seventy to sit. We could sit and eat! We were so grate-ful. I cannot recall ever feeling so grateful for having a chair to sit on. This is what WYD does: it makes the ordinary into a gift from God. Once one begins to see that everything, everything, is a gift, then one can start living a radical Christian life. So the gift of sitting, eat-ing, enjoying each other's company, and basking in the reality that we just saw in person the Vicar of Christ, all add up to an explosive experience of the joys of the kingdom. Poverty makes human experience more real, and opens us to the true value of community. How sim-ple and uncomplicated it all is. 407 68.4 2009 Prospero ¯ Worm Youth Day and Religious Life Over and over one witnesses pilgrims making sacrifices for the sake of the group. 4081 If pilgrims are properly prepared and guided, they have a wonderful experience of interacting positively with the opposite sex. Even sleeping conditions, oth-erwise inappropriate, become an experience of intense respect and honor of boundaries. One sees the "other" as sacred and as a fellow pilgrim on the way, some-one to be honored and respected. I have never known of any of our pil-grims engaging in actions that are meant for mar-ried couples. Sleeping shoulder to shoulder with two thousand other pilgrims may seem cause for temptation and raised eyebrows, but never have I seen anything but excellent moral behavior among our pilgrims. Even where there are dating couples, they hardly ever "pair off" from the group. The whole atmosphere is one of intense commu-nal living. People are attentive to the needs of everyone, sharing and caring for one another. The pilgrim learns that one does not need to pursue or engage in roman-tic relationships to be happy. Celibacy for the kingdom becomes tangible, livable, and enjoyable. At WYD the intense communal activities, which sometimes involve distressing conditions and both-ersome inconveniences that must be endured, build a joyful esprit de corps. Over and over one witnesses pilgrims making sacrifices for the sake of the group. Opportunities for minor sacrifices abound, such as shar-ing personal items to assist another in need and collect-ing meal tickets and standing in line to retrieve meals for a group. These and other sacrifices reveal acom- Review for Religious mon care for one another. Moreover, the group lead-ers have the ultimate say in all major decisions about travel, gatherings, agendas, and special needs that arise. Individual wills give way to the group, or to the lead-ers' decisions. Through these experiences one finds joy in sacrificing one's own will for the good of the group, opening up to the gift of religious obedience. Consecrated persons make a sacrifice of their lives for the good of the church and the world. Pilgrims experience the power of loving sacrifice firsthand, and its power to build up the Body of Christ. Eddie Dwyer, a Saginaw seminarian, said: "Three things I hate are lines, sitting on the floor, and crowded spaces, but the love at WYD made sacrifice easy." All these experiences find rich meaning in the cel-ebration of the sacraments, namely, confession and Eucharist. The intensity of confessions, celebrations of Holy Mass, and Eucharistic adoration affirms God's real presence among his people. All the sufferings and joys of pilgrimage are offered up to the Father in the won-derful exchange of gifts that the Eucharist makes real. All is gift. As a priest I am overwhelmed by the power and joy of the priesthood, by the sacramental fruitful-ness on WYD. What power can be manifested in such weakness! The Papal Mass at the conclusion of WYD provides the perfect environment for the overflowing gratitude of the pilgrimage to express itself. Pilgrims, freshly and deeply aware of God's goodness, gratefully share their belongings with others. Jackets, caps, and an assortment of other personal items are offered and received in a wonderful exchange of gifts. God's kingdom becomes visible in everyone giving their things away to bring joy to both receiver and giver. In his Spiritual Exercises 409 68.4 2009 Prospero ¯ Worm Youth Day and Religious Life St. Ignatius Loyola speaks of the free exchange of gifts between those who love each other (§231). This is the Christian life. As church and bride of Christ, we receive every good thing from God and make an offering of our very selves back to him in gratitude. This joyous exchange finds particular power at the Papal Mass. The accumulation and possession of .things no longer has appeal. The giving and receiving of love becomes the reason for existing. Consecrated life witnesses to the joy of the kingdom of heaven through the. gift of self to God. The Papal Mass provides a taste of the joy offered to those who radically take up the call to follow Christ the Bridegroom wherever he goes. As I lead pilgrims to WYD, I make a point of having several priests, seminarians, and religious sisters accom-pany us. When lay pilgrims rub shoulders with conse-crated persons, consecrated life now has a face, and that face is familiar and human. No longer is the question of consecrated life somewhere off in the distance, but it is real and lived by real people. The possibility of consecrated vocation opens up as the joys of serving the kingdom find witness. I count WYD the single most important vocation promotion ministry that I do. 410 Review for Religious BENNY PHANG Marriage and Celibacy: Rivals or Complements? MMarriage and celibacy are often seen as contraries. isunderstanding about these two vocations still exists among many people who do not fully under-stand celibacy for the sake of the kingdom of heaven or the meaning of marriage. They see marriage as con-trary to celibacy, totally separated from it, and unable to contribute anything to it. And they understand celibacy as merely a pessimistic, negative rejection of married life and love. They even think celibacy is responsible for many sexual problems. About these matters people raise critical questions such as: Is marriage contrary to celibacy or even a rival? Is marriage a higher and better state than celibacy, or is it the other way around? Does marriage confirm celibacy or devalue it? If marriage confirms celibacy, how does it do so? Benny Phang OCarm, an Indonesian priest studying at the Angelicum for a doctorate in moral theology, can be addressed at Centro Internazionale Sant'Alberto; Via Sforza Pallavicini, 10; 00193 Roma, Italy. Blog: theouiosoter.blogspot.com 411 68.4 2009 Pbang ¯ Marriage and Celibacy On this topic I want to draw some reflections from the messages of Pope John Paul II (collected in Theology of the Body), from the critical reflection on celibacy in the Catholic Church written by Aloysius Pieris sJ, and from the experience of St. Th~r~se of Lisieux of her vocation to religious life. Marriage and celibacy, are interrelated. To hurt either one by being unfaithful in it also hurts the other. 412- Rival Vocations? In the Gospel according to Matthew, Jesus places the counsel of celibacy in the discussion of the impor-tance of marriage, when he argues against divorce (Mt 19:3-12). Pope John Paul confirms this, saying, "[From Matthew's Gospel, Mt 19:10-12], it can be seen sufficiently clearly that here it is not a question of diminishing the value of matrimony in favor of continence, nor of less-ening the value of one in comparison with the other.''1 "Christ's words on this point are quite clear. He proposes to his disciples the ideal of continence and the call to it, not by reason of the inferiority of, or of prejudice against, conjugal union in the body, but only for the sake of the kingdom of heaven.''2 One can, however, argue for St. Paul's position when he writes, "So then, he who marries his fiancee does well; and he who refrains from marriage will do better" (1 Co 7:38). Does this Pauline text not mean that mat-rimony is good, but celibacy for the kingdom of heaven is better?3 Review for Religious We need to comprehend the reason for celibacy in the evangelical counsel. Jesus says, "There are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Let anyone accept this who can" (Mt 19:12). This is the only reason for the evangelical counsel of celibacy. The reason is not to devalue marriage, but for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. To understand the "difference" between Jesus and Paul as regards celibacy and marriage, John Paul gives us an insight: In his pronouncement, did Christ perhaps suggest the superiority of continence for the kingdom of heaven to matrimony? Certainly he said that this is an excep-tional vocation, not a common one. In addition he affirmed that it is especially important and necessary to the kingdom of heaven. If we understand superiority to matrimony in this sense, we must admit that Christ set it out implicitly. However, he did not express it direcdy. Only Paul will say of those who choose matri-mony that they do "well." About those who are willing to live in voluntary continence, he will say that they do "better" (! Co 7:38). (Theology, p. 275) The conscious and voluntary renunciation of the conjugal love of marriage and family life by celibate per-sons is not a devaluation of marriage, but it is a form of self-sacrifice. John Paul explains: "Christ understood the importance of such a sacrifice . He understood the

Issue 67.3 of the Review for Religious, 2008. ; LiVing Spiritually Being Mentored Praying Revisiti:ng Religious Life QUARTERLY 67 3 2008 Review for Religious fosters dialogue with God, dialogue with ourselves, and dialogue with one another about the holiness we try to live according ~ to Charisms of Catholic religious life, As Pope Paul Vl said, our way.of being church is today the way of dialogue. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published quarterly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Telephone: 314-633-4610 ¯ Fax: 314-633-4611 E-Maih 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 ¯ Pontifical College Josephinu,n 7625 North High Street ¯ Columbus, Ohio 43235 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religiou~ ¯ RO. 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. ©2008 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 libraryI clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All l 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 distribution, advertising,, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collectivd works or anthologies. Such permission ~ will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. Editor Associate Editor Canonical Counsel Scripture Scope Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. Fischer sJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Eugene Hensell OSB Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Judy Sharp Paul Coutinho SJ Martin Erspamer OSB Margaret Guider OSF Kathleen Hughes RSCJ Louis and Angela Menard Bishop Terry Steib SVD QUARTERLY 67.3 2008 contents prisms 228 Prisms 230 240 living spiritually Holy Spirit Spirituality James W. Kinn draws upon the Gospel and Acts of St. Luke and the Gospel of St. John to show how these might lead to an effective spirituality of the Spirit in our lives, A Charity Spirituality for Educators Judith Metz SC explores ways in which the special virtues of the Charity family (humility, simplicity, charity) offer educators guidelines to greater personal spiritual depth and an enriching way of being present in an educational environment. 226 255 266 being mentored St. Th6r~se's Contribution to the Catechism Joseph E Schmidt FSC reflects on the citations of St. Th~r~se of Lisieux found in the Catechism 6f the Catholic Church, particularly emphasizing her contribution to the understanding of prayer. DeSales' ~sion of Ecclesial and Consecrated Life Alexander T. Pocetto OSFS presents Francis de Sales' understanding of consecrated life, especially modeled in the Visitation, to give us a deeper appreciation of its relevance to the life and work of the church today. Re'view for Religious 281 286 praying Christian Prayer's Trinitarian Shape John Carroll Futrell SJ weaves together many scripture passages to demonstrate how, consciously or not, Christian prayer has a Trinitarian shape to it. Personal Reflection / Group Discussion Midnight Prayer in the Ignatian Exercises Philip Shano SJ proposes that we take a fresh look at what benefits a "midnight meditation" can have for a person in retreat. 290 3O4 revisiting religious life ~ The Social Matrix of Religious Obedience Bernard J. Lee SM presents the importance of relational power, the power of the weak, and a meticulous discernment in forming the social matrix of religious obedience. Of Tabernacles and Televisions Patricia McCarthy CND challenges religious to reflect on the importance of the presence of the Blessed Sacrament in their home lives today. Group Reflection / Discussion departments 317 Scripture Scope: St. Paul's Corinthian Correspondence 322 Canonical Counsel: The Lacuna Canon: Equity and Practice 327 Book Reviews 227 67.3 2008 prisms 228 T feast of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary is celebrated on the last day of the month of May. It may seem to be just a timely liturgical setting between the feast of the Annunciation and the feast of the Birth of John the Baptist. But on closer examination, the content of the feast seems to set a direction for our Christian living throughout these middle months of the church's liturgical year. What we celebrate is the simple event nar-rated in Luke's Gospel about Mary's hastening to help her cousin Elizabeth in the latter months of her pregnancy--a fact which Mary had learned about through the message of the angel Gabriel. It is more than a pleasant visit of relatives. We signify something more by our use of the word visitation. Visitation has a purpose. There is a certain expectation that a visitation is meant to accomplish something. The meeting between par-ties at the time of a visitation has a significance. A meaning of some import is attributed to this encounter. For Elizabeth the very greeting of Mary upon her arrival causes a special stirring in her womb. Elizabeth is inspired by the Spirit to recognize the early pregnancy of Mary, hardly visible to the human, eye. Moreover her faith professes the specialness of Mary, her cousin, by proclaiming that she is "blessed among women." Somehow the leap of the baby within her womb led Elizabeth Review for Religious to proclaim that this baby in its first formation in Mary's womb is truly the blessed One. For Elizabeth, the simple appearance of Mary saying "Here I am" produces such an explosion of faith--an extraordinary moment of spiritual consolation. For Mary, Elizabeth's profusion of faith is like a warm-ing confirmation of all that the angel had told her. She truly is highly favored by God. Her fiat allowed God to find a human home within her. Mary's own faith was so strength-ened by Elizabeth's words that she could only break forth in her own prayer of praise of God. Mary was the first to realize what it really means to bring God to another. Why do we recall this event with our special celebra-tion? What appears to be just a simple helpful visit between two cousins--mothers-to-be--sets a tone and direction for each one of us in our Christian vocation. For us it is meant to be more than just a celebration of an event, however special this event is for Mary and for Elizabeth. We are led to reflect on all the "visits" in our life--how we are being called to make each one of them a visitation. Like Elizabeth, do we find ourselves "blessed" by all the people who appear, unexpectedly or not, in the doorways of our lives? Do we allow ourselves to find God actively working in their lives and ours? Does the ordinary everyday interaction call forth in us a leap of faith that consoles us deeply? Like Mary, do we find that we truly are the "bearers of God" in the simple everyday give-and-take of human conversation? Are we continually in amazement that God desires to work through us in so many effective ways? Looking back on each day's incidents, do we experience a quiet gratitude, a desire to praise the God who chooses to shine out through the limitations of our all-too-human words and actions? David L. Fleming SJ 229 67.3 2008 JAMES W. KINN Holy Spirit Spirituality living spiritually 230 "Perhaps the most neglected area of theology in the West is that of the Holy Spirit," says George Montague.1 He sees an urgent need for such a theology. In 1983 Raymond Brown, the great scripture scholar, noted "an almost total absence of comprehensive books on the Spirit in the New Testament.''2 Pope John Paul urged: "The ecclesiology of the [Second Vatican] Council must be succeeded by a new study of and devotion to the Holy Spirit, precisely as the indispensable complement of the teaching of the council.''3 Recently some efforts have been made to fill this vacuum.4 The present article offers a description of the two dominant pneumatologies found in the New Testament and hopes to show how these might lead to an effective spirituality of the Spirit in our lives. Let us begin with the way the New Testament speaks about Jesus. The synoptic James W. Kitm, an actively retired diocesan priest, wrote about John of the Cross in our 66.2 (2007) issue. His address is 6318 243rd Court; Salem, Wisconsin 53168. Review for Religious Gospels all depict Jesus as imbued with the Holy Spirit, who is the divine influence in his life and ministry. Luke, especially, presents a consistent Spirit Christology in narrative form.5 That is, when he speaks of Jesus as the unique Son of God, as the long-awaited Messiah, and as Savior of the world, he generally refers to the Holy Spirit's influence on him. He describes God's presence and power in Jesus' life in terms of the Spirit. God as Spirit is dynamically active in Jesus in a unique way. We are familiar with the way John's Gospel speaks about Jesus as the revelation of God. The prologue describes Jesus as God's Word (Jn 1:1-14). God as Word "comes down" and is embodied in the person and min-istry of Jesus. This Word is the manifestation of God in history. The rest of John's Gospel does not speak of this "Word," but it presents Jesus as the definitive wisdom and revelation of God. The Wisdom of God, prominent in the wisdom books of the Old Testament, is repre-sented and even personified in Jesus and his teaching.6 John's Gospel presents Jesus as the light of the world, as the whole truth to be believed, and as the visual image of God: "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father" (Jn 14:9). These two ways of describing Jesus in the Gospels are paralleled by the two ways of understanding the Holy Spirit. The New Testament teaches that God is present and active in his Holy Spirit, so that all Christians may know God, love God, and be inspired to follow Jesus. Again we will follow Luke and John. Luke's Theology of the Spirit Just as Luke's Gospel presents the Spirit as the energy present and active in Jesus, so in the Acts of the Aposdes, beginning with Pentecost, Luke shows the Spirit as pres- 231 67.3 2008 Kinn ¯ Holy Spirit Spirituality ent in and empowering the early church. At the end of his Gospel, Luke relates the promise of Jesus to his apos-des: "I am sending the promise of my Father upon you; but stay in the city until you are clothed with the power from on high" (Lk 24:49). At the beginning of Acts, Jesus says: "Wait for the promise of the Father about which you have heard me speak; for., in a few days you will be bap-tized with the Holy Spirit" (Ac 1:4-5). Thus Jesus teaches that the Spirit is the power to be given to the apostles and the dynamic principle of their role as wit-nesses of "the way" of salvation through faith in him. Then Jesus summarizes the whole mission of the apostles and the work of the Spirit in them: "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, throughout Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth" (Ac 1:8). The Spirit will inspire them to be witnesses to Jesus, starting in Jerusalem and continuing all over the world. Luke follows this paradigm throughout Acts, mention-ing the Spirit fifty-seven times. Because of that frequent reference to the Spirit, some would like to characterize this book as the Acts of the Spirit. Consider how effectively Luke describes the Spirit's work in Acts. First, the Holy Spirit empowers the dis- Just as Luke's Gospel presents the Spirit as the energy present, and active in Jesus, so in the Acts of the Apostles Luke shows the Spirit as present in and empowering the early church. 232 Review for Religious ciples to witness to Jesus: "We are witnesses of these things, as is the Holy Spirit who is given to [us]" (Ac 5:32). The Spirit inspires the early believers to speak in tongues and to prophesy: "They were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in different tongues, as the Spirit enabled them to proclaim" (Ac 2:4). Then the Spirit comes upon the new believers in Jerusalem: "They were all filled with the Holy Spirit and contin-ued to speak the word of God with boldness" (Ac 4:31). Next Peter and John are sent to Samaria to lay hands on the newly baptized: "Then they laid hands on them and they received the Holy Spirit" (Ac 8:17). The Spirit also marks out the first new assistants (deacons) as those "filled with the Holy Spirit" (Ac 6:3). The Spirit directs individual missionaries: Philip (Ac 8:29-39), Peter (Ac 10:19-20), and Paul (Ac 20:22). In Paul's case the Spirit directs him again and again (Ac 20:23). Also the Gentile converts are specifically seen as inspired by the Spirit: "The Holy Spirit fell upon all who were listening to the word. [The Jews] were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit should have been poured out on the Gentiles also" (Ac 10:44-45). Later the Spirit selects Barnabas and Paul for the mission to Cyprus: "The Holy Spirit said, 'Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them'" (Ac 13:2- 4). Then, in the Council of Jerusalem, the Spirit inspires their decisions: "It is the decision of the Holy Spirit and of us." ( Ac 15:28). Finally, the Spirit continues to aid the "overseers" in tending the flock: "Keep watch over. ¯ the whole flock of which the Holy Spirit has appointed you as overseers" (Ac 20:28). Let me draw some conclusions. The constant inspi-ration and guidance of the Holy Spirit is the distinguish-ing feature of Lukan ecclesiology. Luke's pneumatology 233 67.3 2008 Kinn ¯ Holy Spirit Spirituality flows from his Spirit Christology. This pneumatology can be most effective for our Christian life and spiritu-ality. It can easily be understood by modern Catholics, because it begins with the historical person of Jesus as seen in the synoptics; what we naturally see there is an integral human being, Jesus, who is empowered by God's Spirit to accomplish our redemption. This pneu-matology can be very appealing to us because it shows the continuity between the Spirit's empowering Jesus and the Spirit of Jesus empowering us. Finally, with this Spirit theology, we can easily see a parallel in our Christian lives. God's Spirit dwells in us by grace in such a way as to empower us to live after the model of the Spirit-driven Jesus (Mk 1:12). 234 John's Theology of the Spirit Let us begin with John's Christology. The prologue of John's Gospel presents Jesus as the Word, the Logos, the Verbum. After this, chapters 1-13 present Jesus as "the truth," the "light of the world," the wisdom of God. To know him is to know the Father (Jn 8:20); to see him is to see the Father (In 14:9). John's Christology might be summarized by saying that Jesus is the revela-tion of God, the human expression of God. Then in chapters 14 to 16 John's Jesus promises the disciples a "new Advocate" (Jn 14:16). Jesus himself is their original Advocate: "We have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ (1 Jn 2:1), and now he promises the Spirit as an Advocate who will take his place and "be with [them] always" (Jn 14:16). Jesus even makes this assertion: "I tell you the truth, it is better for you that I go. For, if I do.not go, the Advocate will not come to you. But if I go I will send him to you" On 16:7). The disciples will somehow be better off after he has left Review for Religious them and sent them the Holy Spirit as their permanent Advocate. We can understand Jesus' amazing assertion here by considering the five Paraclete sayings in chap-ters 14 to 16. 1. "I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate to be with you always, the Spirit of truth, [who] remains with you and will be in you" (Jn 14:16-17). Here Jesus sets out the entire work of the Paraclete in his followers. He says that the Paraclete will dwell with them permanently as a new presence of Jesus in all of them. The meaning of this immanence is that there is a permanent spiritual status for all who believe in Jesus, and he assigns this divine immanence to the Spirit/Paraclete. 2. "The Advocate, the holy Spirit, that the Father will send in my name--he will teach you everything and remind you of all that I told you" (Jn 14:25-26). To "teach" in John is practically a verb of revelation, but the Spirit will not bring a new revelation: "He will not speak on his own, but he will speak what he hears . He will take from what is mine and declare it to you" (Jn 16:13-14). In John the teaching 0f Jesus contains all that the disciples need to know, all the revelation of God. The proper function of the Spirit of Jesus, then, is to make them understand Jesus' teaching clearly. Jesus promises that the Advocate "will remind you of all that I told you." Often, in John's Gospel, Jesus promises that later--after the resurrection--the disciples will remem- In John the teaching of Jesus contains all that the disciples need to know, all the revelation of God. 67.3 2008 Kinn ¯ Holy Spirit Spirituality ber what he told them and come to understand it (see Jn 2:22; 12:16; 13:7, 19; 14:19-20, 29; 15:20-21, 26; 16:4, 12- 13). He means that they will understand the deep mystery of redemption (through suffering and death) only after they have known his passion. These functions of the Spirit of Jesus, teaching and reminding, are also meant for us. Pope John Paul affirmed this: "The promise is not limited to the aposdes and their immediate companions . It extends to the future generations of disciples . of Christ.''7 3. "When the Advocate comes., the Spirit of truth that proceeds from the Father, he will testify about me. And you also will testify" (Jn 15:26-27). This will not be two sources of testimony, but only one; the Spirit will encourage the disciples internally to witness to Christ. When they experience opposition from the world, the Spirit of truth will work within their hearts to strengthen them in their own faith and provide them with unshakable confidence. 4. "[When the Advocate] comes, he will convict the world in regard to sin and righteousness and condemna-tion; sin, because they do not believe in me; righteous-ness, because I am going to the Father and you will no longer see me; condemnation, because the ruler of this world has been condemned" (Jn 16:8-11). In John's Gospel, there is no mention of formal public trials and judges (as are mentioned in Mt 10:17-18 and Mk 13:9). Rather Jesus' concern here seems to be for the same theological conflict that characterized his public life, namely, the great opposition between him and the world, the struggle for and against Jesus. Specifically here the Paraclete will prove to the disciples that the world is guilty of sin, the basic sin that consists in refus-ing to believe in Jesus. This sin is described often in John's Gospel (Jn 3:19; 9:41; 12:37; 15:22-24). Review for Religious The disciples will continue this contest against the unbelieving world, and the Paraclete will be their "coun-sel for the defense" to prove the world guilty of disbe-lief in God and his Word. The Spirit will also witness against the world to prove the world wrong about righ-teousness or justice, by showing that Jesus, whom it judged guilty, was really innocent and just. The final element in the Paraclete's witness against the world is condemnation, that is, proof that in condemning Jesus the world itself was judged. For, in the person of the Paraclete, Jesus is still present after his death; so, if Jesus' passion repre-sented the confrontation of Jesus and the prince of this world (Jn 12:31; 14:30), then Jesus' victory over death is also his victory over the prince of this world (see 1 Jn 4:3-4; 5:4-5). 5. "The Spirit of truth., will guide you to all truth; ¯. he will speak what he hears, and will declare to you the things that are coming" (Jn 16:12-13). The func-tions of the Paraclete here are similar to those in John 14:26, that is, to teach and to call to mind, but they are further developed here, especially by the addition of two phrases. The phrase "guide you to all truth" (or "guide you along the way of all truth," as in the Anchor Bible) seems to include more than a deeper intellectual under-standing by teaching a way of life that follows Jesus. The Johannine understanding of "way of truth" is not an abstract system of faith but a sphere of action, similar to the Hebrew Scriptures' way of life in conformity with the Mosaic law, and also similar to "the way" in the Acts of the Apostles.8 The phrase "declare to you the things that are com-ing" does not involve any new revelation, for Jesus also says the Spirit "will speak what he hears." Raymond Brown says that this "consists in interpreting in relation 237 67.3 2008 Kinn ¯ Holy Spirit Spirituality 238 to each coming generation the contemporary signifi-cance of what Jesus has said and done.''9 The Paraclete will help each generation to uncover the deep meaning of the person and mission of Jesus for their particular time and place. Parallels and Some Points John's pneumatology is quite parallel to his Christology. The Spirit of Jesus will perform many of the same functions as Jesus did for his disciples: teach them, be their advocate in trials, intercede for them with God, encourage them, lead them to all truth, and guide them into the future. The Spirit of Jesus will be both a permanent presence and an active teacher and guide. The Spirit will dwell in all Jesus' disciples. Once Jesus has departed, the Spirit of Jesus becomes the "new Advocate." Just as John presents Jesus in his public life as the God's Word, the complete revelation of God, so he presents the Spirit of truth as Jesus' mirror image present to all Christians to the end of time. Such a theology of the Spirit can assist us in our spiritual lives. We live in the age of the Spirit; we are to be guided by the Spirit of Jesus. Jesus himself intends that the Paraclete be his new persona dwelling within us. What Jesus was for his disciples, the Paraclete is meant to be for us. Jesus said, "I will not leave you orphans; I will come back to you" (Jn 14:18). More than that, the Father and the Son will dwell with us: "My Father will love [you], and we will come to [you] and make our dwelling with [you]" (Jn 14:23). This means that the Spirit of Jesus is the personal presence of God dwelling within us. The Father, Son, and Spirit are within us, but Jesus assigns this presence particularly to the Holy Spirit. This Spirit of Jesus is intimior intimo meo ("deeper Review for Religious in me than I am"), in Augustine's words.1° As Raymond Brown has observed, "the Old Testament theme of 'God with us' (the Immanuel of Is 7:14) is now to be realized in the Paraclete/Spirit who remains with the disciples forever." I 1 Notes ~ George Montague SM in the foreword to The Spirit, Giver of Life and Love by John Paul II (Boston: Pauline Books and Media 1996), p. 12. 2 Raymond Brown, "Diverse Views of the Spirit in the New Testament," Worship 57 (May 1983): 227. 3 John Paul II, Dominum et vivificantem, in L'Osservatore Romano, 9 June 1986. 4 See, for example, the bibliography in James W. Kinn, The Spirit of Jesus in Scripture and Prayer (Lanham, Maryland: Rowman and Littlefield [a Sheed & Ward Book], 2004), pp. 213-217. s See Luke 1:35, 41, 67; 2:10-11, 25-32; 3:22; 4:1, 14. 6 See John 1:33-34; 3:16-19; 4:26; 5:24; 6:29, 40, 47-48; 11:25-26; 14:6-1 I. 7John Paul II, Spirit, Giver of Life, p. 22. s Raymond Brown, The Gospel according to John, 13-21, Anchor Bible, vol. 29A (New York: Doubleday, 1966), pp. 628-629. 9 Brown, Gospel, p. 716. ~0 Garry Wills's translation, shortened. Ed. *' Brown, Gospel, p. 644. 239 67.3 2008 JUDITH METZ A Charity Spirituality for Educators 240 ~. harity spirituality" is modeled on the lives of ~ the 17th-century Saints Vincent de Paul and Louise de Marillac and our 19th-century American Saint Elizabeth Seton. Vincent and Louise were founders and collaborators in organized works of charity in France: the Confraternities of Charity, the Congregation of the Mission, and the Daughters of Charity; and Elizabeth Seton modeled her .founding of the American Sisters of Charity on their inspiration. The Charity charism of these three saints stresses seeing Jesus present in every-one we meet, especially the poor, and believing that Jesus lives and acts through us. Two scriptural passages that were guiding principles for them are St. Paul's "I live, now not I, but Christ lives in me" (Ga 2:20) and Jesus' "Whatever you do to the least of my brothers and sisters, you do to me" (Mt 25:40). Judith Metz SC is the archivist and historian for the Sisters of Charity of Cincinnati. Her address is 5900 Delhi Road; Mount St. Joseph, Ohio 45051. Email: judith.metz@srcharitycinti.org Review for Religious Charity spirituality includes response to many types of societal needs, preference for the poor, self-sacrific-ing service, hospitality, practicality, and down-to-earth common sense. The lives of our Charity saints, though filled with activity, were motivated interiorly by their relationship with God. The community motto of the Sisters of Charity is "The Charity of Christ Urges Us" (2 Co 5:14). St. Paul's hymn of charity gives us one description of what the charity of Christ looks like: "Love is always patient and kind, it is never jealous; love is never boastful or conceited; it is never rude or selfish; it does not take offense, and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people's sins but delights in the truth; it is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes" (1 Co 13:1&4-7). The Charity approach to education asks us to love and accept with openness and sincerity all persons as they are, embracing them and empowering them, nur-turing their abilities, while at the same time challenging them to grow in every aspect of their lives. Elizabeth Seton articulated this to one of her friends when she wrote: "You know I am as a Mother encompassed by many children of different dispositions--not all equally amiable or congenial, but bound to love, instruct, and provide for the happiness of all, to give the example of cheerfulness, peace, l~esignation, and consider indi-viduals more as proceeding from the same Origin and tending to the same end than in the different shades of merit or demerit.''1 In a Charity approach to education, emphasis is placed on character development, teaching sound moral principles, integrity, faith formation, and Catholic val-ues principally through the modeling of the teacher. We work to create an environment (in our personhood 241 67.3 2008 Metz ¯ A Charity Spirituality for Educators 242 and in the place itself) that nurtures those we serve in this ministry. In addition to the charity and zeal of our motto, Charity spirituality stresses certain other virtues: remembering the presence of God in our lives, humil-ity, simplicity. My reflection is on these virtues and how they may come into play in our lives as educators. The Presence of God and the Grace of the Moment The practice of the presence of God means open-ness to the "now" because God is present in it. It means believing that there is a blessing, a grace, in focusing on the person or task at hand because that is what God is asking of us now. Elizabeth Seton wrote to a friend: "I am going to meet everybody in the grace of the moment, which we never can know till we find the humour and temper of the one we are to meet with--the many mis-takes all swallowed and comforted by intention inten-tion intention.''2 We never know what the moment is going to bring, but we trust that God will be present in it--and that God is present through us to others. An important principle of the spiritual life is "Be where you are, do what you are doing." You might say, "Isn't that a kind of truism? Aren't we always doing whatever it is that we are doing?" But, if we reflect for a moment, we admit that the answer is often no. Many times we perform our work in a distracted manner as we think about our busy schedules or look out the corner of our eye at a pile on our desk. Teachers constandy experience the time crunch of preparing lesson plans, correcting papers, attending meetings, and coordinat-ing extracurricular activities, all in addition to the time spent in the classroom. The challenge is: How do we remain centered on God and on one thing at a time as we juggle these many demands? How do we bring Review for Religious ourselves to the point where we can give ourselves to what we are doing--with full attention, watchfulness, and consciousness? Why do we find it so difficult to live in the present moment? We each probably have some personality traits that make focusing a challenge, but our culture works against us as well. Technological advances can prove overwhelming to both teachers and students. Who of us does not feel besieged at times with e-mail, voice-mail messages, text-messaging, and who knows what else? We are pulled in many directions, with people clamor-ing for instant responses. Our fast-paced soci-ety also makes our students want instant oral answers. They say, "Just tell us now. We don't have time to waste looking it up or thinking about it." How do we respond to their desire for quick answers when they need to go through the sometimes tedious process of learning? How do we help them become aware of the value and joy in doing the learning, and even in waiting patiendy as it slowly matures and ripens within us? Another deterrent to awareness or mindfulness is our production-oriented culture that urges us to always be doing something "useful." Thomas Merton once observed, "We are so obsessed with doing that we have no time and no imagination left for being.''3 Only through slowing down and being more reflective can we hope to live in the now attentively. Perhaps a step The practice of the presence of God means openness to the "now" because God is present in it. 243 67.3 2008 Metz ¯ A Charity Spirituality for Educators 2441 or two outside for a deep breath of flesh air, stopping to take a series of deep breaths, or finding a quiet cor-ner during a break would help us calm our spirits and refocus our efforts. Elizabeth Seton told her sisters: "Keep well to what you believe to be the grace of the moment. You will often be at a stand for what is best in a situation so new, but only do your best as you have always done, and leave the rest for our dear God.''4 I invite you to reflect for a moment on how a quietly graced focus on the present moment might make a difference in your relationships with your students, with your colleagues, with administrators, parents, and all whom you meet. Humility Humility entails the recognition that all we have comes from our loving God, and so one of the basic stances of a humble person is gratitude. St. Vincent taught: "Be wary about crediting anything to your-self. In claiming this, you in effect steal from God and do God injury. God alone is the author of every good thing.''s Humble persons acknowledge the gifts they have received. Reflect for a moment on your own gifts: intelligence, creativity, insight, generosity--things people have pointed out to you or you recognize within yourself. As we reflect, we realize that all of these quali-fies are things we in one way or another have received and have a responsibility to cultivate. We also realize that others have different gifts. St. Paul tells us: "There is a variety of gifts, but always the same Spirit; there are all sorts of services to be done, but always the same Lord; working in all sorts of different ways in differ-ent people, it is the same God who is working in all of them. The particular way in which the Spirit is given to Review for Religious each person is for a good purpose" (1 Co 12:4-7). How do I value my gifts, the gifts of others? Recognizing that all is gift, humble people are open to the multiplicity of gifts around them--open to all the richness and diversity in the world. We can be infinitely enriched if we maintain an openness of spirit. Teaching demands humility. It is about being receptive even when it is difficult. Elizabeth Seton told her early sisters, "The [person] who is truly humble, accepts willingly, without resentment, all that [he or she] receives, though these be corrections, reprimands, slights, or anything else that may disturb her peace or hurt her feelings . This [humble] person is not demanding, domineering, dictatorial, but goes about with that quiet power which finds its source in selflessness.''6 From another perspective, at a commencement address an educator-friend of mine recently noted: Teaching is mostly about listening [which is another way of receiving]. Listen to the rhythms of life puls-ing through your bodies and in the environment all around you, both natural and cultural. Listen to the music of the spheres, as the ancients described in the rhythms of the cosmos. Most important, listen to each other, your friends and neighbors, of course, but your adversaries too. Because if you do I know that you will find they share the same aspirations as you, even though the path they choose to attain them is different from yo~ars.7 What are some manifestations of this virtue as applied to the ministry of education? One characteristic of Charity education has always been a holistic/integra-tire approach to learning, an emphasis on seeing and appreciating interrelationships, seeing the larger picture. Educators have always faced the challenge of preparing students to function successfully in their society--not 245 67.3 2008 Metz ¯ .4 Charity Spirituality for Educators just in a narrow sense but as fully developed, mature persons. Back in the early 1800s, Elizabeth Seton told her students, "I do not come to teach you how to be good nuns or Sisters of Charity; but rather I would wish to fit you for the world in which you are destined to live."8 How do we go about guiding students to become fully developed, mature persons--fitting them for the world in which they are destined to live? First, we assist them in their moral and social development. Some say today that years ago schools were "nothing but finish-ing schools." But perhaps today we have gone to the other extreme by attending only to academics and ignoring other aspects of our students' development. Today we hear stories about the problems employers have with issues like integrity and responsibility among their workers, and social development as well--leading businesses to offer sessions on matters like deportment, proper manners, and appropriate codes of conduct. Charity education stresses not only academic sub-jects but social skills and values such as respect and equality, such as shunning the prejudices of the day not because it is "politically correct" but because it is moral. Charity education stresses forming compassionate rela-tionships and assuming responsibility toward the larger community, rather than placing self at the center of the universe. It includes education in social-justice issues, with a special concern for the most needy, achieved not only through instruction but through experience. The early sisters always made it a priority to visit the sick and poor in their area, frequendy taking students with them, thereby modeling the Charity spirit of service. Charity education approaches the spiritual, cultural, and academic as a unified whole. It teaches self-disci- R~vie~v.for Religious pline, how to make good choices, and the need of look-ing beyond ourselves. It offers principles for making moral choices, for instance, in the use of new technolo-gies or in responding to the issues of the day. A second way that humility can be expressed in an educational environment is in adaptability or flexibil-ity. Adaptation to the needs of the times has been a hallmark of the American Sisters of Charity ever since they adopted their first Rule, which stated that "modi-fications [would be made to the French Daughters of Charity Rule] as. the difference of country, habit, and culture required." When Elizabeth Seton began, she had every inten-tion of focusing her efforts on the education of poor children. Soon she was involved in a boarding academy and caring for orphans as well. From these beginnings Charity schools pioneered in the education of women. They included all types of schools--elementary, board-ing academies, Latin schools, special education, nursing schools. They offered broad curriculums, meeting and often exceeding contemporary standards. Music and the fine arts always flourished alongside standard academic subjects. Meeting these demands of continual change and constant readjustment can be difficult and challenging. It requires a degree of humility to go back and reassess, to change your approach and redo your lesson plans. When I was taking education classes in college, one of our education professors often commented: "Some teachers have twenty years of experience, and some have the same experience twenty times." At the time I did not fully understand her meaning, but it did not take me long after I began teaching to realize exacdy what she meant. 247 67.3 2008 h/letz ¯ A Charity Spi~tualfty for Educators Educational flexibility includes the willingness to take risks without being defensive if your idea or project does not work. It requires making choices in the best interest of the students even when they resist and are critical-- even though it is so much easier to be popular. Vincent de Paul was so convinced of the importance of simplicity that he called it "my gospel," 248 Simplicity Vincent de Paul was so convinced of the impor-tance of simplicity that he called it "my gospel" and "the virtue I love most." "Do you know where our Lord dwells?" he asked; "it is among the simple.''9 There are many contemporary ways of describing simplicity: authentic-ity, integrity, genu-ineness, passion for the truth, sincerity, purity of intention, wholeheartedness. These words con-tain the essence of what Vincent was talking about. They include an openness to the rich-ness and diversity of worldviews, cultures, people, and ideas--a searching for the larger picture, a willingness to communicate, to always be in a stance of readiness to embrace more. Looking at several aspects of this virtue, we see how it can be part of our everyday approach to our educa-tional ministry. First is seeking the truth with sincer-ity and speaking the truth with courage. Jesus told us, "Let your 'yes' mean 'yes' and your 'no' mean 'no'" (Mt 5:37). St. Vincent often spoke of the importance of our actions matching our words, of the necessity of always Review for Religious being authentic: "Our heart must not think one thing while our mouth says another.''~° People spontaneously admire and trust those who live out what they believe and say. Trust is essential to our relationships, to true communication, which is what education is all about. Our challenge is to not get caught up in the conven-tions of our society, that is, for instance, to be "clever," to gain a laugh at another's expense; to act one way around some people and another way around others; to have hidden motives for saying and doing things, such as to ingratiate ourselves or be noticed, to gain some advantage for ourselves or be regarded as acceptable. Instead, we are called to authenticity, accepting the con-sequences whatever they may be. Elizabeth Seton advised her daughter: "Oh do try to be quite independent in virtue. Take its true dignity, and never let impious custom, or the shame of being laughed at, or even the contempt of unreasonable minds, tempt you to treat anyone with the least slight.''11 For our part, how often do we act in inauthentic ways with those in authority, with our peers, with our students? How can we hope to influence students to be models of honesty and integrity if we are not? I invite you to reflect on how seeking the truth with sincerity and speaking the truth with courage are opera-tive in your educational ministry. Are there times when you hide or gloss over the truth, when you are threat-ened by another's approach, closed to his or her point of view? Do you cloak the truth with ambiguity or have hidden agendas? Do you change your story according to whom you are speaking with--administrators, col-leagues, students, parents? How do you model and teach straightforwardness, integrity? One of the beatitudes is "Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God" 249 67.3 2008 Metz ¯ A Charity Spirituality for Educators (Mt 5:8). This is sometimes rendered, "Blessed are the utterly sincere." For St. Vincent, purity of heart or purity of inten-tion meant seeking God in all things, and willing what God wills. It means making God the center of our lives, being wholehearted, orienting our lives so that our sen-timents, our thoughts, our words, and our actions are working together. It means being without guile, with-out cynicism, living with a vision that leads and inspires others. How might this look in an educational setting? One way might be an undaunted quest for excellence despite obstacles--the indifference of students, frustra-tion at lack of resources, disparagement of our enthu-siasm for projects or even for learning itself. Elizabeth Seton spoke of her pleasure in study, her interest in the "works of imagination" and the "wonderful production of science." She was avid about learning, and instilled in her pupils a love of it. She never tired of teaching and always found new joy in engaging with her students. Are there times when I am tempted to act or speak with less than true simplicity? Have I ever curtailed my enthusiasm for fear of others' response? "Remember," Elizabeth Seton told her teachers, "the whole of our spirit is to be Humble and Simple.''12 When on~ of our sisters died recently, one of her former students wrote: "Sister taught me in 1931 and 1932. She had an enthusiastic interest in the subjects she taught, in my case trigonometry and chemistry, and I believe that interest eventually led me to obtain an engi-neering degree in 1939 from Ohio State University." How do we ever know the impact on our students of our enthusiasm and quest for excellence in the class- ¯ room? Review for Religious As early as 1810, Elizabeth Seton felt the need for teachers at her school to be better prepared. She established standards of excellence, insisted the sisters have time to study, and arranged that the more expe-rienced teachers mentor the newer ones. To improve instruction she established a normal school and hired additional help so that the sisters had time to study.13 Throughout the history of the Sisters of Charity, these practices have prevailed. In the late 19th century, for instance, the Sisters of Charity of Cincinnati appointed a congregational board of education and a superinten-dent of schools. They developed curriculums, organized summer school for the sisters, and required them to pass exams before they were allowed in the classroom. Mentors checked lesson plans of beginning teachers and offered suggestions about teaching methods and class-room management. The Charity approach to education, as to any minis-try, means being wholehearted in what we do, doing our best and striving for improvement. Whatever our success or failure, as long as we can say we did our best, we will have acted with authenticity and integrity, that is, with simplicity. In an expression of her simple trust, Elizabeth Seton told a friend, "If I succeed I bless God, if I do not succeed I bless God, for then it will be right that I do not succeed.''14 Charity Vincent de Paul and Elizabeth Seton were people of action. They were unable to speak of loving God wholeheartedly without immediately including relation-ships with and service to others. In one of her jour-nals, Elizabeth Seton noted: "The charity of our blessed Lord in the course of his ministry had three distinct 67.3 2008 IYletz ¯ .4 Charity Spirituality for Educators qualities which should be the model for our conduct. It was gentle, benevolent, and universal.''15 The impor-tance of these qualities in educational ministry is clear. Among the hallmarks of Christ;s gendeness, Elizabeth lists patience, vulnerability, accepting everyone equally, bearing with others' weaknesses, and quietly giving ser-vice. How many times a day do we feel called upon to practice patience or to bear with others' weaknesses? As educators standing in front of a classroom, we are cer-tainly vulnerable. Louise de Marillac said: "True charity loves and forbears in all things, even contradictions and repugnance.''16 Can we find in ourselves the resources to imitate Christ's gentleness when we are contradicted or shown disrespect? The second quality of Christ's ministry that Elizabeth Seton identifies is benevolence, the gratu-itous gift of self over the long haul, freely given with-out expecting any return. St. Vincent said: "Love finds a way: it is inventive even to infinity.''~7 Love is dedi-cated and steadfast under any circumstances; it is open to everyone in warmhearted hospitality. It requires hard and sometimes unpleasant work; it requires rising above our own likes and dislikes in order to give our attention and concern to others, valuing each person we encounter as a precious gift deserving our gift in return. It requires moving outside of ourselves for the sake of others. Elizabeth highlights universality as the third char-acteristic of Christ's ministry. Charity spirituality has a special concern for the poor. How can we reach out and care for those whom society has left behind or left out-side? Vincent de Paul says: "Love God, make no excep-tion of persons, be indifferent to all places.''~8 We are called upon to do this every day in our ministry--with Re'view for Religious the student who cannot get it, the student who does not care, the student who does not respect us. Elizabeth Seton welcomed pupils from diverse back-grounds against the wishes of her advisors. She accepted Protestant students and provided catechetical instruc-tion for the black children of the area. She said: "All apply to the Sisters of Charity who are night and day devoted to the sick and ignorant.''~9 How universal is our attitude toward all with whom we come in contact? How open are we to caring about and caring for all of creation? In commenting on the ministry of the Sisters of Charity, someone recently remarked on the qualities she noted: "They were never afraid to address the need and often the impossible; worked untiringly and with such zeal--quiet and unrecognized--to make life better for others. They embraced all the challenges lovingly and with such commitment--and selflessly served others." Her words remind me of St. Paul's admonition: "You should be clothed in sincere compassion, in kindness and humility, gentleness and patience. Over all these clothes, to keep them together and complete, put on love" (Col 3:12&14). "Humility, simplicity, charity, and remember God is ever present." Each one of us probably takes notice of a different aspect of this statement, and may be struck differently another time. I return to St. Paul's words: "Love is always patient and kind, it is never jealous; love is never boastful or conceited; it is never rude or selfish; it does not take offense, and it is not resentful." These words challenge us in every area that we have reflected upon. Along with love's priority, we strive for simplicity, expressed in kindness and patience, and for humility to overcome jealousy and conceit. Reflecting on these vir- 67.3 2008 Metz ¯ .4 Charity Spirituality for Educators rues and living them is a lifelong pursuit. May we make progress in doing so a little bit more each day. Notes 1 Regina Bechde SC and Judith Metz SC, eds., Elizabeth Barley Seton: Collected Writings, 3 vols. (New York: New City Press, 2000, 2002, 2006), 2:154. z Seton: Collected Writings, 2:402. 3 William Shannon, Silence on Fire: Prayer of Awareness (New York: Crossroad, 1991), p. 73. 4 Seton: Collected Writings, 2:702. s Pierre Coste, ed., Correspondance, entretiens, documents (Paris: Gabalda, 1920-1925), vii, 289. 6 1809 Instructions, leaflet. 7 Jeremy Curtoys, Commencement Address, Tarleton State University, 16 December 2006. s Charles I. White, Life of Mrs. Eliza A. Seton (New York: Dunigan, 1853), p. 362. 9 Coste, IX, 606, and I, 284. 10 Coste, IX, 81. 1, Seton: Collected Writings, 3a:490. 12 Seton: Collected Writings, 3a:252. 13 First Council Book, 20 July 1818,.Sisters of Charity of St. Joseph (Emmitsburg, Maryland: St. Joseph Provincial House Archives). 14 Seton: Collected Writings, 1:362. is Seton: Collected Writings, 3 a: 193. 16 Louise Sullivan DC, ed., Spiritual Writings of Louise de Marillac (New York: New City Press, 1991). ,7 Coste, IX, 146. 18 Coste, Ix, 146. 19 Seton: C~llected Writings, 2:127. Review for Religious JOSEPH F. SCHMIDT St. Th r se's Contribution to the Catechism The Catechism of the Catholic Church was first published in the United States in 1994. It is the authoritative text for the catecheti-cal renewal called for by the Second Vatican Council. Surprisingly perhaps, St. Th4r~se of Lisieux (1873 - 1897), popularly known, as the Little Flower, is quoted six times in the text, more often than any other woman and more often than many theological and spiritual giants, including St. Teresa of Avila (quoted five times), St. John of the Cross and Cardinal Newman (quoted four times each); Saints Jerome, Benedict, Francis of Assisi, Catherine of Siena, and Ignatius Loyola (three times); Saints Bernard and Bonaventure (twice); being mentored Joseph E Schmidt FSC has written for this journal as far back as 1988. The author of three books, he is a staff mem-ber of the Sangre de Cristo Center (for international sab-baticals); 410 State Road 592; Santa Fe, New Mexico 87506. joeschmid t@newmexico.com 67.2 2008 Schmidt * St. Thdr~se's Contribution to the Catechism Saints John Cassian, Dominic, Alphonsus, and Francis de Sales (once). She is probably also the youngest per-son cited. Th~r~se's published works, from which the quo-tations in the Catechism are cited, are not extensive, although they exceed those of John of the Cross. Her writings, mostly letters, poems, and autobiographi-cal material, are not organized into any scholarly or thematic theological presentation, yet her teachings, including the cited quotations, are profound in their insights and accessible in their simplicity, and they offer a new and challenging look at the truth of the gospel. As Pope John Paul II said when he made her a doctor of the church in 1997, "One can say with conviction about Thdr~se of Lisieux that the Spirit of God allowed her heart to reveal directly to the people of our time the fundamental mystery, the reality of the gospel." "Her 'little way,' the pope continued, "is nothing other than the gospel way of holiness for all." In the Catechism, as is her "little way," Th~r~se has made a contribution to the church's understanding of the renewal envisioned by the council. Her citations in the Catechism pertain to the church's teaching on the contribution of human effort to our merit and sanctification (none), on the role of love in our sanctification (e~erything), on the power of the saints as intercessors in our sanctification (a lot), on the confidence that the faithful can have of dying into eternal life (complete), on the place that the four Gospels hold in the church (unique), and on her explanation of prayer in the Christian life (remarkable). Each citation is significant; we will consider in detail only Th~r~se's contribution on prayer. Review for Religdous Merit and Love In the article "Grace and Justification," which deals with the doctrine of merit in the Christian life, the Catechism quotes from Thgr~se's prayer, her "Act of Oblation to Merciful Love." Flowing from her spiritual maturity at the age of twenty-two, just two years before she died, this prayer expresses her understanding of the role of her weak human response to grace as well as God's gracious mercy in her sanctification and salvation. It has been called an expression, in prayer form, of her "little way." Understanding grace not as a God-given commod-ity, but as God's loving presence at the core of her I~eing, Thgr~se, in the time before her death, had come to the point of abandoning herself completely into the hands of God, her loving parent, aware of her weakness and placing no emphasis whatsoever on her own merits. She would, as she said, appear before God "with empty hands." This is the part of Thgr~se's "Act of Oblation to Merciful Love" quoted in the Catechism: After earth's exile, I hope to go and enjoy you in the fatherland, but I do not want to lay up merits for heaven. I want to work for your love alone . In the evening of this life, I shall appear before you with empty hands, for I do not ask you, Lord, to count my works. All our iustice is blemished in your eyes. I wish, then, to be clothed in your own justice and to receive from your love the eternal possession of yourself! (Catechism of the Catholic Church [CCC], §2011; see Story of a Soul [SS], trans. John Clarke, p. 277) The Catechism uses these words of Thgr&se to express the church's understanding that all our merit flows from the charity of Christ, who lives and acts in us by grace. Thgr~se's prayer is the culmination of the Catechism's presentation on the doctrine of merit, 67.3 2008 Scbmidt * St. Tb~r~se's Contribution to the Catechism emphasizing that merit is sheer divine gift. All the faith-ful are invited to appropriate this truth of Th~r~se's prayer. The Catechism also quotes Thrr~se in the section "The Church Is Holy." Love is the foundation of the holiness of the Christian and the heart of Christ's mysti-cal body, the Church. Thrr~se, at the end of her life, in meditating on this truth, expressed the significance of Iove in her life and in the life of every Christian. This is cited in the Catechism: If the church was a body composed of different members, it couldn't lack the noblest of all; it must have a Heart, and a Heart BURNING WITH LOVE. And I realized that this love alone was the true motive force which enabled the other members of the church to act; if it ceased to function, the Apostles would forget to preach the gospel, the Martyrs would refuse to shed their blood. LOVE, IN FACT, IS THE VOCATION WHICH INCLUDES ALL OTHERS; IT'S A UNIVERSE OF ITS OWN, COMPRISING ALL TIME AND SPACE-- IT'S ETERNAL! (CCC §826; see SS 194) In this reflection, Th6r~se understood her own voca-tion. She could not be a martyr or an apostle--both important members of the mystical body--but she could be the heart. She would be love in the mystical body, and thereby participate in and nourish the vocations of all those members who act on behalf of the church. "My vocation is love.t she exclaimed. Thus I shall be everything" (SS 194). Th6r~se's audacity in placing herself at the heart of love in the church was not because of her perfection of virtue, but rather because, in her very weakness and imperfection, she was boldly willing to be available to satisfy Love's own desire "to lower itself., to nothing-ness and transform this nothingness into fire" (SS 195). Review for Religious Thtr~se understood that her love of God was expressed by her complete availability to receive and radiate God's love of her. This made her weakness and powerless-ness an advantage because, in being available to God in ¯ "nothingness" and "littleness," it allowed God by stoop-ing down to manifest his infinite grandeur even more. The Catechism invites all the members of the church, in their present state as sinners, to receive and radiate God's love and, even with their limitations and weak-nesses, to share in Th6r~se's vocation to be love at the heart of the church. Death and Dying In the section "The Communion of Saints: The Communion of the Church of Heaven and Earth," the Catechism again cites some of Th~r~se's final words, encouraging all Christians to be assured that the saints intercede for the whole church. The Catechism men-tions Th~r~se's promise as she lay dying: "I want to spend my heaven in doing good on earth" (CCC $956; see Her Last Conversations, trans. John Clarke, p. 102). Over the years since her death in 1897, innumerable testimonies regarding Th~r~se's intercessory power con-firm that she continues to fulfill that promise. And the church assures us that this intercessory power is avail-able through all of the saints. The Catechism quotes some of Th~r~se's dying words in the section on the meaning of Christian death, suggesting that these words can truly be on the lips of every dying Christian. "I am not dying; I am entering life," she said (CCC §1011; see General Correspondence, trans. John Clarke, vol. 2, p. 128). She expressed a profound gospel truth with simplicity, but not without much personal struggle. 67.3 2008 Schmidt ¯ St. Thgrbse's Contribution to the Catechism 260 During her final days, Thgr&se endured excruci-ating physical pain and emotional anguish. Suffering the ravages of tuberculosis that had grown worse over eighteen months, she was also plagued by dark feelings that heaven did not exist, that only nothingness awaited her, that her immense desires to do good on earth after her death would never be realized, and that her life had been wasted. She also felt frightening temptations to suicide. Compounding all these dreadful feelings was her experience of being isolated from the nuns who attended her on her deathbed. She was fearful that, if she shared her distressing thoughts and feelings with them, she might blaspheme and cause scandal. Th~r~se's struggle in faith and her final understanding of her immanent death as "entering life" can become a source of encouragement and hope for anyone nearing death, especially for those who face their last days in pain, confusion, and darkness. Gospel and Prayer Thtr~se is also quoted in the Catechism in the section "The Canon of Scripture." She never had access to a com-plete Bible, but she made the sacred Scriptures that she did have, particularly the Gospels, a fundamental source for her prayer. Her words treasuring the Gospels are cited in the Catechism: "But above all, it's the Gospels that occupy my mind when I'm at prayer; my poor soul has so many needs, and yet this is the one thing needful. I'm always finding fresh lights there, hidden and enthralling mean-ings" (CCC §127; see SS 179). The Catechism invites all Christians, in imitation of Th~r~se, to find a source of prayer in the Scriptures, especially the Gospels. Th~r~se's contribution to Part Four of the Catechism, "Christian Prayer," is probably her most important. Review for Religious Until the publication of the Catechism, the definition of prayer that influenced most of the catechetical teaching in the church through the centuries is that of St. John Damascene. His definition, formulated at the beginning of the 8th century, was ordinarily presented in earlier catechisms in this simplified form: "Prayer is the lifting up or raising up of the mind and heart to God." St. John Damascene's full definition is retained in the Catechism, but is now placed after Th6rbse's expres-sion of prayer. The Catechism asks, What Is Prayer? Th6r~se's description of prayer is given as the answer: "For me, prayer is a surge of the heart; it is a simple look turned toward heaven, it is a cry of recognition and of love, embracing both trial and joy" (CCC §2558; see SS 242). Th6r~se's description of prayer is remarkable in at least six specific ways. In the first place, it shows her personal and invitational way of expressing her teaching. She does not define prayer didactically, but says what prayer is "for me." Her understanding of prayer comes from her own experience, and she shares her insight as a personal statement that might also be of assistance to others. She says she knows "there are really more dif-ferences among souls than there are among faces" (SS 239). By retaining Th6r~se's phrase "for me" as part of its definition of prayer, the Catechism suggests that the church respects the deeply personal and unique quality of the Holy Spirit's prayer in each person. St. John Damascene's full definition is retained in the Catechism, but is now placed after Thdr~se's expression of prayer. 261 67.3 2008 Scbmidt ¯ St. Tbdrkse's Contribution to the Catechism Second, in this definition of prayer, Th~r~se incon-spicuously and successfully combines in simple language the three traditional forms of prayer: affective prayer or prayer using short aspirations or devotional formulas, contemplative prayer or prayer of centering and simple attention, and reflective prayer or meditation. Th6r~se refers to affective prayer as "a surge of the heart." She describes contemplative prayer as "a simple glance turned toward heaven," and identifies reflective prayer as "a cry of recognition and of love, embracing both trial and joy." Third, by saying that prayer is "a surge of the heart," Th6rEse shifts the metaphor of prayer. From John Damascene's more humanly effortful, even stereo-typically masculine, image of "lifting up the mind and heart to God," Th~r~se has moved to the cooperative, even stereotypically feminine, attitude of allowing her heart, moved by the Holy Spirit of love, to surge with that Love in return. Fourth, while not excluding the possibility that reflective prayer would include the sacred Scriptures, a practice dear to her heart, Th~r~se does not refer to Scripture in her definition. Rather she alerts us to the fact that in her reflective, meditative prayer she has embraced her lived experience of both pain and happi-ness, "trial and joy." She uses her ordinary experience to deepen her relationship with God. Her very life is for her the place to find God, to be available to God, and the place from which to utter her cry to God. She includes in her description of prayer a faith-filled atti-tude of acceptance and a grace-filled attitude of surren-der in the trials and joys of everyday life. One's own experiences as the place from which prayer surges are, of course, the way of prayer pictured Review for Religious for us in the lives of the holy men and women of the Scriptures, of the prophets, and indeed of Mary and Jesus. It is here that one gains a deeper understanding of the mystery of divine love. This is the way ordinary Christians throughout the centuries have intuitively prayed, reflecting on their lived experiences, searching for divine providence in the unfolding of their lives. Th~r~se's description of prayer explicitly validates this intuitive way of praying as % cry of recognition and of love embracing both trial and joy" in people's ordinary daily life. Fifth, by including the idea that loving and hon-est reflection on her ordinary life experiences has been for her a form of prayer, Th~r~se shifts people's under-standing of prayer away from "saying prayers" from a prayer book to the idea that prayer is a matter of "prayerful-ness." Thdr~se herself, of course, used a prayer book for her prayer. She recited the Divine Office with her sisters in Carmel as the usual form of her community prayer. But, when she prayed privately and alone, she often dispensed with prayers from a book and simply reflected on her own experiences, searching for God's meaning and love in those experiences. She wrote: It is not necessary to read from a book some beauti-ful formula composed for the occasion. If this were the case, alas, I would have to be pitied! Outside the Thdr~se shifts people's understanding of prayer away from "saying prayers " from a prayer book to the idea that prayer is a matter of "prayerfulness." 263 67.3 2008 Scbmidt ¯ St. Tb~rkse's Contribution to the Catechism Divine Office, which I am very unworthy to recite, I do not have the courage to force myself to search out beautiful prayers in books. There are so many of them it really gives me a headache! And each prayer is more beautiful than the others. I cannot recite them all and, not knowing which to choose, I do like children who do not know how to read. I say very simply to God what I wish to say, without compos-ing beautiful sentences, and he always understands me. (SS 242) Her conversation with God extended throughout the day, about the things of the day, in mindfulness and prayerfulness. Sixth, Th6r~se has expanded the idea of prayer to embrace, as she hopedl a whole legion of little souls in her spirituality. She does this by offering a description of prayer that, while explicitly mentioning "heaven," does not explicidy mention God, Spirit, or Jesus. For her, of course, "heaven" was the eternal embrace of her loving God, Jesus was her beloved with whom she would share eternal life, and the Spirit was the surge of prayer itself. By not mentioning God, Spirit, or Jesus, how-ever, Th~r~se allows her way of prayer to be embraced by those who, without faith in God or knowledge of Jesus or the Spirit, sincerely search for meaning, love, and truth in their life. She has expanded the domain of prayer, thereby permitting an ecumenical and interreli-gious openness that allows the Catholic understanding of prayer to be included in every dialogue on prayer or religion, even with unbelievers. It extends the common ground on which spirituality can be discussed, an exten-sion much needed in our day. These six nuances in the new description of prayer contained in the Catechism of the Catholic Church contribute significantly to the understanding of prayer Review for Religious today. St. John Damascene died around 750. His defini-tion of prayer has had an influence on the teaching of the church for twelve hundred and fifty years, and still remains an important way of understanding prayer. If TMr?~se's definition has the same centuries-long influ-ence before Catholics and others need a new definition, they will be living in the fourth millennium, about the year 3250. Th~r?~se's definition of prayer is only one element of her contribution to the Catechism and only a small part of her spiritual legacy, but even that small part may be more enduring than people have yet imagined. Farmer God I am afield o on which you scatter seed. If some hungry sparrows come to feed upon some grains before they germinate, let it be - sparrows too depend upon your prodigality. But 0 my God, allow enough of me to grow and ripen in your summer love. Before the harvest mow, let warm winds blow across this sea of wheat that I may show your beauty at your feet. Irene Zimmerman OSF 265 67.3 2008 ALEXANDER T. POCETTO De Sales' Vision of Ecclesial and Consecrated Life d chief contribution of St. Francis de Sales (1567- 1622) to the church was to remind people that the call to holiness is addressed not only to religious and clerics, but to everyone. (To deny this, he said, is a heresy.)1 Vatican Council II'S document "The Church in the Modern World" has given added impetus to this basic truth. It is so widely accepted today that it seems to detract from the worth of the religious life? Is it any wonder, then, that people, especially the young, are asking themselves, "If all are called to sanctity and the council urges laypeople to seek it in and through ordinary life, why bother to become a religious?" In recent decades we have seen a marvelous devel-opment in the theology of marriage, and many have acquired a deeper understanding of the Christian mean-ing of conjugal love and fidelity, especially as a sign Alexander T. Pocetto OSFS is currently the Salesian Scholar in the Salesian Center for Faith and Culture of De Sales University; 2755 Station Avenue; Center Valley, Pennsylvania 18034. alexander. pocetto@desales.edu. Review far Religious of Christ's sacrificial love for the church. If the sacra-ment of matrimony has such dignity and nobility, why renounce it in favor of the religious life? Charitable works of many kinds are no longer per-formed almost exclusively by religious. The state and private individuals have practically taken over these activi-ties. Highly qualified, competent, and dedicated laypeople are spending their lives for the poor, the destitute, the mentally ill, the castoffs of society. As a result, many peo-ple ask themselves, "Why enter the religious life if I can perform these apostolic works as a dedicated layperson?" Moreover, some argue that laypeople, since they are actu-ally engaged in worldly affairs, are in a much better posi-tion to suffuse these activities with the love of Christ. In addition to all of this, a number of religious con-gregations, not adapting to the times, seem to have lost their raison d'etre. Nowadays few young people seem challenged and inspired by them, especially in the more industrialized countries of Europe and North America. Given these developments, can we conceive of the church without the religious or consecrated life? Is the religious life as a form of holiness the victim of an evo-lution in the church? Is it going to disappear, giving way to newer forms of holy living? In other words, has the religious life served its purpose, and is it now to be discarded like an old shoe? The church does not think so. Vatican II, however, asks us to deepen our understanding of the religious state in the life of the church. We cannot do this by examining hierarchical and juridical structures, for they do not reveal the necessity of the religious life. We must go back to the New Testament, particularly the Gospels, to understand what place Christ had in mind for reli-gious life when he founded the church. 267 67.3 2008 Pocetto ¯ DeSales' ~on of Ecclesial and Consecrated Life The Church and Religious/Consecrated Life The first two chapters of John's Gospel are revealing in this regard. The call of the first disciples is placed immediately after the hymn in praise of the incarnation and the witness of John the Baptist. Christ first calls his disciples and then accompanies them to a wedding feast at Cana. It seems that everything takes place to tell us that, when Christ began to establish his church, he set up two states--that of Christian marriage, inaugurated at Cana, and the consecrated life, inaugurated by the call of the disciples. John mentions the time, about four in the afternoon, when two of John's disciples decided to stay with Jesus that day--perhaps implying that the Sabbath was at hand; in any case, the detail gives a spe-cial significance to their staying with him. Their answer to "Come and see" marks the first time that disciples gathered around Jesus. But, as Mark points out, disciples did not gather exclusively for the mission of preaching, but to stay close to Jesus as companions and to go out preaching at his command: "He appointed twelve, to be with him, and to be sent out to preach" (Mk 3:14). The characteristics elements of this following of Christ are these: (1) complete submission to him, (2) renouncement of material goods, (3) life in common with him, and (4) a close and intimate association with his work of redemption--his apostolic mission. In these we can see the pattern of religious life: "union with Christ through obedience, chastity, poverty, common life, and dedication to the apostolate.''3 The religious life encompasses more than the three traditional evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience, They derive their value, importance, and significance from complete, immediate, and exclusive attachment to Jesus. One might object that the three Review for Religious vows include this attachment: they take it for granted. This is true, but it is poor pedagogy to let what is pri-mary be only implicit in what is explicitly expressed. If we reduce the religious life to the three vows, we will have difficulty making it relevant to the church's life and work today. Other elements deserve equal emphasis: total dedication to Christ, community life, and dedication to the apostolate. From the very begin-nings of the church, Jesus' followers have been characterized by their preferential love of him, by their community life, and by their apostolic zeal. "The Savior wanted the conse-crated life of his disciples and of his women followers to form the cornerstone of his church, the very first stone. "4 By a careful and prayerful examination of Scripture, we will be able to see that the religious life is a natural way of living the gospel to the full. One sign of the church in its fullness, St. Francis de Sales pointed out, is the presence of religious orders and congregations. "The true church ought to shine in the perfection of the Christian life; not so that everybody in the church is bound to follow it; it is enough that it be found in some notable members and parts, in order that nothing may be written or counseled in vain and that the church may make use of all the parts of Holy Scripture.''s In the saint's view, a full and complete vision of the church can be had only when there are people in it living con- The religious life encompasses more than the three traditional evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience. 269 67.3 2008 Pocetto ¯ DeSales' I~ion of Ecdesial and Consecrated Life 27_0] secrated lives. This visibility is necessary for the believ-ability of the church, even in today's world. The tendency in the past was to stress the verti-cal aspect of Christianity, personal union with Christ-- "Jesus and I" or "me and God." This obscured somewhat the ecclesial and communal aspects of Catholic life and religious life and the community's (horizontal) role in life and in evangelization. To understand better the place of consecrated life in the church today, we have to see it in the light of covenant theology. Religious Life and Covenant Theology God's plan of salvation is expressed as a covenant between God and human beings. In describing the nature of the church, Francis de Sales comments, "It is for a good reason that the Christian people are called a church or a convocation, because the first privilege that God bestows on man to put him in the state of grace is to call him to the church."6 Our very first privilege is to be joined to the covenant community of the church. It is no wonder, then, that Francis tells us that by baptism, which inserts us into the community of the church, we become "the ark of the covenant.''7 The new covenant was not made between individu-als but between Christ and the whole group of his dis-ciples, a community destined to regroup all of humanity in unity. The details of Pentecost mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles, the violent wind and the tongues of fire, recall similarities and parallels in the Sinai covenant (see Ac 2:2-3). In the Old Testament, the new covenant was foretold and described in terms of a marriage covenant. Francis de Sales emphasizes this in his explanation of the church's perpetuity. This idea is so central to this study that the pertinent passage needs to be cited at length: Review for Religious The glorious secretary of God says in this place (Rv 21:2) that the church is a new city, decked out by God as a bride for her bridegroom. Now just try to imagine . . . what kind of a bride she would be if she were fashioned according to the wish and desire of her groom. If the bridegroom were to fashion her as he wished, I believe that he would make her the most beautiful, the most virtuous, the healthiest, and the most long-lived that one could imagine. For there is no love like that of husband towards his wife . I ask you, would it be fitting for our Lord to have shed his blood to reconcile his church to God, his Father, and then to forsake this church in the end so that she is devastated? Certainly such a mediator merits an endless peace, a very close covenant, about which Isaiah says, speak-ing of Christianity: "I will make a perpetual cov-enant with them.''8 This text not only illuminates Francis's teaching on the church, but on the religious life and marriage as well. He uses the exact same expression--"a very close covenant" (une alliance estroitte)--in the chap-ter on marriage in the Introduction to the Devout Life.9 The Old Testament prophets like Hosea, Jeremiah, and Isaiah were fond of describing the new covenant in terms of conjugal union and fidelity. For them mar-riage was the inspiration for a full understanding of it. The covenant in the New Testament, however, gets its inspiration not from marriage but from the marriage of Christ to humanity, that is, from the incarnation and its consummation in Christ's death and resurrection--his Passover. St. Paul makes this clear when he writes to the Ephesians, "Husbands, love your wives as Christ loved the church" (5:25). Here he envisions the church as the bride of Christ and redemption as the act of love par excellence, the model of conjugal love. 271 67.3 2008 Pocetto ¯ DeSales' ~tsion of Ecclesial and Consecrated Life 272 The church's loving response and fidelity to Christ are admirably realized in the life of consecrated virgins. Virginal consecration is the integral expression of fun-damental marks of the church--covenant community, mutual union, zeal for the apostolate. This is Francis de Sales' perspective when preaching to the Calvinists. The religious life is a sign of the presence of Christ's fullness, a sign of the church in its perfection. This suggests how necessary consecrated life is to the church. Without it the church would not be the covenant community; it would not be a full mirroring of Christ. Eeclesial Dimensions of the Religious Life In founding the Visitation congregation, Francis de Sales evidently had this truth in mind. In his preface to the Visitation constitutions, he explains that bish-ops in the early church continued what the apostles had started with regard to virgins and widows. They looked after those especially who "by a special inspira-tion were called to the state of consecrated chastity.''1° Francis notes that these were of two kinds--those who lived in community and those who lived at home. He carefully lists the testimony of Fathers of the church who witnessed to various assemblies of virgins and widows consecrated to God. If we remember that the word "assembly" is his favorite word for the church, the ecclesial relevance of his conception of the reli-gious life become more evident. In fact, he wanted the Visitation to have its official beginning on the Feast of Pentecost. He takes pains to show the apostolic ori-gins of the religious life. He says: "St. Ignatius, disciple of the apostles, wrote to the Philippians, 'I greet the assembly of virgins and the congregation of widows,' and moreover herequests that the people of Tarsus Review for Religious honor virgins 'as consecrated to God' and widows as the altar or 'sanctuary of God.'" ~1 Of course, we have to avoid a strict parallel between the state of virgins and consecrated widows with that of the religious life inasmuch as "virginity founds the order of virgins and not the religious life as such.''12 Eventually the state of virgins and widows coalesced with historical developments in religious life, yet they have separate identities: "Religious life requires and consecrates not so much virginity as chastity.''~3 As Francis sees it, the believability of celibacy is closely linked to the believability of the church. This helps us to understand the unique place of the vow of chastity in the Salesian conception of the religious life. Before the Visitation became a religious order, the only vow that was taken before the oblation was that of chas-tity: "Since the fundamental vow of this congregation is made expressly and formally of perpetual chastity and continence, it is not necessary to declare how much all the sisters are obliged to it; for in a word they must belong completely to God their Spouse.''~4 This article should be compared with an earlier one on the vows: "All those who are to receive the veil will make the simple vow [of chastity] immediately before they pres-ent themselves for the holy oblation. But, with regard to the vows of poverty .and obedience, they shall only be made upon the advice of the spiritual father and with the permission of the superior.''~5 We get a deeper insight into Francis de Sales' understanding of chastity in the church in a letter to a young lady who later became a Visitandine: "Consider how agreeable the virtue of chastity is to God and the angels because he wanted it to be eternally observed in heaven, where there will no longer be any kind of carnal 273 67.3 2008 Pocetto ¯ DeSales' l~sion of Ecclesial and Consecrated Life pleasures nor marriages. Will you not be happy to begin in this world the life you will continue eternally in the next? Praise God, then, for having given you this holy inspiration.''~6 Today, with all the talk about the sanctity, nobil-ity, and dignity of conjugal love and the sacrament of matrimony and with the consequent attacks on priestly celibacy, and indeed on all kinds of dedicated celibacy, as affecting and deforming human personality, many people are uncom-fortable with this eschatological value of chastity. The world looks upon us as freaks of bygone ages. "After all," some say, "marriage is a sacrament and celi-bacy is not." What Francis has to say about the com-plete consecration achieved by this vow will shed further light on the matter. In the letter mentioned above, he continues, "[This virtue] makes our body sacred and gives us the comfort of belonging completely to his divine Majesty--heart, body, mind, and sentiment.''~7 So Francis does not view it merely as a consecration of our bodies, but as a complete attachment to Christ involving the whole person. Marriage is the sign and image, the sacrament, of the relationship between Christ and his church. "It is to be admitted without scandal or resentment that marriage, even though a sacrament, is no more than a sacrament; it is a sign of the love of Christ and is nourished by his grace; but marriage does that under carnal conditions Marriage is the sign and image, the sacrament, of the relationship between Christ and his church. Review for Religious which Christ will abolish in his final reality and which he sanctifies only to teach us how to surpass them. ¯ This is what medieval thinkers meant when they said that marriage 'signified' the union of Christ and the church but did not 'contain' it.''~8 But this otherworldliness or eschatological character of the religious life does not militate against a genuine interest in the secular city. In fact, its genuineness can be judged only by the life of service to others that one undertakes here on this earth. Francis de Sales' teach-ing on this is clear. He sees necessary contact with the world as important for religious. In his mind, there is no essential conflict between the life of contemplation and that of the apostolate or the active life, as is clear when he states the purpose of the Visitation: "Inasmuch as this congregation has two principal exercises--the one contemplation and prayer, which is practiced mainly in the house, the other the service of the poor and the sick ¯. --it has fittingly chosen as patron Our Lady of the Visitation, because in this mystery the most glorious Virgin performed that solemn act of charity toward the neighbor of going to visit and serve St. Elizabeth in her pregnancy and composed nonetheless the canticle of the Magnificat, the sweetest, the most elevated, the most spiritual and contemplative prayer that has ever been written." 19 The authenticity of our contemplative prayer is seen in how we relate to others: "It is necessary to meditate and to contemplate only insofar as it is required to per-form our duties well, each according to our vocation. . . Do you want to know whether you have prayed well and whether you have kissed our Lord with the kiss of the mouth? See if you have a heart full of kind and charitable affections toward your neighbor, if your heart 275 67.3 2008 Pocetto ¯ DeSales' l~wion of Ecclesial and Consecrated Life 276 is disposed to help him in all his needs and to put up with him lovingly on all kinds of occasions.''2° At this point it is important to point out once and for all that Francis de Sales gave in to Cardinal Marquemont's demand to change the Visitation from a congregation with simple vows to a religious order with solemn vows because he felt that, without his sup-port and approval, the Visitation could not be estab-lished in France. Bear in mind that Marquemont was influential and a close friend of Louis XIII. Francis revealed his true reasons for this change not in his let-ter to Marquemont,2~ but in a letter to Mother Favre, the superior of the Visitation monastery in Lyons. After mentioning that Marquemont wanted to see the Visitation become a religious order, Francis says: "Now my feeling was that it would be better [to leave] it a simple congregation, where only love and fear of the Spouse would serve as a cloister, with the withdrawal that is suitable to and required by such assemblies, as we have put it in the Rules. But, since what this con-gregation can hope to receive in all of France depends upon the good reception that the Reverend Archbishop [Marquemont] will give it in his city, I consent that it be changed into a religious order.''22 The entire let-ter makes it abundantly clear that he went along with Marquemont for very practical reasons. Let us, then, bury once and for all the assertion that he did this through obedience to his metropolitan, Archbishop Marquemont. His metropolitan was the archbishop of Vienne and not Marquemont. Even though de Sales decided to give in to Marquemont, there are two things that he would not accept. First, he would not change the name from the Visitation to the Presentation, as Marquemont Review for Religious requested.23 To Marquemont he gives juridical reasons to satisfy the cardinal's legalistic mind. His real reason is that the name and the mystery of the Visitation is tied to its very nature and purpose, that is, to the nature of the religious life as he conceived it. Second, he used every trick in the book to obtain a modified cloister or enclosure so that, if the sisters could not go out into the world, the world, at least in the personae of women who were disturbed, could come and spend some time in the monastery to regain their peace of soul and mind. In this way the sisters could still serve the poor: "Inasmuch as the con-gregation must hold in high esteem char-ity and solicitude for the poor and inasmuch as there is no greater poverty than that of the soul, it will be permitted to receive in the house not only for a day, but for several days, as many as required, women who either need consolation or need to prepare themselves for a general confession or to amend their lives.''24 Along this line, it is helpful to remember that some of the sisters taught catechism in the cloister to the young ladies of Annecy. For Francis, another consequence of the eschato-logical meaning of the religious life is that it stresses the importance of the covenant community's com-munal life. In his correspondence with the Barnabite Dom Just Gu4rin, he tells him to use every resource The name and the mystery of the Visitation is tied to its very nature and purpose, that is, to the nature of the religious life as he conceived it. 277 67.3 2008 Pocetto ¯ DeSales' l/~ion of Ecclesial and Consecrated Life 278] to obtain permission for the sisters to say the Little Office of the Blessed Mother.25 He felt strongly that, if the Visitandine nuns were obliged to recite the Divine Office as all cloistered nuns were obliged to do in those days, they would not be able to accept the sick and infirm and so would lose the charismatic character of making present on earth the church in heaven: "It seems that, according to the parable [of the Wedding Banquet, Lk 14:16-21], [St. Augustine, in his Rule] makes room in the religious life not only for the hale and hearty, but also for the sick, the lame, and the blind, so that like the nuptial feast of the heavenly Spouse his home may be filled with guests."26 Francis's original purpose in establishing the Visitation is what struck the people of his day. It was an ecclesial sign representing to them the kingdom of God on earth. Vghile on his second journey to Paris, Francis discussed the Visitation with laypeople who were in the party. The observation that the nobleman Albert de Gen~ve made is extremely enlightening: "In this regard, he used to say to u~ that religious life is like the banquet of the prince in the Gospel, where no one should be refused admittance, where even the ordi-nary citizen, the blind, the cripple, is to be admitted. All these things stuck out in my mind because I had seen by experience all that he foretold [about the religious life] in the great perfection which reigned in this monastery [of the Visitation of Annecy]."27 Inasmuch as it is eschatological, religious life points to and makes present, to a certain degree, the life to be lived in heaven. It is like the wedding banquet of the Gospels. In Francis's mind, life in heaven is a com-munal one. Of the communion of saints in heaven, he says, "They give to one another [indescribable] content- Review for Religious ment and live in the consolation of a happy and indis-soluble union.''2s The eschatological, communal, and ecclesial aspects of the religious or consecrated life are, for Francis, inextricably intertwined, and that is how the saintly doctor of love expounds them. His vision can revitalize religious life today by supplanting the exaggerated individualism that threatens to diminish or destroy it. Notes ~ Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, trans, and ed. John K. Ryan (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1950), Part I, chap. 3. 2 See Jean Galot sJ, "Why Religious Life?" Review for Religious 24 (May 1965): 505-517. 3 Galot, "Why," p. 508. 4 Galot, "why," p. 509. 5 Francis de Sales, The Catholic Controversy, trans. Henry Benedict Mackey OSB (Rockford, Illinois: TAN Books and Publishers, 1989), p. 199. This posthumously published work is more aptly rifled "Meditations on the Church." See Elisabeth Stopp, "Meditations on the Church (1595-96)," in A Man to Heal Differences: Essays and Talks on St. Francis de Sales (Philadelphia: St. Joseph's Univ. Press, 1997), pp. 51-74. 6 Francois de Sales, Oeuvres de Saint Fran¢ois de Sales, ~dition Complkte (Annecy: Monast~re de la Visitation, 1892-1964), 27 vols, vol. 1, pp. 42-43. Hereafter OEA. 7 Francis de Sales, Treatise on the Love of God, trans. John K. Ryan (Stella Niagara, N.Y.: De Sales Resource Center, 2007), I, p. 209. s Sermon on the Perpetuity of the Church, OEA, 7, pp. 215-222, here pp. 215 and 217. 9 De Sales, Introduction, Part 3, chap. 38. Unfortunately, Ryan trans-lates the French word "alliance" as "alliance" instead of "covenant," which it obviously means if we understand the term as used in the ser-mon cited above. ~0 OEA, 25, p. 294. u OEA, 25, pp. 3-4. ~2 Gustave Martelet SJ, "The Church's Holiness and Religious Life" (Part 2), Review for Religious 25 (January 1966): 33. ~3 Martelet, "Church's Holiness" (Part 2), p. 33. 279 67.3 2008 Pocetto * DeSales' V'~on of Ecclesial and Consecrated Life ~40EA, 25, p. 369-370. ~5 OEA, 25, p. 245. ~60EA, 14, p. 18-19. ~7 OEA, 14, p. 19. ~s Gustave Martelet SJ, "The Church's Holiness and Religious Life" (Part 1), Review for Religious 24 (November 1965): 901. Part 3 was published in the March 1966 issue, pp. 246-268. These three articles are the late R.aymond L. Sullivant SJ's translation from Martelet's book Saintetd de l'Eglise et Vie Religieuse (Toulouse: ~ditions Pri~re et Vie, 1964). ~90EA, 25, p. 214. 20 OEA, 9, pp. 466-467. 2~ See OEA, 25, pp. 333-342. 2z OEA, 17, p. 139. 23 See OEA, 25, p. 340. 24 OF~, 25, p. 220. 25 See OEA, 18, pp. 140, 186, 195. 26 OEA, 25, p. 53. 27 Deposition of Albert de Gen~ve, Archives of the Annecy Visitation Monastery, fol. 763. 28 De Sales, Introduction, Part 1, chap. 16. 280] Rose Window A greatflower glows in the stone welcoming light with every petal, turning in circles of blue, yellow, rose, transplanted here from some celestial meadow to bloom in the house of God. Kate Martin OSC Review for Religious JOHN CARROLL FUTRELL Christian Prayer's Trinitarian Shape Prayer as a human activity is making ourselves present to the presence of God within us, so that we can recognize God's presence in everyone and everything around us. To pray we must make the human effort to respond to God's constant coming to us. We are taught in the New Testament that we should always pray in the name of Jesus, remembering always that the Holy Spirit comes to help us to go to the Father. We are called to go through Jesus to the Father, as the Holy Spirit moves us to pray. The Holy Spirit dwells in our own spirit, and our own spirits are illuminated by the Holy Spirit--through the Holy Spirit's activity in our spirit. If we feel moved to it, a good way to pray is consciously to focus our prayer: it always is meant to take us to our creator, the Father, who praying 281 John Carroll Futrell SJ has written for this journal for fifty years. His address is 3601 Lindell Boulevard; Saint Louis, Missouri 63108. 67.3 2008 Futrell ¯ Christian Prayer's Trinitarian Shape 282 seeks to draw us through Jesus' loving heart. At Jesus' baptism, "while he was praying, heaven was opened and the Holy Spirit came down upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my own dear Son. I am pleased with you'" (Lk 3:21-22). After facing Satan's temptations, Jesus "returned to Galilee, and the power of the Holy Spirit was with him" (Lk 4:14). Just before choosing the Twelve Aposdes, Jesus "went up a hill to pray and spent the whole night there praying to God" (Lk 5:12). Through a parable, once again Jesus teaches us to "ask, and you will receive, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you." Jesus insists that "the Father in heaven [will] give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him" (Lk 5:9 and 13). In a few passages of the Gospels, Jesus actually teaches us about the trinitarian shape of all Christian prayer. He promises that "when the Spirit comes, who reveals the truth about God, he will lead you into all truth. He will not speak on his own authority, but he will speak of what he hears and will tell you of things to come. He will give me glory, because he will take what I say and tell it to you. All that my Father has is mine; that is why I said that the Spirit will take what I give him and tell it to you" (Jn 16:13-15). Again Jesus said to the Aposdes, "The Father will give you whatever you ask of him in my name. Until now you have not asked for anything in my name; ask and you will receive, so that your happiness may be complete." In a passage of John's Gospel, Jesus powerfully reveals his relationship to the Father in the Holy Trinity when he says: "Father, the hour has come. Give glory to your Son, so that the Son may give glory to you. For you gave him author-ity over all humanity, so that he might give eternal life Review for Religious to all those you gave him. And eternal life means to know you, the only true God, and to know Jesus Christ, whom you have sent. I have shown your glory on earth. I have finished the work you gave me to do. Father, give me glory in your presence now, the same glory I had with you before the world was made" On 17:1-5). "I pray for them. I do not pray for the world, but for those you gave me out of the world. They belonged to you and you gave them to me" (Jn 17:9). Building upon the gospel revelation, St. Paul con-tinues to teach us the trinitarian shape of all Christian prayer. In Romans 8:9-11 he says: "You do not live as your human nature tells you to; instead, you live as the Spirit tells you to--if, in fact, God's Spirit lives in you. Whoever does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him. But, if Christ lives in you, the Spirit is life for you, because you have been put right with God, even though your bodies are going to die because of sin." In another passage from Romans, Paul tells us: "Those who are led by God's Spirit are God's sons. For the Spirit that God has given you does not make you slaves and cause you to be afraid; instead the Spirit makes you God's children, and by the Spirit's power we cry out to God, 'Father, my Father!' God's Spirit joins himself to our spirits to declare that we are God's children" (Rm 8:14- 16). Paul rejoices that "neither the world above nor the world below--there is nothing in all creation that will ever be able to separate us from the love of God which is ours through Christ Jesus our Lord" (Rm 8:39). To the Ephesians, Paul insists that we should present everything to God in prayer, "asking for God's help. Pray on every occasion as the Spirit leads" (Ep 6:16-18). Paul exhorts the Philippians "not to worry about anything, but in all your prayers ask God for what 283 67.3 2008 Futrell ¯ Christian Pr.ayer's Trinitarian Shape In the four Gospels,, Jesus teaches us to pray chiefly by modeling prayer rather than by giving lessons. you need, always asking him with a thankful heart" (Ph 14:6). In the four Gospels, Jesus teaches us to pray chiefly by modeling prayer rather than by giving lessons. When asked specifically to teach people to pray, Jesus gives them the Our Father (Mt 6:9-13, Mk 11:25-26, Lk 11:22-24). Luke says, "Jesus told his disciples a parable [the widow and the judge] to teach them that they should always pray and never become discouraged" (Lk 18:1). Through his own example, Jesus shows us impor-tant times to pray. When performing the great miracle of the multiplica-tion of loaves and fishes, Jesus "looked up to heaven and gave thanks to God" (Mt 14:18-19, Mk 6:41, Lk 9:15-17). During his great suffering in the Agony in the Garden, Jesus prayed that God would take away this chalice of pain, but "not my will but yours be done" (Mt 6:36-46, Mk 14:32-40, Lk 22:39-46). Jesus promises that "God will judge in their favor his own people who will cry out to him day and night for help" (Lk 18:9). And Jesus practiced what he preached. He "went to lonely places to pray" (Lk 5:16). He "prayed all night" (Lk 5:12). At the Last Supper when instituting the Eucharist, Jesus "gave thanks to God" (Mr 26:28-30, Mk 14:22-26, Lk 22:14-23). At the Transfiguration, when Jesus shows Peter, James, and John his glory, we are shown the place of Jesus in the Trinity when the Father's voice is heard 284} Review for Religious from heaven saying: "This is my Son whom I have cho-sen. Listen to him" (Lk 9:29-36). Throughout Christian revelation, the three Persons of the Holy Trinity are shown to be one God; this deter-mines the shape of all Christian prayer to God. Through the Gospels we are shown that Christian prayer must be offered through Jesus Christ to the Father and that the very possibility of prayer depends upon openness to the Holy Spirit, who illuminates our spirits and moves us to pray. This is why all Christian prayer has a trinitarian shape, whether the ones praying are conscious of this or not. Personal Reflection / Group Discussion 1. To Whom do I pray when I address prayer to God? 2. How does Scripture affect my way of praying? 3. "The Eucharist models our Christian way of praying." Has this statement been true in my own way of praying? 4. What would I say is distinct about our Christian way of praying from other religious traditions? 285 67.3 2008 PHILIP SHANO Midnight Prayer in the Ignatian Exercises p ercy Bysshe Shelley wrote of "profoundest mid-ight." He sums upwhat many other writers have described--a midnight hour that speaks to us more deeply, more intimately, than the daytime hours. Such an hour can nourish those hungering for God. Thus, "midnight prayer" is a significant part of the dis-cipline St. Ignatius Loyola calls for in the Twentieth Annotation experience of his Spiritual Exercises, when people withdraw for a month from their normal activi-ties and personal relationships. Ignatius says in a note immediately before the additional directions, "The First Exercise will be made at midnight" (SpEx §72). He refers again to the midnight prayer a few other times in the Exercises. He does not spell out why this exercise is so significant. Philip Shano SJ, a Canadian Jesuit who spent twelve years in retreat work at Loyola House in Guelph, Ontario, is novice director and superior at the Jesuit Novitiate; 1035 Summit Avenue; Saint Paul, Minnesota 55105. Review for Religious Many a contemporary director either refuses to recommend this practice to retreatants or is so blas~ in mentioning it that retreatants do not see its value. These directors see it as a pass~ practice, out of place in the contemporary world. Or, worse, they see it as one of Ignatius's recommended penitential practices. It is nei-ther pass~ nor penitential. These directors are depriving retreatants of one of the many helpful practices recom-mended by Ignatius. Along with elements in the Annotations and Additions, Ignatius's point in suggesting midnight prayer is about making the retreatants' environment conducive to the serious and life-changing graces he wants them to receive during the thirty days. The early directories of the Exercises consider midnight prayer important in the daily pattern of the retreat. In a parenthetical com-ment, the official directory of 1599 states the reason for midnight prayer--"a time most helpful for meditation because of its quiet and deep silence." It says, "Those who wish to make the Exercises in full form and who have the strength for it will generally spend five hours each day in meditation: the 1st about midnight (a time most helpful for meditation because of its quiet and deep silence), the 2nd at daybreak, the 3rd a little before dinner, the 4th in the afternoon, and the 5th in the late afternoon.''1 Mealtimes vary from culture to culture, but the point about the quiet and silence of midnight cuts across cultures. Even those who stay up late and would never describe themselves as prayerful know the power of midnight's "quiet and deep silence." It is probably one of the most common times for creative writing. There is something about prayer and reflection in the late night or early morning that fosters the power of the imagination. As Ignatius said, directors should take 287 67.3 2008 Shano ¯ Midnight Prayer in the Ignatian Exercises account of the retreatants' differences of personality and energy. Most of those who make the full Exercises are being called to the life of discipline recommended by Ignatius. Directors, however, can work with them to determine if their sleep needs suggest that they should forgo the interruption that midnight prayer entails. Regrettably, many directors assume that their retreatants will find midnight prayer difficult and so they do not recommend it. One of the most common and misguided assump-tions about midnight prayer during the thirty-day retreat is that the practice is peni-tential. Directors should notice that, if ~ Ignatius connected midnight prayer with penance, he probably would have said something about it in his section on penance (SpEx §§82- 87). He does speak of the importance of sleep (§84), but he says nothing about the times of prayer as a form of penance. The practice of midnight prayer has been dropped by many contemporary directors of the Spiritual Exercises. The assumption that midnight prayer is penitential is not just incorrect; it fosters the contemporary watering-down of the Exercises. It misses one of Ignatius's main aims in his intense experience of the disciplined spiritual life, namely, the constant need to dispose retreatants to receive the graces sought. The Additions and other points in the Exercises stress the There, is something about prayer and reflection' in the late night or,, early morning that fosters ~he power of the imagination. 2,88 Review for Religious importance of the surrounding environment--the place where one has a room, the view from the window, and so on. The hours of prayer, too, can add to the helpful disposition of the retreatants. Many directors who recommend the midnight meditation speak to their retreatants about asking their guardian angel to wake them up about three hours after they fall asleep. Ideally, one does not use an alarm clock or other artificial means of rousing oneself. The idea is that, if it is to be a time when one is disposed for prayer, one will wake up. In the twenty years I have been directing the Spiritual Exercises, my experience has been that very few retreatants find it an unhelpful time to pray. Many may balk at the idea at first, but after trying it most do not dispute its value. Many are motivated by Ignatius's invita-tion to discipline. After the retreat is finished, they may even have a strong urge to continue late-night prayer. In our day a certain political correctness may induce directors to take "the clients' side" to avoid any accusa-tion of too much discipline and mortification. These, however, have a valid place in the spiritual life; it is how people grow. Still, there often is an aversion to dis-ciplines that might be uncomfortable. Directors avoid asking people to spend much time praying about sin, about hell, or about Jesus' passion and death. Midnight prayer has an obvious discomfort, disrupting ordinary sleep patterns. That does not mean that it is a bad thing. Like other things, it requires discernment. Note ' Number [34] (chap. 3, no. 7) of"The Official Directory of 1599" in On Giving the Spiritual Exercises: The Early Jesuit Manuscript Directories and the Official Directory of 1~99, trans, and ed. Martin E. Palmer SJ (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1996), pp. 297-298. 289 67.3 2008 BERNARD J. LEE The Social Matrix of Religious Obedience revisiting religious life 2901 There are three parts to these reflections on the social matrix of obedience in religious life. The first addresses the functions of power in any social group, emphasizes mutuality in deci-sion making, and finds a helpful resource in Bernard M. Loomer's "Two Kinds of Power." The second part addresses the condition of those who feel "outside" of power, looks at how they come "inside," and finds helpful resources in Elizabeth Janeway's book Powers of the Weak. The third part addresses the dynamic in a Judeo-Christian group seeking to promote the reign of God in specit~c communal experi-ences; it finds resources in Gaudium et spes and in Paul Hanson's The People Called: The Growth of Community in the Bible. These reflections are Bernard J. Lee SM is professor of theology and vice pres-ident for mission and identity in St. Mary's University; One Camino Santa Maria; San Antonio, Texas 78228. Review for Religious an elaboration of a short discussion of obedience in my book The Beating of Great Wings: A Worldly Spirituality for Active Apostolic Communities. 1 Before addressing those three areas, I want to name two theological presuppositions that underlie what follows. The first is that all experiences of God are mediated historically and that obedience is one such mediation. We are addressed by God in and through experience. Martin Buber remarked that people won-der why God does not talk much nowadays. He says that too many people expect to hear God above or alongside daily life, and miss the point that, when situ-ation after situation calls us to make decisions that have effects, these situations are in fact the personal speech of God.2 The second presupposition is from Vatican Council II's Lumen gentium §9, that it has pleased God to save us not merely as individuals one by one, but as a people mutually related. Obedience has everything to do with the social matrix of redemption and, in our special case, the life of a religious community. We in religious life are a clear instance of persons mutually related. The Issue of Power Church thought and behavior including these reflec-tions of mine--have always been influenced by the cul-ture at large. In the culture of feudalism, the church's and religious life's sense of themselves reflected that culture. In civil life, there were a few princes and dukes, lords and ladies, and all the rest were subjects and had to obey them. Church authority tended to reflect that structure. Recall the phrase for bishops and cardinals ("princes of the church"), and the terms of address ("Your Excellency" and "Your Eminence"). At ordination the newly ordained 291 67.3 2008 Lee ¯ The Social Matrix of Religious Obedience 292 places his hands between the hands of the bishop and promises obedience to him, not to the reign of God. In religious life the designated community leaders were called superiors, which logically makes community members "inferiors." Higher leaders were and still are sometimes generals. Obedience operated in that frame-work. Titles are an index to a community's social struc-ture. There were incredible leaders in this system in the church and in religious life, but it was still this system. By and large, feudal tendencies were muted in religious life, but they were part of our history. Community members understood themselves somewhat feudally in their relationship with designated community leaders. We are in a different position in Western culture today because of a late-18th-century paradigm shift to a social matrix different from feudalism. But we must remember that more participative approaches to group decision making are really quite new if we consider reli-gious life's long history. In his bicentennial book on the French Revolution, Simon Schama discusses that paradigm shift as an aban-donment of feudal structures, in which most people were subjects, and a desire among people for wider participation in their communal life. He says: "While it was commonplace to recognize that the Revolution gave birth to a new kind of political world, it is less often understood that that world was the product of two irreconcilable interests--the creation of potent states and the creation of a community of free citizens.''3 Mutatis mutandis, these political pulls were felt in the church and in religious life. They are reflected cur-rently, for example, in the matter of episcopal collegi-ality. In parishlife in the United States, about eighty percent of Roman Catholics want a voice in the spending of parish income and in matters pertaining to justice and welfare. Over seventy percent would like to have a voice in the appointment of priests to a parish.4 This is a desire to be ecclesial citizens. Women's orders, by and large, have made significant moves toward the post- Revolution leadership paradigm. Vatican II's attention to episcopal collegiality was also a move in this direc-tion, but there is still a need for wholehearted careful development. With this as background, I am interested in ponder-ing religious obedience as part of the "post-feudal" social dynamics of a religious order's apostolic commitment to the reign of God in human history. The politics of mutual responsibil-ity for the common good would be a briefer statement of the same thing. Because politics has gotten such a questionable repu-tation in our culture, Bernard Crick felt compelled to write a small book (and a fine one), In Defense of Politics.5 We easily forget that Aristotle called politics a virtue in his treatment of the social nature of human beings, in the Nicomachean Ethics, book six.6 And St. Thomas sees politics as a virtue in his tract on prudence, De Prudentia, again as a consequence of our social nature.7 This sense of politics is a good framework for consider-ing religious obedience. The word politics is derived from the Greek word for a city (polis). Politics is how city dwellers--citizens-- We are in a different position in Western culture today because of a late-18th-century paradigm shift to a social matrix different from feudalism. 293 67.3 2008 Lee ¯ The Social Matrix of Religious Obedience 294 construe their life together to best serve their common good. Given the inevitable variety of experiences and perceptions within any group, political astuteness guides the compromises people must make in their collective espousal of the most good for all--this must not be allowed to mean a bland minimum of good. That would be bad politics. Among religious, common good is intimately related to our community's mission and to the social circumstances where we are missioned. Religious obe-dience implies a common quest for the reign of God. Maximizing that quest requires some "political" jockey-ing and compromising. In view of this, I want to reflect of the issue of power. The word power sounds threaten-ing, but it is a neutral term. Power is an issue whenever two or more people are engaged in any social interac-tion. Power is present in dialogue and collaboration. In the reflections that follow, I am especially indebted to Bernard Loomer's lecture on social ethics, "Two Kinds of Power," at the University of Chicago's Divinity School, and to Elizabeth Janeway's book The Powers of the Weak. I am interested in how communities and community leadership at every level obey together the reign of God. This may sound quixotic, but I will give it a try. This approach is limited in scope. It is concerned with obedience's social matrix, and does not touch upon the asceticism that healthy obedience requires, nor upon the prayer life that supports it, nor upon the relation-ship with God that it mediates. In my reflection I have in mind active apostolic religious orders, with mission as a key category. Loomer's "Two Kinds of Power" Bernard Loomer says, first of all, that "the presence Review for Religious of power is manifest whenever two or more people are gathered together and have any kind of relationship," and also that "its deeper and sometimes darker qualities emerge as soon as the omnipresent factor of inequality makes itself felt . The problem of power is the prob-lem of the quality of our lives.''8 I recognize that as true, wherever and whenever, in a group as small as two or as large as a nation. Loomer's major contribution to social thought is his analysis of unilateral power and relational power. The most common under-standing of power in the United States, and not infrequendy in the church, is the unilateral version of it, "the capacity to influ-ence, guide, adjust, manip-ulate, shape, control., to advance one's own pur-poses," and to be affected as little as possible in the process.9 In this pervasive model of power, one person's gain in power is nearly always connected with another's loss of power. The postconciliar Christian heart and mind seek a countercultural alternative to unilateral It takes a strong and secure person to practice relational power, one willing to be influenced by others. power. The exercise of this relational power presumes "the ability both to produce and [to] undergo an effect . . ¯ [for] the capacity to absorb an influence is as truly a mark of power as is the strength involved in exert-ing an influence.''~° One should not try to exert influ-ence without having been influenced by that situation or those persons, in order first to have an appreciative understanding of what one hopes to influence. 67.3 2008 Lee ¯ The Social Matrix of Religious Obedience 296 It takes a strong and secure person to practice rela-tional power, one willing to be influenced by others. We should not try to have effects on any person or event that we do not first understand. If we do understand, it is only because our knowledge arises from our thor-oughly experiencing someone or something "other." There is a profound and respectful mutuality in the exercise of relational power that does not characterize unilateral power. I am suggesting that healthy obedience belongs more fully and redemptively to relational power than to unilateral power. Relational power functions effectively amidst rela-tively secure people, a hard saying for something so important. When reflecting on the implications of a rich life for one who lives relational power, Loomer calls it "S-I-Z-E" and spells it out. He calls it S-I-Z-E because it takes a "big person," a secure human being, to practice it. If I were looking for a good contemporary description of holiness, I would include these thoughts, which are as applicable to a community as to an individual: By S-I-Z-E I mean the stature of your soul, the range and depths of your love, your capacity for relation-ships. I mean the volume of life you can take into your being and still maintain your integrity and indi-viduality. I mean the intensity and variety of outlook you can entertain in the unity of your being without feeling defenseless or insecure. I mean the strength of your spirit to encourage others to become freer in the development of their diversity and uniqueness. I mean the power to sustain more complex and enrich-ing tensions. I mean the magnanimity of concern to provide the conditions that enable others to increase in stature. To me, S-I-Z-E is the fundamental cat-egory. It is the essential principle. Everything else in life is an abstraction from this or a commentary upon it.~ Review for Religious That is the context for relational power. A theological note about the exercise of power is in order. What any religion does is propose the absolute perfection of God. The ways that the Greeks and the Hebrews do it contrast sharply. One who interprets God wearing a Greek hat would say that God is absolutely immutable, cannot change, because perfect being can-not change. If you can be better tomorrow than you are today, you are not perfect. If you can be worse tomor-row than today, you are surely not perfect. If you can simply be different tomorrow than today, you are not now all that you can be. So, in Greek logic, if God is perfect being, God cannot change. God then exercises unilateral power, having effects, but never being truly affected. In his book The Divine Relativity, Charles Hartshorne says: "The politically, and I am confident theologically, sounder principle is this, that he who is most adequately influenced by all may most appropriately exert influence upon all.''~2 Hebrew logic about God reflects something closer to Hartshorne's remark. It claims God's perfection as perfect love rather than perfect being, which implies being profoundly affected by the being of the ones loved. Our love must change because the ones we love change. Perfect love is not immutable, but rather the ultimate instance of relationality, and therefore the most mutable of all beings. I want to say that there is more biblical testimony for a relational understanding of God's power than a unilateral interpretation. God speaks: Sometimes I announce that I shall uproot, break down, and destroy a certain nation or kingdom; should the nation I have threatened.abandon its wick-edness, I then change my mind about the disaster I intended to afflict. Sometimes I announce that I shall build up or plant a certain nation or kingdom, but 297 67.3 2008 Lee ¯ The Social Matrix of Religious Obedience should that nation do what displeases me and refuse to listen to my voice, I then change my mind about the good I had intended. (Jr 18:7-10) One remembers also that Abraham and Moses both bargained with God to change God's mind--not philo-sophical arguments but midrashic intuitions. I am suggesting that obedience is about the exercise of power in a community and that relational power is the appropriate exercise of power. In fact, the English word obedience comes from two Latin words, audire, "to listen," and oh, to be "right in front of" what one is lis-tening to. This is not a minor insight. It is a picture of relational power. In relational power, the "power" is understood as being first of all in the community at large, in the life of the community. Elizabeth Janeway's reflections pertain more to the community's power to shape decisions than to designated leaders' power to shape them. Janeway's "Powers of the Weak" In her book Elizabeth Janeway says: "There is noth-ing inherently 'better' about the weak or 'worse' about the powerful, as human beings. What is 'better' is that a relative balance should exist between the members of a power relationship.''13 She describes three ways that those who in unilateral power situations are outside that power can exert power. The first of these is to announce their disbelief publicly, to call into question another's power to define or name something. It is to say out loud that something else could be the case, and maybe that a better case could be made. "The ordered use of the power to disbelieve, the first power of the weak, begins here, with the refusal to accept the definition of oneself that is put forward by the powerful.''14 Review for Religious The second power of the weak is in coming together, because "when mistrust [disbelief] is solitary, it can react against the doubter . Mistrust needs validation, and that comes from the assurances that one's doubts are realistic and shared by others.''~s The third power of the weak somewhat resembles a union strike or even civil disobedience--whatever its form, it is a public collective voice. Important here are the two words "collective" and "public." Though Elizabeth Janeway's reflections on the pow-ers of the weak may sound extreme, underneath them is the presumption that care for the common good is the duty of the entire community. Leadership and community are both there to serve the common good. The community's percep-tion of the common good needs to be spelled out and deserves to be a shaper of leadership and even an exercise of leadership. Similarly a designated leader's perceptions must be taken seri-ously by the entire community. There is a strong element of mutuality in the social function of obedience, but many social constructions of reality do not recognize this. The wily American composer Charles Ives once remarked that everybody knows more than anybody. I would not push this remark to an extreme, but it surely expresses some trust in collective discernment and wis-dom. On the other hand, one person sometimes has more wisdom than the collective. Leadership and community are both there to serve the common good. 299 The Dialogue between the Word and the World Meticulous discernment of what is needed to imple- 67.3 2008 Lee ¯ The Social 2Vlatrix of Religious Obedience oo] ment the reign of God, and appropriate celebration of what has already been successfully implemented, are both situated in a social matrix. Active apostolic reli-gious orders exist for collaborating with God's inten-tions for human history. This collaboration requires a community's attentive listening to what faith seeks and attentive listening to what specific social situations need or even cry out for. It also requires a careful communal search for the best strategic response, given the actual resources, great-or small, at their disposal. Whatever contributes in any way participates in leadership and invites obedience. In order to follow Mary's advice at Cana to "do whatever he tells you," it helps to remember Martin Buber's reminder that you or I encounter God speak-ing to us personally when our assessment'of events and circumstances demands that we make our decision and take our stand. I would add that often it is we, not just you or I, who must hear and obey what God is telling the bunch of us to conclude and do as a community. The Second Vatican Council stated this clearly: The people of God. labors to decipher the authen-tic signs of God's presen(e and purpose in the hap-penings, needs, and desires in which this people has a part along with other men and women of our age. For faith throws a new light on everything . . . and thus directs the mind to solutions which are fully human. (GS §11) In a similar vein, Paul Hanson describes what he considers to be the dynamics of any community that is called into existence by its Christian faith: Within biblical communities of faith, God's activity in the world was discerned in the interaction between confessional [congregational] heritage and new Review for Religious events. And word and world continue to interrelate in the life of religious communities today. Utmost care must be given to both sides of this two-dimensional exegesis. As much harm can be done by applying an inadequately understood word to a well-understood world as in applying a well-understood word to an inadequately understood world.16 This, I believe, is the context for discernment. If I were preparing a formation program, I would put a high priority on developing skills in social analysis and in hermeneutics (understanding the dynamics of interpret-ing our faith traditions) and al

Issue 67.4 of the Review for Religious, 2008. ; Personal Witness Heart -Knowledge, .Spiritual Reflection QUARTERLY 67.4 2008 Review for Religious fosters dialogue with God, dialogue with ourselves, and dialogue with one another about the holiness we try to live according to charisms of Catholic religious life. As Pope Paul Vl said, our way of being church is today the way of dialogue. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published quarterly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Telephone: 314-633-4610 ¯ Fax: 314-633-4611 E-Maih 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 ¯ Pontifical College Josephinum 7625 North High Street ¯ Columbus, Ohio 43235 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 5.5806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©2008 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 distribution, 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. ~ gournal of Catholic ~pir~ual~ for 0 religious Editor Associate Editor Canonical Counsel Scripture Scop~ Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming sJ Philip C. Fischer sJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Eugene Hensell OSB Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Judy Sharp Paul Coutinho SJ Martin Erspamer OSB Margaret Guider OSF Kathleen Hughes RSCJ Louis and Angela Menard Bishop Terry Steib SVD QUARTERLY 67.4 2008 contents 340 prisms Prisms 342 personal witness Thomas Merton's Legacy: A Personal Reflection Richard Hauser SJ gives personal witness to Thomas Merton's influence in five areas of spirituality: models of spirituality, personal prayer, the sacred and the secular, nonviolence, and interreligious understanding. Personal Reflection / Group Discussion 358 Our Ethnicity.en Route to God Ruth Bolarte IHM, recalling her early religious formation as a Peruvian woman in the United States, points out the need for everyone's ethnic cultural roots to be recognized and made good use of in spiritual direction and in faith and religious-life education. 366 heart knowledge Constitutions and Heart Knowledge Beatrice Eichten OSF proposes that women and men religious may ~ell review their ¢onstitntions and question how they live out in practice their co ,mmunity life and governance today. Personal Reflection / Group Discussion Revie~ for Religious 380 Can New Life Arise from the Rule Book? 386 Nestor Gregoire OMI suggests ways that the Rule Book of a religious congregation can become user friendly and be a part of the community's prayer life. Monasticism's Rooted Adaptations Joel Rippinger OSB paints a picture of the contemporary demands on the monastic community and the adaptation required to remain true to monastic life. 392 4O4 413 Revisiting Hope William P. Clark OMI ruminates on all the richness that the virtue of hope gives to our daily living and to our witness-ing to our Christian faith. Becoming All Fire: Thoughts on Religious Identity Hedwig Lewis SJ offers reflections on the Jesuit as "a man on fire" in the light of Decree 2 of General Congregation 35. Though applied here to the Society of Jesus, the ideas have relevance for all women and men religious and for others who desire greater commitment to the Lord. A Source for Prayer Undreamt Of A. Paul Dominic SJ proposes ways that we might find content for our prayer in the dreams that God may use in speaking to us. 425 Scripture Scope: The New Perspective on St. Paul 430 Canonical Counsel: The Lacuna Canon: Common and Constant Opinion 435 Book Reviews 443 2008 Index 339 67.4 2008 prisms 3401 Nvember is the month in the Catholic liturgical tradition devoted to a commemoration of the faithful departed. We remember, those who have died and now have a different role to exercise in the communion of the saints. We remind ourselves that death is not an end, but rather a door passed through to life forever. Some years ago the Jesuit theologian Karl Rahner wrote a long essay in the Quaestiones Disputatae series entitled On the Theology of Death. One of the challenges that Rahner pre-sented was for us to view death as a beginning. Obviously in our Christian faith in the resur-rection of the body we acknowledge that in dying we rise to new life. Although physical death can be seen as an end, that same death can be seen as a beginning. Rahner, however, was drawing our atten-tion to how we prepare for our Christian death by how we live. If we truly 7want to enter into living our Christian faith, we should spend our lives learning how to die. All the little dying opportunities in our life allow for this growth. Something so simple as the physical act of fall-ing asleep at night and waking to a new day can be an exercise in dying. We can't make ourselves sleep, but we can give ourselves over Review for Religious to its possibility. And that attitude/action of "giving our-selves over" is what makes death a beginning. In our everyday life, there can be a lot of bringing things to a completion or to an end (a dying), and then we find ourselves giving ourselves over to a new project. Every time we face an ending or a dying, we are learning how to die by giving ourselves over to something new. As Christians, then, we truly can be said to be peo-ple who spend their lives learning how to die. In fol-lowing Jesus, we are his disciples even up to his death on a cross. Even suffering an unjust and cruel death by crucifixion, Jesus saw and freely accepted his death as a giving over of himself to God and to us--his own gift of self in love. This is the gift God makes present to us in every Eucharist--the eternal stance of Jesus giving himself over to the Father and to us, and inviting us to be with him in this gift. So as we enter into every Eucharist, we again are exercising our learning how to die--a giving of ourselves over to new life. November is also the end of the church's liturgical year. We begin anew our liturgical year with the sea-son of Advent. Just as in the secular ending of a year and then the beginning of a new year, we find ourselves challenged to acknowledge that this year we are one year closer to dying, no matter our age. It seems to be a good time to ask ourselves; as Rahner would remind us, how we accept death as a beginning and how each day we are learning how to die. David L. Fleming SJ The Review for Religious advisory board members and editorial staff pray for a blessed Advent and Christmas sea-son for all of you, our readers. 341 67.4 2008 prayer RICHARD J. HAUSER Thomas Merton's Legacy: A Personal Reflection 342 The Newsweek cover of 19 November 2007 proclaimed 1968 as "The Year That Made Us Who We Are." Prominent among the events recalled were the deaths of Martin Luther King Jr. on 4 April and Robert Kennedy on 6 June. For me the year recalled another death, Thomas Merton's, on 10 December, and Newsweek's title led me to reflect on how Merton had made me and many of my genera-tion who we are as Christians. This surprised me. I had never explicitly assessed Merton's contribution either to 20th-century spiritual-ity or to my own. Then I received and accepted an invitation from St. Mary's College, South Bend, to speak about Merton's legacy to contemporary spiritu-ality. I began delving back into spiritual devel-opments after the Second Vatican Council. Richard J. Hauser SJ writes from Creighton University; 2500 California Plaza; Omaha, Nebraska 68178. Review for Religious To be safe I narrowed my topic to Merton's influence on me, but I soon felt that Merton had influenced my entire generation, affecting major writers such as Henri Nouwen and Thomas Keating. From 1969 to 1972 I studied in the Department of Religion and Religious Education at Catholic University in Washington, D.C. There I became fascinated by Abraham Maslow's self-actualizationpsychology, espe-cially his approach to peak "religious" experience. Deciding for my dissertation to compare Maslow, an agnostic, with a Christian spiritual writer, I did not take the suggestion to use Ignatius Loyola. I had read Seven Storey Mountain in high school; as a young Jesuit I had not become further acquainted; but I would become familiar with him. I chose Merton. Looking back now, I am aware that Merton signifi-cantly altered my approach to spirituality in at least five areas: models of spirituality, personal prayer, the sacred and the secular, nonviolence, and interreligious under-standing. Models of Spirituality Merton transformed my understanding of not only spirituality but also human nature. He moved me from a behavior-centered approach to a contemplative, heart-centered approach. And for the first time I began under-standing the role of grace. In my Jesuit formation from 1955 to 1968, we strove to do God's will as indicated in the daily order. Our day included Mass, meditation, examinations of conscience, the rosary, and other prayers. It included times for work, study, play, eating, and sleeping. Our, day was spent doing things for God. Holiness, as I understood it throughout my Jesuit formation, was in fidelity in doing God's will 343 67.4 2008 Hauser * Thomas Merton's Legacy: .4 Personal Reflection by observing the daily order and keeping the rules: "Keep the rules and the rules will keep you." I frequently failed in observance. I was a perfectionist and experienced guilt. I had migraine headaches during my early years. During my studies at Catholic University, I began rethinking my model of spirituality and of human nature. Though I had never formally articulated it, my understanding of human nature throughout my forma-tion was Freudian: Human nature cannot be trusted because it is dominated by the strong self-centered instinctual impulses of the Id, and so spirituality strives to repress and control this unruly nature. Abraham Maslow's personality theory challenged this model. Maslow describes human nature in a posi-tive series of needs leading to full self-actualization. This actualization occurs as we recognize and respond to our nature's promptings. For my dissertation I sought a theological perspec-tive on human nature that would complement Maslow's psychological one. Merton's theory of the True Self pro-vided that perspective. He stresses that the True Self is the self in an existential union with God. This union is capable of transforming the self if we live in tune with it: "The secret of my identity is hidden in Him. He alone can make me who I am, or rather who I will be when at last I fully begin to be. But, unless I desire this identity and work to find it with him and in him, the work will never be done." Also: "There is only one problem on which all my existence, my peace, and my happiness depend: to discover myself in discovering God. If I find him I will find myself, and if I find my true self I will find him.''1 For the first time in my life I was exposed to a Christian approach to the self that stressed not sinful- Review for Religious ness but grace. For me, Merton was describing grace as it worked transforming the various levels of Maslow's series of needs. Merton's "self-realization in Christ" was the perfect complement to Maslow's agnostic "self-actu-alization.'~ But Merton's approach to the self was not naive. He realized that discovering our True Self is difficult because we are shadowed by a False Self. This False Self is a product of our secular, materialistic culture; it leads to an understand- ¯ ing of the self that does not include God: "Every one of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self. My false and pri-vate self is the one who wants to exist outside the reach of God's will and God's love--outside of reality and outside of life. And such a self can-not help but be an illusion .A.ll sin starts from the assumption that my false self, the self that exists only in my own egocentric desires, is the fundamental reality of life to which everything else in the universe is ordered" (Seeds, 34-35). Merton's approach to spirituality focuses not on behavior but on the habitual consciousness underlying actions. Spirituality seeks to recognize and respond to God's presence at the center of our self, our True Self. This includes recognizing and rejecting the patterns of our False Self that separate us from God. It is not unlike Paul's contrast between following Christ by faith-ful observance of the external law and following Christ Merton's approach to spirituality focuses not on behavior but on the habitual consciousness underlying actions. 67.4 2008 Hauser * Thonms Merton'~ Legacy: .4 Per~onM Reflection 346 by responding to the law of the Holy Spirit written upon our hearts. This insight illumined my spirituality. When I began my university teaching, I was asked to teach a graduate course called Approaches to Mysticism. Merton's contemplative spirituality became my guide. Personal Prayer Merton transformed my personal prayer, helping me experience prayer as an authentic and fulfilling expres-sion of myself before God and not only as a prescribed religious obligation. He helped me recognize the Spirit's role and become aware of actual contemplation in my life and prayer. I believe that contemplation is the key to Merton's spirituality. ' Daily personal prayer was a regular part of our Jesuit formation. We were given Jesuit-authored meditation books that presented scriptural passages for each day of the year. We were taught the Ignatian methods of meditation and contemplation presented in his Spiritual Exercises. We were instructed to reflect on those passages using memory, understanding, will, and imagination. We prayed for fifty minutes each morning beginning at 5:30. I found these prayer hours difficult and did not look forward to them. They seemed irrelevant; I often experienced distraction, boredom, and sleep. I was faith-ful to this regimen for the first nine years of my Jeslait formation. As part of my formation I taught at a Jesuit mis-sion in South Dakota. Life at the mission was difficult, both in community life and in ministry. The students showed little enthusiasm for the courses I taught or the activities I ran. Discouraged, I wondered if I had fol-lowed the right vocation. I began taking walks alone late at night down the country road. I poured out my Review for Religious discouragement to the Lord. The walks stabilized me; in the stillness I often found peace. I looked forward to these walks and would not miss them if I could help it. I determined to continue serving the Lord. But I did not consider these walks personal prayer-- they were not the Ignatian prayer I was trained in. Needing sleep, I soon was sleeping through the morning prayer hour and getting up in time for the 6:30 Mass. I felt guilty, but one day I realized I was not skipping prayer--I was doing it at night. From that moment my personal prayer changed. I felt that prayer does not have to be a strenuous concentration of mem-ory, understanding, will, and imagination. Simply being with the Lord anywhere--in chapel or outside--was prayer. Theologians might not agree with me, and this was not the Ignatian prayer I was taught--so I kept my ideas to myself. In graduate school Merton gave me a theological foundation for my prayer. He helped me realize I was holding on to a Pelagian understanding of prayer. He showed me that prayer is really more the work of the Holy Spirit than my work: "It can therefore be said that the aim of mental prayer is to awaken the Holy Spirit within us, and to bring our hearts into harmony with his voice, so that we allow the Holy Spirit to speak and pray within us, and lend him our voice and our affec-tions that we may become, as far as possible, conscious of his prayer in our hearts.''2 Merton showed me that prayer can actually be easy and that we can pray from wherever we are in our lives. It does not have to be a strenuous effort to forget our daily lives and to concentrate on Scripture using mem-ory, understanding, and will. "In prayer we discover what we already have. You start where you are and you 347 67.4 2008 Hauser ¯ Thomas Merton's Legacy: .4 Personal R~ection Merton gave me the theology and language to explain and justify what had become my regular practice of personal prayer. 348 deepen what you already have, and you realize that you are already there. We already have everything; but we don't know it and we don't experience it. Everything has been given to us in Christ. All we need is to experience what we already possess.''3 Finally, and unbelievably, I learned that my prayer sometimes fulfilled Merton's description of contem-plation- being touched by God in a way transcending words. What I had considered merely natural human expe-riences-- Maslow's peak experiences-- were actually encoun-ters with the divine: "Contemplation is a sudden gift of aware-ness, an awakening to the Real within all that is real. A vivid - ¯ - awareness of infinite Being at the roots of our own limited being. An awareness of our contingent reality as received, as a present from God, as a free gift of love. This is the existential contact of which we speak when we use the metaphor of being 'touched by God'" (Seeds, 3). I realized these experiences happened most frequendy for me--and for Merton--in nature, and they happened most frequently outside of formal prayer times. He showed me that contemplation is not merely the preserve of cloistered monks and nuns, but that we are all called to it by our baptism. In short, Merton gave me the theology and language to explain and justify what had become my regular prac-tice of personal prayer. This had several enduring effects Review for Religious on my rhythm of personal prayer. I moved toward more and more silence in prayer, allowing the Holy Spirit to pray within me. I began daily prayer with my personal concerns rather than Scripture. I arranged my place of prayer to ensure I could always view God's creation. I altered my annual eight-day retreats: I stopped going to retreat houses and went to places of great natural beauty near a mountain or an ocean--and I began looking for-ward to these retreats. The Sacred and the Secular Merton's ideas had many ramifications in my life. He helped me transcend an artificial distinction I had made between the sacred and the secular. He helped me recognize that daily life is sacred. Before the Second Vatican Council and throughout my formation, I had lived with a basic misunderstand-ing about spirituality and holiness. I believed that spiri-tuality is primarily faithful performance of devotional practices aimed directly at worshiping God, such as Mass and visits to chapel, and that holiness is measured by fidelity to these practices. I did acknowledge other things as important, such as doing God's will and charity toward others, especially toward the most needy. These things, however, seemed not as central to holiness as the explicitly religious activities. When the council came, I was deeply influenced by the document "The Church in the Modern World" (Gaudium et spes). The council clearly taught that being a good Catholic is more than simply performing reli-gious obligations faithfully. A good Catholic must also be actively involved in serving the kingdom of God by living in love in ordinary daily life, and especially by working for justice in the world and working for the poor. 349 67.4 2008 Hauser ¯Tbomas Merton's Legaiy: A Personal Reflection This call occasioned a crisis in my life. I began to feel there had been too much emphasis on religious activities and not enough on service to others. I questioned my commitment to daily Mass and meditation. For a while I dropped daily personal prayer. I had set up a dichotomy between sacred activities and secular activities. Merton helped me overcome this dichotomy. His understand-ing of the True Self was key. The True Self exists in an existential union not only with God but also with the entire human family. There is no true union with God without union with one another, and so the Holy Spirit moves our hearts not only to love God in religious activ-ities but also to love one another in our daily activities: "Christ prayed that all men might become One as He was One with his Father, in the Unity of the Holy Spirit. Therefore when you and I become what we are really meant to be, we will discover not only that we love one another perfectly but that we are both living in Christ and Christ in us, and we are all One Christ. We will see that it is he who loves in us" (Seeds, 65). Living a life of service to others is not a distrac-tion from union with God but actually a condition for reaching this union: "One of the paradoxes of the mys-tical life is this: that a man cannot enter into the deep-est center of himself, and pass through that center into God, unless he is able to pass entirely out of himself and empty himself and give himself to other people in the purity of a selfless love" (Seeds, 64). Merton emphasizes that the quality of prayer affects the quality of our action. The more deeply we are united to God in prayer, the more energy we have to serve our neighbor. "Action and contemplation now grow together into one life and one unity. They become two aspects of the same thing. Action is charity looking out- Review for Religious ward to other men, and contemplation is charity drawn inward to its own divine source. Action is the stream, and contemplation is the spring. The spring remains more important than the stream, for the only thing that really matters is for love to spring up inexhaustibly from the infinite abyss of Christ and of God.''4 Merton gave me the theology to dedicate myself to both prayer and service. Since both flow from the Holy Spirit, both are sacred. This theology impelled me to social action. Soon after I began my university teaching, I initiated a campus boycott of iceberg lettuce to sup-port the farm workers' union. I encouraged nonviolent picketing of the food service lines. The boycott took more than a year but was ultimately successful. Nonviolence Before reflecting on Merton's spirituality, I had a lim-ited understanding of nonviolence. I thought of it sim-ply as conscientiously objecting to the war in Vietnam and, influenced by Martin Luther King's civil rights movement, as not retaliating physically when attacked. Though I admired these positions, I saw those who took them as rare, highly idealistic, and a bit naive. Merton revolutionized my understanding. His description of the True Self showed me that an attitude of nonviolence is an integral part of living the gospel and following Christ. Since God dwells within every human being, this com-munion has radical consequences for how we think and how we act. When we are in tune with God at our center, in our True Self, we experience our oneness with others, even with our "enemies." Our behavior changes. Merton helped me realize that Western understand-ings of the person foster secularism, individualism, materialism, competition, and a sense of superiority. 67.4 2008 Hauser ¯ Thomas Merton's Legacy: A Personal R~leaion Merton helped me.realize that Western understandings of the person foster secularism, individualism, materialism, competition, and a sense of superiority. This False Self has the illusion that our existence is not connected with God or with others, and this illusion leads to violence: "People who know nothing of God, and whose lives are centered on themselves, imagine that they can only find themselves by asserting their own desires and ambi-tions and appetites in a struggle with the rest of the world. They try to become real by imposing themselves on other people, by appro-priating for them-selves some share of the limited supply of created goods and thus emphasizing the difference between themselves and other men who have less than they, or nothing at all" (Seeds, 47). Merton concludes simply: "I must look for my identity, somehow, not only in God but in other men. I will never be able to find myself if I isolate myself from the rest of mankind as if I were a different kind of being" (Seeds, 51). The transformation Merton calls for happens most profoundly in contemplation. In a busy Kentucky city, Merton experienced his most well-known contemplative awakening: "In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of Review for Religious separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world, the world of renunciation and supposed holiness.''s Such consciousness is the foundation for Merton's understanding of nonviolence. It can move us to deal with our neighbors always with compassion and love, not violence. We seek nonviolent ways to show our neigh-bors the divine within them as it has been shown joyfully to ourselves. This is the way Merton was leading me to radical implications of being a Christian. How inad-equate my understanding of nonviolence had been! Merton lived during the turbulent 1960s and applied nonviolent principles to social movements. He became the prophetic voice for many involved in these movements. While studying in Washington, I attended many mass demonstrations against the Vietnam War. I remember a group of marchers on Pennsylvania Avenue carrying a ban-ner slandering President Nixon. Merton helped me realize that this was not true nonviolence. Without compassion and love, it was merely a redirection of hatred. Truly non-violent social movements exclude hatred, because we are all members of one human family with God as our Father. I began applying nonviolent principles to personal con-flicts. I realized how often I sought to resolve conflicts by some sort of psychological intimidation. I saw anew the need for prayer. And I began teaching a course titled Faith and Nonviolence. We read the New Testament, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Cesar Chavez, Daniel Berrigan, and Merton. The course applied nonviolent principles to both societal and personal conflicts. Interreligious Understanding Although I had taken several courses on world reli-gions during my theology studies, I understood these religions mainly as institutions with distinctive creeds, 67.4 2008 Hauser * Thomas Merton's Legacy: .4 Personal Reflection codes, and cults. Through his approach to contem-plation, Merton led me toward an empathetic under-standing of them. Key to this deeper understanding was Merton's insistence that the contemplative experi-ence of the divine is beyond words: "Contemplation is always beyond our own knowledge, beyond our own light, beyond systems, beyond explanations, beyond discourse, beyond dialogue, beyond our own self." "It cannot even be clearly explained. It can only be hinted at, suggested, pointed to, symbolized. The more objec-tively and scientifically one tries to analyze it, the more one empties it of its real content, for this experience is beyond the reach of verbalization and rationalization" (Seeds, 2 & 6). Since all human beings share the same human nature, and since the same God dwells within us all, we may indeed share similar experiences of God. Reading Merton's Inner Experience confirmed this idea for me. Buddhist descriptions of satori are not unlike Merton's descriptions of contemplation. Merton presents a poem. Devoid of thought, I sat quietly by the desk in my official room, With my fountain-mind undisturbed, as serene as water; A sudden crash of thunder, the mind doors burst open, And lo, there sits the old man in all his homeliness. Merton comments: "There sits Chao-pien himself, the same and yet utterly different, for it is the eternal Chao-pien, one with no familiar name, at once humble and mighty., utterly beyond description or comparison because he is beyond yes and no, subject and object, self and not-self. It is like the wonderful, devastating, and unutterable awe of humble joy with which a Christian realizes: 'I and the Lord are One.'''6 Review for Religious This was a major breakthrough in my understand-ing. After my own experiences of contemplation, I could now allow Merton's books and essays on Zen Buddhism, Taoism, Sufism, Judaism, and Hinduism to lead me to deeper understanding of these religions. Since I wanted my students to understand the centrality of prayer and contemplation for every world religion, I began adding these readings to my courses. We all mourned Merton's untimely death in Bangkok on 10 December 1968, during his three-month trip to Asia. This death was especially sad because his firsthand Asian experiences would have given him further data on similarities between Eastern and Western mysticism. My Debt to Merton I realize that many today take for granted the five areas of spirituality that I have described. But Merton's insights were presented before the council and offi-cial Catholicism accepted them. Indeed, his own abbot general censored his 1961 antiwar writings. Merton's writing became foundational for a new generation of Christians and spiritual writers. This fortieth anni-versary of his death is the first time I have stopped to acknowledge my debt. I do not consider it an exaggera-tion to say that Merton was a prophet heralding a new age of spirituality. Merton paved the way for my own understanding of the council's teaching on the Holy Spirit in Christian spirituality. Merton's insistence that the True Self is ontologically united both to God and to all humanity and that the Holy Spirit is the source of this communion transformed my previously unrecognized American indi-vidualism. I had never grasped that the indwelling of the Spirit has actual effects in daily life and daily prayer. The 67.4 2008 Hauser * Thomas Merton's Legacy: .4 Personal Reflection combination of Merton's description of the True Self and the council's message on the Holy Spirit revolution-ized my spirituality. I was so energized by these insights that I wrote three books and dozens of articles. I am indebted to Merton for "bringing me home" to Ignatian prayer. Merton's descriptions of prayer flow-ing spontaneously from daily life led me to reconsider my understanding of it. I realized that Ignatian prayer is not simply to be identified with intense concentra-tion on scripture texts as found in the meditations and contemplations of the Spiritual Exercises. Prayer more characteristic of Ignatius is found in his Contemplation for Obtaining Divine Love and flows from daily life. Observations of Ignatius at prayer, like the following recollection from one of Ignatius's first companions, assure me that I am on the right track: At night he would go up on the roof of the house, with the sky there up above him. He would sit there quietly, absolutely quietly. He would take his hat off and look up for a long time at the sky. Then he would fall on his knees, bowing profoundly to God. Then he would sit on a little bench because the weakness of his body did not allow him to take any other posi-tion. He would stay there bareheaded and without moving. And the tears would begin to flow down his cheeks like a stream, but so quietly and so gently that you heard not a sob nor a sigh nor the least possible movement of his body.7 Merton helped me internalize that hallmark of Ignatian spirituality "Finding God in all things." He also paved the way.for my understanding of Ignatius's discernment of spirits, but that is another article. I have asked myself why my journey into Ignatian spirituality took so long. I recognize now that Iowas blocked by invalid False Self assumptions. I needed Review for Religious someone to address them directly. In God's providence Thomas Merton was that person--the person who with God's grace most made me who I am today as a Catholic Christian. Notes 1 Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation (New York: New Directions, 1961), pp. 33 & 36. Hereafter, in the text, Seeds. 2 Thomas Merton, Spiritual Direction and Meditation (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1960), p. 67. 3 David Steindl-Rast OSB, "Recollections of Thomas Merton's Last Day in the West," Monastic Studies, Vol. 7, pp. 1-10. 4 Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island (New York: Doubleday Image, 1955), p. 65. 5 Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander (New York: Doubleday Image, 1989), p. 156. 6 Inner Experience, pp. 300-301, taken from L.S. Cunningham, Thomas Merton: Spiritual Master (New York: Paulist Press, 1992). 7 W.W. Meissner SJ, Ignatius of Loyola: The Psychology of a Saint (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), p. 280. Personal Reflection / Group Discussion Has Thomas Merton or another spiritual writer influenced my practices of the spiritual life? Like Hauser, how would I describe the change? 67.4 2008 RUTH BOLARTE Our Ethnicity en Route to God ~ elonging and "distinctness" are both .signifi- ~ cant dimensions of my life. Years ago I left my country of origin, Peru, and began religious life in the United States. During those first years, away from fam-ily and friends and the emotional and material support they had been for me, my desire and need to belong and be one of.the group made me conceal a part of myself, my Peruvian culture. My initial years of religious for-mation did not acknowledge my Hispanic heritage and the spiritual treasure it was. My being Hispanic was only a curious novelty, something to be asked a few questions about. Without any intentional fault of those guiding me on the spiritual journey, I neverthe-less received the unspoken message that I should abide by the new codes and values that were presented to me and somehow forget what I had learned in Peru Ruth Bolarte IHM, a member of the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, is director of the Catholic Institute for Evangelization; 4404 North 5th Street; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19140. Review for Religious about God, life, and people. Eventually, little by little, my God-friend became the God of rules and formality. Spontaneity, touching, and initiative disappeared, and a "prove yourself" attitude emerged. I believed in my heart that hard work, silence, and distance were the key to my religious life in the United States. In order to be recognized as one of the group, I adapted myself to the mainstream culture and disre-garded my images of God, of prayer, of life and death. When the opportunity presented itself, I limited my "ethnic sharing" to external aspects of culture: food, music, stories, and dance. These were safe issues and did not upset anyone. People, consciously or not, were simply not interested in listening with open hearts to the heart of my culture: my experiences of God through family, nature, joy, and suffering; my views on authority, poverty, power, or church. I was not raised with a code of beliefs and rules to obey. We.entrusted ourselves to a loving God who walked, ate, laughed, and cried with us throughout the events of our day. Church was not the only place where we could worship God. We gave glory and praise to God through our family celebrations, our processions, and our dead. In later years I would find out that my traditions of religion were what theologians and the church named "popular religigsity." Pope Paul vI explains this concept in his apostolic exhortation Evangelii nuntiandi: " One finds among the people particular expressions of the search for God and for faith, both in the regions where the church has been established for centuries and where she is in the course of becoming established. These expressions were for a long time regarded as less pure and were sometimes despised, but today they are almost everywhere being redis-covered. l 67.4 2008 Bolarte ¯ Our Etbnicity en Route to God The Holy Father explains that these religious expres-sions are susceptible to many misinterpretations. If, however, they are well oriented through the pedagogy of evangelization, they are rich in value since they reflect the thirst for God that 0nly the poor and simple can know. Popular religiosity is a major part of the spiritual life of Hispanic people. Hispanic spirituality is divine and human at the same time; it is incarnated spiritual-ity. 2 God is perceived as all-powerful, sovereign, and superior to all human beings, but also as a member of the family--someone who sits at the table and does not need a special invitation. God is not a far distant image in heaven; God is Emmanuel, always at our side, accom-panying us all day every step of the way. Since these expressions of faith were not acknowl-edged during my formation years, my cultural identity became dim. I only became aware of this only when I visited Peru after having lived in the United States for five years. I began to feel this tension between two seemingly opposite forces, my Pei'uvian culture and my adopted American one, between my yearning to "belong" and my efforts to hold on to my "distinctness." What a surprise it was to find that I did not "belong" anymore to the place where I had lived most of my life! Two cultures, American and Peruvian, had shaped me into a new person I only pardy understood. Returning to my homeland made me conscious that somehow my identity and personhood were rooted in both the American and Peruvian cultures. Once I became aware of this, I felt a need to inte-grate both cultures in my life, whether I resided in Peru or in the United States. The questions for ~e were, How do I do that? and who will understand? Many questions arose, 'and there was no one to talk to about Review for Religious them. Even though I had spiritual directors, I did not feel comfortable bringing up these "cultural" issues. For ten more years I lived with the questions and the ten-sions of being different and trying to belong to a com-munity, a parish, a church that was at the same time borne and foreign. During this time I learned to assert myself and prove to others that I was as capable and prepared as any other religious in the United States. I have come to believe that wholeness in our lives is a process of becoming,, something we undertake each day. Tension is an opportunity for growth and devel-opment. Becoming conscious of my longing to "belong" while also recogniz-ing my "uniqueness" and sense of inde-pendence marked the beginning of a long road borne. Only when I started to ask myself questions about my Latina identity, reading the works of various Hispanic theologians and reflecting critically on my experiences in the United States, was I able to be at borne with the tension of being part of two worlds. I had the opportunity for this reflection while doing the research for my thesis. After so many years living in the United States, I was finally able to name struggles and hurts, and more than anything I could identify, cel-ebrate, and rejoice in my cultural heritage. The tension I had felt became a source of wealth and fulfillment Becoming conscious of my longing to "belong" while also recognizing my "uniqueness" and sense of independence marked the beginning of a long road home. 361 67.4 2008 Bolarte ¯ Our Etbnicity en Route to God As my own "true self" was gradually revealed to me and then to others, a new person emerged, one that was freer to relate to God and others. rather than being a barrier to my social and personal development. The cultural wealth of our various ethnic groups, yours and mine, is a main component in our human and spiritual development. It is crucial that those involved in religious formation, spiritual direction, and ministry consider the cultural factors in people's spir-itual journeys. People need a sense of belong-ing and historical con-tinuity. If we deny our family origins and his-tory, we deny ourselves. 0nly when we feel affirmed in our identity can we be free, open, and welcoming to other cultural groups. On the other hand, people often develop a sense of inferiority, a poor self-image, when they feel minimized or attacked in their ethnic identity. In many cases these feelings become a defen-sive or aggressive attitude toward the dominant ethnic group or toward other minority ethnic groups. Since spirituality involves all aspects of life--psy-chological, physical, social, and political--we need to recognize that all cultural groups have distinctive ways of facing life, sickness, family, power, pain, and death. An inte, grated spirituality recognizes that all of our lives must be subjected to the transformative power of the Holy Spirit. We hear and appropriate the Good News of Jesus from our various cultural perspectives. Those perspectives influence how we understand the message Review for Religious and how we respond to it. Vgho can be sure of a univer-sal description that is the norm for all? The ministry of Jesus is to reveal the meaning of life and offer humanity an opportunity to enter freely into a loving relationship with God as adult daughters and sons. Because an important root of spirituality is found in the self, we must integrate the psychological value of self-affirmation, self-fulfillment, or self-realization with the Christian tradition of self-denial, self-emptying, or self-surrender. From the moment of birth we seek in our human development a proper balance, the right connectedness with others and the right separateness from others. The challenge for everyone is to achieve relatedness without symbiotic engulfment and indepen-dence without alienation and emptiness. As my own "true self" was gradually revealed to me and then to others, a new person emerged, one that was freer to relate to God and others. In faith I had the power to respond to the gift of my being and abandon the "false self" of pretenses; concealments, and fears. It was this "false self" that I was called to deny, the self that hid my ethnicity. Thomas Merton summarizes this dynamic when he affirms that if we find God we find ourselves and if we find our own selves we find God.3 For Merton, maturing in the spiritual life is a discov-ery journey, the discovery of oneself and of God. One of the tasks of those involved in faith formation is to search for and reveal the seed of God that is already there in her and her culture. They must lead her to recognize Christ in herself and challenge those aspects of her which need purification so the complete image of God can be revealed. All through human development, critical reflection is required. As people grow in maturity, there is a shift 363 67.4 2008 Bolarte * Our Etbnicity en Route to God from being acted on by the world to acting on the world. In my experience of tension between two worlds, it was only when I internalized and reflected on being a part of two cultures that I could incorporate the tension into who I was. Duringthis internalization, I needed to grieve my cultural losses, experience the pain of the hurts, and forgive those who purposely or not had discriminated against me. Sometimes people do not perceive that ignoring cultural differences is a form of discrimination: it deprives someone of her distinctive cultural identity, the unique person she was created to be. Our spiritual journey in Christ requires accepting that our worth, our value, our selfhood as children of God is given to us as our birthright. It means knowing deeply that we are known, loved, and invited to partnership in being with the God who from all eternity intended us and who desires our love. To answer the question "Who am I?" we need to incorporate all our past--including the past of our family, culture, religion, and national group. Only this person can be the subject of our own destiny. Knowing that I am loved by God, I need not live in anxi-ety, or seek affirmation through achievement or some other form of power, for I learn to accept imperfections and strengths, my own and others'. God's grace invites us to become the persons we were created to be. God's love does not absorb, anni-hilate, or force itself upon the beloved. Instead it longs for the beloved to become more and more "other" or differentiated. Without such "letting be" of the beloved, the dialogical intimacy essential to a loving relation-ship would be impossible. God allows unique persons to emerge and become capable of deep relationships because, God, "how could you give yourself to me unless you had fii'st given me to myself?.''4 Review for Religious By no means is my endeavor to integrate cultures within myself and my religious life a finished task. It is a process that every day makes use of the newness I encounter in the many kinds of relationship in my life. Sometimes I long for the support of my Anglo friends because they can understand my experience; other times I look for my Latino support group because they can feel forme. There are times when I feel alienated from one or both of the cultures, like a fish out of water; at other times I am tired of the tension of the two worlds and I just want to run and hide. Being a "bridge per-son"-- gente puente--is dangerous business. One takes the risk of being hurt or judged--becoming the scape-goat for one of the cultural groups. At these times I remember Who called me to be a Latina woman reli-gious evangelizing in the United States. God is the one who gifts me with the ability to interact with two ethnic groups. Yes, the gift entails pain and suffering--dying to my "false self." But in Jesus' resurrection I find the hope and joy of new life and the courage to continue living in a tension that is a source of new life for many, including me. Notes ~ Pablo VI, Evangelii nuntiandi (On Evangelization in the Modern World), §48. 2 Rosa Marfa Icaza, "Prayer, Worship, and Liturgy in a United States Hispanic Key," in Frontiers of Hispanic Theology in the United States, ed. Allan Figueroa Deck (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1995), p. 136. 3 Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation (New York: Dell, 1960), p. 53. 4 Cited by Nicholas of Cusa as quoted in John Haught, God aj%r Darwin (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 2000), p. 40. 67.4 2008 heart BEATRICE EICHTEN Constitutions and Heart Knowledge knowledge 366 In this article I suggest that religious--you and I, wherever we are--reflect on our vari-ous constitutions, on what we say about our life together and on how we live what we say. For most congregations the original con-stitutions antedate all the members. They were written to carry the inspiration and hopes of founders, foundresses, and early members regarding the possibility of living the gospel with charismatic idealism and practical action. They contain many elements--identity, vowed life, community, mission, prayer, membership, governance, and stewardship--all matters of relationship. After Vatican Council II ~any members were involved in adapting to the changing times. This called for re-visioning and revising the constitutions and having them Beatrice Eichten OSF here offers an adaptation of words to a Franciscan Sister's community. Her address is/577 Huff Street, #1; Winona, Minnesota 55987. eichten.consuldng@gmail.com Review for Religious approved. Now, many years later, it may be helpful to review our constitutions and ask (possibly in a second-ary document) how our community life and governance are lived today. This would be a practical effort, not an academic one. In the fast pace of life today, with many calls on our attention, have we lost touch with the heart of who we are and why we are here? Few members entered their community because they read compelling statements in their congregation's con-stitution, and it is surely the same today. Women enter a community because they are drawn to members who embody its charism, who have been claimed as God's own and who love and live for, hope and work for, God's kingdom on earth. Such women have the energy and spirit of the founders and the early members. They may not be able to quote the constitution, but they know its values and challenges. They have "heart knowledge" of their constitution, from their experience in the presence of God and their community. One could say that they know their constitution "by heart." Their lives express their constitution, the dreams and hopes and challenges it contains. We all know persons like this--we may even be one! How do people acquire that "heart knowledge"? By persistence. I am reminded of my training as apastoral psychotherapist. We were told that only after we learned the training center's theory well would we know when to adapt or depart from it. I remember the foundational text--it was like reading a foreign language! I read it diligently, paragraph by paragraph. Some sentences were a paragraph long! I would read them several times silently, and then out loud. I even underlined the sub-ject, verb, and object as I tried to figure out what they meant. Bit by bit, as I studied the text and saw it used 367 67.4 2008 Eicbten ¯ Constitutions and Heart Knowledge by skillful practitioners, I came to know and understand the theory very well. The text became a practical work-ing document for me, one that was useful and which I felt comfortable adapting as needed. Your constitution is like that. It captures the funda-mentals of your way of life--who you say you are as a congregation and how you will live your life together. As you study it and live it, you begin to live it "by heart." You make some adaptations that are, hopefully, faithful to the intent of the original document. After a while you live your life without conscious reference to your constitution--and you may have lost some of the motivation and challenge it carries. A wise Sufi teacher said of the Koran that'it is like a map. If it is used well, if you follow the rivers of life it charts out for you, it helps you make progress in living a faithful life. If you do not use it, why have it? But, he added, it is important to remember that, unlike maps, rivers change course over time. If you insist on follow-ing the river as it is mapped, you will miss the flow of life. Our constitutions are like that map, and charism, vows, and mission are rivers of our lives. Vghen maps are used wisely, they help. Ernie Larkin OCarm offers another image for our constitutions. He says we "emphasize the presence of God in all things, but may tend to forget the envelope that contains it." Our constitutions are the envelope that contains the essentials of our community way of life, essentials that are "the medium through which God comes." Our constitutions contain our "Now," which is "the only place where one can meet God." Fundamentally, then, constitutions exist to articu-late "heart knowledge," and are not the mere sets of rules and laws that a legalistic mindset too easily makes Review for Religious them. St. Clare of Assisi was aware of this. She insisted that her Rule, the guideline for the Poor Ladies' reli-gious life, express clearly her sisters' impulse in coming together. Essential to her vision was the privilege of poverty, a privilege and obli-gation which she insisted be written into their official Rule. It contained inspiration or poetry along with obliga-t_ ion or requirement. It became a living document when its followers lived by it. C.S. Lewis expresses the idea: "poetry replaces grammar, gospel replaces law, longing transforms obedience." Constitutions contain both inspiration and require-ments. Congregations sometimes register only the inspi-ration while bypassing the requirements. Sometimes they bypass the inspiration and register only the require-ments-- and chafe at them. So how do we make our constitutions truly living documents that honor both poetry and obligation? In our relationships with God and one another, do we "mind the music and the step"? Are joyful inspiration and gracefully disciplined foot-work changing us into Jesus' disciples? Fundamentally, then, constitutions exist to articulate "heart knowledge," and are not the mere sets of rules and laws that a legalistic mindset too easily makes them. Conversion Religious constitutions come from our relationship with God, from our desire to let God be the center of our life. There are different ways to do this. Franciscan 369 67.4 2008 Eicbten ¯ Constitutions and Heart Knowledge constitutions seek conversion of life. The Third Order Regular Rule of St. Francis says this: "With all., who wish to serve the Lord; the brothers and sisters of this order are to persevere in true faith and penance. They wish to live this evangelical conversion of life in a spirit of prayer, of poverty, and of humility." You and I know that conversion is not a comfortable experience, nor is it one you can program for yourself: "I think that this year I will be converted to poverty, or nonviolence, or . " Typically, conversion comes to us unbidden, in ways that surprise and perturb us. Dr. Ann Ulanov, a Jungian psychoanalyst, says: "Being truth-ful with ourselves can be messy business. [We think] the illusions we have created . . . will be more readily received than our true self." She goes on to say that we all have protective armor which can look like virtue or competence or generosity. Nonetheless, it is armor designed to hide our wounds and messiness and keep us safe and protected. The human reality is that those very wounds create chinks in our armor. Conversion occurs because God will always find the chinks and slip through them to unsettle us and invite us to make "soul decisions," decisions to recommit our hearts to a pilgrim's journey in witness to the gospel. Soul decisions open us to be changed by God's abundant love into true disciples. Sister Helen Prejean resisted the gospel's social-justice dimension until, at a presentation by Sister Maria Augusta Neal, she heard the phrase "integral to the Good News was that they would be poor no lon-ger." Helen adds, "And I got it. She cracked me open." Perhaps her very resistance was the source of that con-version moment. She moved a year later from a suburb to a housing project that was "less than five miles . . . Review for Religious but it was galaxies away." She could not have done that without a profound soul decision. How do our relationships in community open us to "soul decisions" or conversion moments? I see four movements. Relationship with God We all entered a communal life of prayer and con-templation, of working relationships, and of minis-try that fulfills and stretches us. Communal life, lived fully, offers ample opportunities for conversion. Parker Palmer says we enter religious life with the illusion that outside there is jealousy, compe-tition, resentment, power struggle, status difference, and more, but in religious life there will be only love, sharing, working together, generosity, equality, and so forth. We find, however, after living in a religious community for a while, that people are the same both inside and outside religious life. We pour effort into learning to commu-nicate, to deal with conflict, to share our faith, to do many other things, hoping thereby to have the perfect community. Guess what? Even if we do learn all these things, there is still iealousy, resentment, and failure. We learn that there is no perfect community. We have to face, says Palmer, our "illusion of salva-tion by interaction." In the face of contradictions and In our constitutions and in our living of them we are called to center our lives on God, realizing that God longs for us and desires our love. 371 67.4 2008 , Eicbten ¯ Constitutions and Heart Knowledge differences, we are called to "go deep inside [ourselves] beyond the polarities to a place of unity where every-thing holds together." We know that place as God. Etty Hillesum says of this place: "There is a really deep well inside me. And in it dwells God. Sometimes I am there too." In the midst of our real relationships, in our prayer and letting go and giving over to God, we move to the awareness that salvation is from God. We only come to know that when we come to know the mystery of God--that God is for us and is given to us. In our constitutions and in our living of them we are called to center our lives on God, realizing that God longs for us and desires our love. Coming to believe this leads us to have room for others, seeing.in them the face of Jesus, accepting, lov-ing, and receiving them because God loves them and receives them. This leads me to the second interper-sonal movement. Relationship with Others in Community Our commitment to life in community is not some-thing casual or optional. It is a lifelong commitment to our congregation, to its shared life in the Spirit, and to its members rights and responsibilities. As members we are interdependent financially, structurally, and relation-ally. Sandra Schneiders says that a constitutive element of communitarian life is "a permanent acceptance of the community itself as the primary and determining rela-tional context of one's life." It means loving, and living today at this particular time, in this particular commu-nity, with these particular women--with all our gifts, limitations, and idiosyncrasies. Our diversity is "authored and authorized by the Source of all life, in whose Mystery diversity poses no Review for Religious threat to unity." When we become aware that the very diversity that delights God troubles and disturbs us, we have stepped into a special moment for conversation and conversion. We realize that diversity need not be a threat to unity. Rather, in our diversity, we realize the need to make "a commitment to sustained and deliber-ate conversation for the purpose of achieving a common ground." Michael Blastic OFMConv points to St. Francis as a prime example of relationships with the other: Francis allows the other to be other. His sense of self is an openness to and for the other. Francis continu-ously looks to the Other, Jesus Christ, as the content of his self. By definition. Francis's self was room for the other. Francis was "a person in full possession of him-self, but [was] never by himself. In order to be an example for others, Francis needed to work at being himself---it did not come naturally., for him. Fran-cis did not nor could he accomplish this identity for himself by himself. One cannot become a self with room for others by oneself for oneself. In our constitutions we call ourselves to this kind of awareness of the other, challenging ourselves to embrace diversity within the congregation as a sign of the Spirit and, by doing so, to proclaim the possibility of harmony on earth. Accepting diversity, however, does not mean that individualism reigns, even though we remain differ-ent and retain our unique characteristics (the only way we each have to express our humanity). Accepting our diversity enables us to give a countercultural witness to a new kind relationship, a relationship based on unity, on a mutuality where there is no "other." This witness of community, says John Allen, a Catholic newspaper cor- 373 67.4 2008 Eicbten ¯ Constitutions and Heart Knowledge respondent in Rome, is the most powerful gift we have to offer our fragmented and troubled world today. Relationship for Mission We are in our religious community not simply for ourselves. Our vowed commitment "does not exist within the individual alone, but within the context of community . . . a community fully engaged in con-versation about its life." The mission statement in my community's constitution challenges us to "be a com-munity of compassion, reconciliation, and reverence for all creation, to rebuild our own society, and to reach out in solidarity to our sisters and brothers throughout the world." Becoming part of the spirit and flow of energy that is our religious community stretches us and opens us to God's great energy working in the world today. As reli-gious we have a great responsibility. We need to know and to claim that we are the face of God to those around us, and we need to open our eyes and hearts to see the face of God in creation and in every creature. How we live that responsibility is a challenge. Marie Chin RSM, in a presentation to my Franciscan community, said that we are challenged to take a crucial step in recognizing that we can no longer equate community with mere group living or, to put it more blundy, simply living under the same roof for expediency or convenience. Community has to be for a greater project than self. Somehow we have to change our root image of community as a place of security where we have all our needs met and instead begin to explore the chal-lenges of justice, the challenges of forming relation-ships that are right and just and which are potentially present in community. Review for Religious Her challenge confronts our tendency to become, as Laurie Brink OP says "settled religious, [who have] lost sight of the power and passion of our original covenant with God." It is not that we are not involved in commu-nity life or engaged in a valued ministry, but rather that we are settling for comfort and "good enough"--which in turn means liv-ing with little zest and passion for life and ministry. It means not being willing to take risks or make changes that might unset-tle. Ron Rolheiser OMI says that the problem for reli-gious today is not that we are not good people, doing good things, but that we are not great people. We have settled for giving ninety percent of ourselves and held on to the ten percent that would give witness to the pas-sion and energy of God alive in us. When we entered, I would guess, we wanted to give ourselves a hundred percent. Avis Clendenen offers an interesting reflection on how we may have adapted Jeremiah's response to God "from 'too young' to 'too old'; Ah, Lord God! I am weary from speaking the truth in love. Our best days are behind us. I am too old." And God says, "Do not say 'I am too old,' for even now to all to whom I send you you will go; be not afraid, for I am with you to deliver you." Are we holding back? Can we live more fully every moment of our life today and on into the future? The problem for religious today is not that we are not good people, doing good things, but that we are not great people. 67.4 2008 Eicbten * Constitutions and Heart Knowledge 376 Relationship with Structure and Authority Our constitutions are about holding with care the relationships that shape our life together. They assume and emphasize our relationship with God, which in turn is expressed in relationships with other members and associates and with the church and society. Treating these relationships with care can only happen when both members and leaders take seriously their responsibility as part of community. As individuals, you bring your personal power to the community, ideally making it a force for growth, bridge building, and healing, rather than a force for negativ-ity, divisiveness, and controlling behavior. Together you affirm that your congregation is there to facilitate your religious way of life and your ministry, and you accept responsibility as members to participate in defining and working towards the purpose of your community. The goal of your congregation's governance is to exemplify and facilitate the living of your congregation's charism, weaving "the organizational elements of shared values, mission, and vision and translating tl~em into reality, into a course of action." In the governance of our religious congregations, we have various indications of history and personality. Rigid authority structures have left many with scars and cautions, and efforts towards new models of communal living have not always been successful. Leadership functions amid our practice and expec-tations of ourselves as members of our communities. Patricia Wittberg SC offers three models of relation-ships of community and authority. Hierarchical/Bureaucratic Model: This model offers an organized way to carry out the purpose and mission of the congregation. The value it emphasizes is effi- Review for Religious ciency; the mode of operation is dependency. Power and authority are concentrated at the top and flow downward, as does communication. There is little individual responsibility. The young are mentored, and the model can continue without changing. Every congregation has some elements of hierarchy/bureau-cracy which are needed for effective functioning of an organization. Associational Modek This model values individual fulfill-ment; the individual "I" is at the center of the model. Relationships are one-on-one and dependent on the individual's choice of persons to whom s/he wishes to relate, both within'the organization and outside it. Persons live as if this were a professional organiza-tion where membership is equated with paying one's dues or meeting basic requirements and participating as one wishes. Leadership is often not acknowledged or is reluctant to call for difficult actions on the part of members. This model is not likely to reproduce into the next generation. Communitarian/Relational/Intentional Modek The value for this model is the common good; interdependence is the desired mode of operation. Relationships and communication are mutual and are focused around a sense of common identity--"we" with members and leaders working together for common goals. In this model, individual members are willing to sacrifice or limit some personal goals for the common good. There is a mutual shaping of the future. Wittberg says today'~ congregations have their ¯ Toe in the Hierarchical/Bureaucratic model; ¯ Torso in the Association model; ¯ Hand reaching out to the Communitarian model, but fearful of sacrifice or of retreat to the Hierarchical model. She offers this reflection: Religious congregations, precariously balanced between the competing commitment models of 67.4 2008 Eichten ¯ Constitutions and Heart Knowledge 378 ] bureaucracies and intentional communities, may. ¯ have mutually contradictory expectations of their leadership or of their members . Congregatio.ns which refrain from addressing the ambiguous roles of leadership [I would add membership] may miss discov-ering creative and psychologically healthy new ways of filling them. Most communities, I wager, create goals based on the Communitarian model while denying or not acknowledging that the other models exist and may even predominate. There is no right/wrong, good/bad to any model; each has good elements. It might be worthwhile to reflect together on the blessings and challenges of each model as you experience them in your community. The challenge may be to identify and implement the best elements in each as we move into the future. Governance is part of the process of communal transformation. It invites members to a continual com-munal effort toward conversion of heart, mind, and spirit. We bring together our individual selves with our dreams, passions, idiosyncrasies, and personal power. Through the design of our constitution, we seek together the common good for the sake of the gospel. We are one with many, experiencing a range of relation-ships that offer the possibility of transformations into people mutually empowering and accountable. All of these relationships--with God, with one another, with authority, and in mission--are what constitutes your religious congregation and mine. Relationship calls for risk, trust, hope, and moments of conversion, moments to be followed up with firm "soul decisions" to give our all to God's grand dream "that all may be one." Review for Religious Personal Reflection / Group Discussion "Fundamentally constitutions exist to articulate 'heart knowledge,' and are not the mere sets of rules and laws that a legalistic mindset too easily makes them." Have I experienced a "heart knowledge" approach to the reading and study of the constitutions of my congrega-tion? What are some necessary steps for me to take in order to read the constitutions in such a way? What happens to me when I approach the constitutions of my congregation in terms of relationship~to God, to community, and to mission? How do I understand my relationship to structure and authority? Dark Matter It should not surprise us that we encounter darkness and unknowingness within; two-thirds of the cosmos is dark energy and we are offspring of that unfolding mystery, pregnant with possibilities, gestating, incubating in our wombs. The shapeless masses and undeveloped forms lie clogged in a fathomless morass, yet the Potter takes the no-thingness, gently birthing it into a new creation. Barbara Mayer OSB 379 67.4 2008 NESTOR GREGOIRE Can New Life Arise from the Rule Book? 380 ~iin every religious congregation the religious Rule s the distillation of the community's spirit, ideals, goals, and governance. It is the result of years of reflec-tion and prayer, revisions and constitutional changes. It is meant to be the mission statement (long before the term was ever developed) of all the members of the religious congregation: novices, newly professed, and those with perpetual vows. But have the rules become too much a document of doctrinal values and governance procedures in too nar-row a sense? While they are read and studied, reflected upon and taught in many conferences, are they a source of nourishment at the grass roots? Do we consult the Rule Book about what to do, or do we use it for prayer and as inspiration for our prayer, our liturgy, and the community's day-to-day life? Is it more reference book than prayer book? Nestor Gregoire OMI lives at 504 - 3rd Avenue East; Meadow Lake, Saskatchewan; S9X 1H5 Canada. olppastor@sasktel.net Review for Religious How do the Rule Book and the constitutions serve your congregation? Is it very directive, constricting the community's life and spirit, or does it improve vision and expand the horizons of community members? Does the text go beyond expressing doctrinal correctness and touch the community's lived experience? How does the Rule actually fit in the day-to-day living of the local community? Do particular rules have noticeable par-ticular effects? Are there unintended consequences? The Rule Book must be more than a reference book that the novices study, consult, and know parts of from memory. It must become user friendly and be a living part of the community's prayer life. A good indicator of this would be how worn the pages of our personal copy of the Rule Book are. Are they library fresh, or do they have fingerprints, personal notations, and other signs of frequent use? Does the book appear to be one that is close to the heart of a community member? User Friendly Each community can work to make the Rule user friendly in its own way. There are many ways that indi-viduals and communities can find to do this and thereby nourish their own and the community's spiritual life. No one size fits all. Be creative. In the publishing world there have always been meditation books to serve our prayer and reflection, often with a page containing one thought or insight for each day of the year. The reader need not delve into a developed chapter. Often religious congregations will prepare a book of meditations for each day of Lent and Advent and send it out to their members. One of the best ways to make the Rule Book user friendly is to ask members of the community to develop 381 67.4 2008 Gregoire * Can New Life Arise from the Rule Book? 382 a series of meditations and prayers that arise from the values, the vision, and the actual words of the rules. What themes recur frequently throughout the rules? What resources are there available to assist reflecting and praying about the meaning and implications of indi-vidual rules and their contexts? With the Rule Book as our source document, it is possible-to develop a series of meditations which incor-porate the values and teachings of general chapters, writings of our congregation's past and present spiri-tual teachers, and stories of members who served well, lived the charism with joy, and even may have given the congregation its particular tone. Bring the character and flair of these members to the meditations. The stories and the experience of members who have preceded us can help us discover in the Rule mean-ings that are new to us. Each congregation's Rule Book did take on flesh, in joy and tears, in earlier members. What possibilities does the same Rule challenge us to try and perhaps fulfill today? By preparing a series of meditations on the rules and constitutions of my own congregation, the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, I discovered new connections being made between the documents of the past four general chapters, the talks of our superior general, and the text of the Rule. New depths appeared in my own under-standing of our "mission statement." The Founder's Writings There are many opportunities to take bite-size quo-tations and insights from the talks and writings of the founder to flesh out the meaning of particular state-ments in the Rule: We can parallel today's text with passages which ring with the conviction of the founding Review for Religious members. The writings of the founder and founding members can help us appreciate and integrate the offi-cial text into our daily lives. Using the actual words of our congregation's founder can develop a fuller understanding and application of this particular rule. Our understanding of the present text must not be based only on its meaning on the page. It must be broadened to the possibilities that are given to it through the insights of our foundation documents and the firstmissionary endeavors. Allow the writings of the founder and the early members to give new flesh to our understanding of our community charism, the religious values and idealism of our institute. When we try to broaden the possibilities for new insights into and understanding of the Rule, we can find togetherness and nourishment in our foun-dational days and in our church's mission in our mod-ern world. Not only must we seek the contributions of the past to our living the Rule today, but we must be receptive to the new insights and challenges that our situation brings to the Rule. The Rule must always be in dialogue, giving to and receiving from our current mission work, our reflections, and our prayer. Daily Prayer The words of the Rule can be used in composing prayers for the community's daily life. Take individual statements of our rules and constitutions and adapt them into prayers of intercession for the daily office. A little editing can bring the rules' clear and concise statements into our prayer with God. Here are two examples, from our Oblate Constitutions and Rules. The text is not just read but becomes a living part of our prayer. 67.4 2008 Gregoire ¯ Can New Life Arise from the Rule Book? Leader: Lord Jesus, may we always work in cooperation with you, our Savior, and imitate your example-- Response: --by committing ourselves principally to evan-gelizing the poor (Constitution #1). Leader: We pray that the community of the Apostles may with you, our Jesus, be the model of our life (Constitution #3). Response: May we come together in apostolic communi-ties of priests and brothers, united to God by the vows of religion, cooperating with you, our Savior (Constitution #1). We must search for other places in the Rule that can be used in composing new prayers for various community gatherings: at the beginning of meet-ings, on renewal days, at funeral prayer services, and so forth. 384 Poetry and Song Our Rules are meant to be user friendly, to be alive in us, to be at home in our emotions and in our heartfelt prayers. They must touch us in order to move us, to energize us tolive the religious values and the charism our Rule expresses. In her classroom a good teacher makes sure that her students not only pay attention and read the lesson on the board, but also write it, sing it, recite it, and put it .into bodily motion whenever possi-ble. There are so mgny ways that lessons can and should become part of her students' minds and hearts and lives. Too often our religious Rule has been limited to the printed text. Can we express it in new ways? One of the most underused possibilities for our Rule to become more user friendly is to turn it into poetry and song. Where are the gems of religious thought that are seeking to get off official printed pages and be sung Review for Religious as proof of our willing service of Christ and as ways to bring joy and love to the poor? Has the text of our Rule ever become a hymn or a refrain? Have we asked the poets in our midst to look at the Rule and allow the poetic muse to bring forth through them new pic-tures for our imaginations, fresh words that touch our hearts? And what of the photographers, the painters, and those who can sketch? Can they create visual expres-sions of the valued teachings in our Rule? Can the text evoke in them color, pattern, and depth that they can share? For the next community gathering, can one of our photographers bring together a collection of sym-bolic photos and significant texts to help us see our Rule in new and vibrant ways? Let the imagination within your community enable your Rule to be absorbed by your community through all five senses. How else? Let me draw a picture from many a childhood. Will your community's Rule Book be like an encyclopedia that was bought years ago to give the children a learning atmosphere but was hardly ever used? Or will it be like your mother's cookbook, tat-tered, pages falling out or sticking together, scribblings in the margin, flour stains, memories of mother calling us or fragrances inviting us to just-baked cinnamon rolls or to supper? Cookbook, prayer book, rule book--all redolent of love and devotion and sharing. How differ-ent are they? 67.4 2008 JOEL RIPPINGER Monasticism' s Rooted Adaptations ~f~irtainlmg oass ta f porrotyfe ysseeadr sm ionn ak cwohmom hausn liitvye odf Benedictines, I am aware of the reality that, at the beginning of the third millennium, monasteries of men and women living according to the Benedictine Rule constitute an endangered species. We run the risk of becoming an exotic form of religious expression, with our communities acquiring the character of religious theme parks and our spiritual tradition being taken over by increasing numbers of nonprofessed laypersons intensely attracted to the monastic charism. Several developments have been part of this phe-nomenon. Vocations to vowed monasticism have been in decline for some years, especially in North America and Europe, and that course seems to be continuing. With this decline there has been a marked increase of lay oblates and affiliates to monastic communities. Joel Rippinger OSB writes again from Marmion Abbey; 850 Butterfield Road; Aurora, Illinois 60504. Religious Many of those bringing with them this new interest in monastic life have adopted and are putting into prac-tice much of this ancient heritage. Indeed, one of the remarkable aspects of the recent rise in popularity of all things monastic has been the spate of books and articles by such non-Catholic and nonprofessed writers as Kathleen Norris. Norris and others have brought to monastic life both an inherent sympathy for its spiritual character and an outsider's insights into its distinctive charism. They have brought to wide circles of believers their insights into monastic common life and liturgical prayer. The contemporary phrase "family values" has a spiritual counterpart in what book publishers have pro-moted as monastic values. In fact, it seems that attaching the very word Benedictine or monastic to any book can assure many readers. The number expands when it takes in American and British television productions chroni-cling life inside monasteries for visitors from outside the cloister. The recent surprise hit from the Grande Chartreuse in the French Alps, "Into Great Silence," was an exploration of the most austere monastic order, the Carthusians. All of this has generated some striking spiritual scenarios. Increasing numbers of the laity are seeking retreats and spiritual direction at monastic houses, even as the professed monastic men and women struggle to maintain sufficient staff to care for their visitors' needs. Diocesan priests, who once were sent unwillingly to monasteries as a place to be disciplined and do pen-ance, now willingly sacrifice time and personal comfort to make personal retreats in the solitude and silence of monastic guest rooms. A cottage industry has arisen to publish material on St. Benedict's Rule as a model for corporate management, ecological balance, and family 67.4 2008 Rippinger ¯ Monasticism's Rooted Adaptations The hospitality called for in the monastic tradition trumps demands for orthodoxy or religious conversion, life. And, as we have said, programs of spirituality are likely to attract sincere searchers if they use the terms Benedictine or monastic in their publicity. At one level, all of this is cause for rejoicing. An ancient and revered tradition of spiritual formation and communal observance has been retrieved. What only a few decades ago many considered an arcane and irrelevant current of church life is now prized as a source from which to draw the gospel's living waters. Nor does it hurt that monasticism repre-sents a strain of tra-dition that antedates the Reformation and the more polemi-cal and controver-sial categories of the Catholic Church's public profile. Protestants and other non-Catholics come to pray and to dialogue in monastic settings, and they feel at home. The hospitality called for in the monastic tradition trumps demands for orthodoxy or religious con-version. Moreover, the sacred space of monastic cloisters attracts an intriguing variety of searchers. There are those seeking the soundness and insights of spiritual direction, pursuing like Tony Hendra the wisdom of the "Father Joes." There are those drawn by the aesthetic appeal of Gregorian chant and the spare beauty, not of bare ruined choirs, but of natural landscape and architecture that inte-grates silence and a life shared in community. There are those who, caught in the frenzy and rootlessness of what passes for contemporary culture, see in the deep-rooted witness of monastic communities a safe haven. Review for Religious At another level, there is cause for concern. The fact that some monastic communities are dying is a reminder that this is part of a historical cycle that has been in place for well over 1500 years. The dying also alerts us to an unsettling prospect for the near term. There will be fewer and smaller communities of pro-fessed monastic men and women in North America and in first-world countries generally, along with the emer-gence of an ever larger number of nonprofessed devo-tees of all things monastic. The irony here has already been referred to. Devout "outsiders" come to a monas-tery today for the experience of leisure and for restful rhythms of prayer, but they also expect to encounter monastics, whose own time for spiritual direction and holy leisure is now much eroded from what it was in an era of bulging novitiates. It may in fact be a blessing that the outsiders look-ing over the cloister wall are now faced with the real-ity of human struggle and imperfection that is always present in monastic enclosure, but too often in the past has been disguised by various romantic views of monas-tic life. The economy of monasteries is of a piece with its marginal status in society--always a bit parlous and never capable of assuring a comfort zone for those who are committed to it. At the same time the interface with a nonmonastic public has changed. The services pro-vided by the larger monastic communities have evolved with the passage of time. No longer anchored exclu-sively in such institutional ministry as education or pas-toral care, many of the more contemplative houses now emphasize the signature monastic marker of hospital-ity. Monasteries that were once remote in both a physi-cal and a psychological sense now have accessible Web sites and accommodating retreat centers. While some of 67.4 2008 Rippinger * Monasticism's Rooted Adaptations Monasteries of the third millennium have broader borders their contact with an outside public entails the selling of caskets and caramels, fruitcakes and jam, greeting cards and icons, another dimension consists in offering guests the freedom of a room without HBO or wireless com-puter hookup, but with the amplified sounds of nature and the silence of the cloister. The counsel of a wisdom figure and the simple rhythms of a daily round of prayer and work constitute for many guests the unique spiritual ambience of monastic hospitality. If monastic life has been de-romanticized in recent years, it has also been given a wider religious compass. Monasteries of ~e third millennium have broader bor-ders than their predecessors. An international com-munity like Taiz6 illustrates an ele-ment of young than their predecessors, people that is quite at home in the lit-urgy and life of a monastic commu-nity. Thomas Merton would no doubt be impressed at how his Trappist community at Gethsemani recently invited a number of victims of clergy sex abuse to their community to have the monks hear their stories. The spirit of ecumenism and religious renewal heralded by Vatican Council II is incorporated in the variegated communities of Bose and its satellite houses in Italy. The number of non-Catholic and non-Christian com-munities that have claimed monastic connections in recent years is not small. These include not just tra-ditional communities of the Anglican and Lutheran tradition that follow the Benedictine Rule, but variants Revie~v for Religious of the Orthodox faith that follow the different forms of Eastern monasticism. This has led to some fascinat-ing boundary crossing, such as Pentecostal seminarians in Missouri taking regular weekend retreats at a local Trappist monastery or a Monastic Institute sponsored by St. John's Abbey in Minnesota inviting representa-tives from Buddhist and Islamic traditions to speak of monastic hospitality. A measured look at the future should not induce too much anxiety. Monasticism in the third millennium can count on doing what it has always done: adapt its timeless liturgical round and its particular work of com-munity life to fit the needs of a changing world and ever more complex demands. To do that in a way that is faithful to its spiritual pedigree and open to a wider public will require drawing both old and new from its storehouse. The shape of a future monastic identity will have less to do with drawing people by the charm of its physical surroundings and more with the substance of spiritual life. However newly configured it becomes in the course of the coming generations, one can only hope that monasteries will remain places where a wide variety of people can find a place of peace, a place where the work of inner transformation can be encouraged and expedited. 391 67.4 2008 WILLIAM P. CLARK Revisiting Hope spiritual reflection An Irish-American author, by the name of Frank O'Connor, writing of his growing up in Ireland, told how he and his pals enjoyed hiking in the countryside. Sometimes they would come to a wall separating one farm from another, a wall that seemed too high to scale. They would then toss their caps over it and thus be motivated to scale it. When obstacles daunt, we need to use our hope like those caps. In one of Graham Greene's novels, a man speaks of hope in a strange way. He refers to it as a disease. If it is a disease, it is a disease which both comforts and strengthens and is an antidote for the cancer of despair. We very much need hope after all the disheartening things we have experienced in our world and in our church in recent years. We need hope William P. Clark O!VII, in active retirement from teach-ing philosophy, writes from St. Henry's Oblate Residence; 200 North 60th Street; Belleville, Illinois 62223. Revi~-w for Religious in our own public and private lives. Charles Spurgeon offers a good image of hope: "Hope is like a star--not seen in the sunshine of prosperity, and only discovered in the night of adversity." Hope seems especially important as we grow older. As adults we come to realize that choices really do not exist in the way we thought they would when we were children. We expected the regal power of adulthood to provide clarity and insight and control. In the light of humbling realizations, hope takes on increased impor-tance. According to an oft-quoted saying of Julian of Norwich, "The highest honor we can give God is to live gladly because of the knowledge of that love." We can give God that honor only through faith and hope. We know of God's love through faith. The primary object of hope--and our destiny--is to be perfectly united with God in love. Diametrically opposed to hope is the belief that existence is meaningless. If existence has no mean-ing, why would anyone want to continue living? One of our most intimate experiences is of ourselves as incomplete, as unfinished. As someone put it, "In this life there are no finished symphonies." We are drawn beyond anything we manage to achieve. Regardless of the level at which we find ourselves, we feel an attrac-tion to something still higher. In a certain sense, we leave every achievement behind in the very moment of accomplishment. When we achieve what we most want, our pleasure in it often fades. We even may be most acutely aware of our failures precisely when, after some achievement, someone praises us for it. Even in our achievements, we experience the need to go beyond where we are. We still hunger for what is "not yet." Desire outstrips satisfaction. Desire or longing is a driv- 393 67.4 2008 Clark * Revisiting Hope ing force in our lives. It can show itself as aching pain or as hope. As Christians we deal with the future by choosing to believe that life, not death, is the ultimate reality. We choose to turn continuously to our God in hope. That hope rests on the conviction that we are free and thus we have real control over our future. We can turn from where we are to what we want to be. Hope is confidence in God's power to do all things. Hope is the "nevertheless" of faith. In spite of every contradiction, we believe in the divine life within us and that God will bring it to completion if we but persevere in trust. We believe God will preserve and guide the church. Sometimes believing those things is difficult. That is why we must again and again ask the Lord to strengthen our hope. Hope might well be described as the dynamic force of faith and love. Because we are pilgrims, because we. do not see God and do not yet share God's love defini-tively, our faith and our love need to be permeated with hope. We know we cannot attain final fulfillment on earth. We know equally well how decisive our life on earth is in regard to final fulfillment. It is through hope that we press on. Hope offers a vision beyond the inevitable difficul-ties of our human condition, beyond human suffering and even death. It is hope that enables us to choose life, even in a deathlike situation. In hope we trust God can bring life out of death. Sooner or later virtually every-one has to face a deathlike situation in which they are challenged to choose life. It is a deathlike situation to be forced (in fear) to enter long-term nursing care. It looks like the end of the road, the gateway to death. From a purely human Revie~ for Religious point of view, there seems nothing to look forward to except the loss of privacy and freedom, humiliating dependence, chronic pain, and loneliness. To many it appears worse than death. How do people find the courage to carry on in such a situation except through hope? Persons with severe disabilities, persons who have undergone some crushing loss or misfortune, how can they find the courage to go on except through hope? Obviously the hope in question is not a form of escapism or wishful thinking. Rather it is the kind of hope that the Catechism calls a "theo-logical virtue." That terminology is helpful, emphasizing two charac- .teristics our hope should have. By saying it is a virtue, we are saying it is a well-intentioned, stable aspiration. By saying "theological" we are saying it is directed toward God and is a gift from God. Christian hope is not based on self-confidence. Self-confidence is fragile even in a purely human sense. A combat pilot in World War II put it this way in his book God Is My Co-Pilot: "Those who knew no strength except their own to lean on soon found that fear can sabotage even the strongest hea~'t." As Christians, the fulfillment we hope for is pure gift. It is not something we deserve because of our own talents, or efforts, or merits. Nor should hope be confused with optimism. Hope and optimism are quite different. Optimism often distorts reality, making it look better than it is. Hope is the assur-ance of God's fidelity even in the most troubled times. Hope means surrendering everything into God's hands. Christian hope is not based on self-confidence. 67.4 2008 It is not unusual for people to lose hope, to become disillusioned, even bitter, when years of hard work bear no apparent fruit, when little of a desired change is accomplished. Such temptations can surface in any life when one's efforts and prayers seem to be without result. We may be tempted to confuse unseen results with waste, utter waste. That is a mistake. Real faith and hope pro-vide the remedy for that temptation and that mistake. For whatever reason, hope seems to be a some-what neglected virtue. In the Christian tradition we find much more emphasis on faith and charity than on hope. Simply consider the output of books and articles, whether in academic theology or in popularization. Hope also seems an underdeveloped virtue. One finds people whose faith is firm who nevertheless experience considerable fear and anxiety. In his book The God 1 Don't Believe ln, Juan Arias tells of a conversation he had with the great Dominican theologian Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange. The conversation took place toward the end of Garrigou's life. He is quoted as say-ing: "How difficult is hope! I feel I shall soon reach my God. I cannot deny that my faith and my charity have been purified and that they are virtues which I possess in peace, but hope is my torment." Scripture scholars tell us it is often difficult to dis-tinguish faith and hope in the Bible. One reason sug-gested for' this is that the original Hebrew text uses the same root word for both ideas. Thus there seems to be a scriptural basis for saying that hope is not something apart from faith. Bernard H~iring calls hope "the inter-nal dynamism of faith." Faith is more than intellectual assent to a body of propositions. The fullness of faith is the gift of one's whole being to God as Truth itself. The biblical con- Review for Religious cept of faith includes trust in the Lord, who is faith-ful, who pledged to remain with us, who gave us that hope-inspiring message recorded by John: "Do not let your heart be troubled. Trust in God and trust in me. There are many mansions in my Father's house; if there were not I should have told you. I am going to prepare a place for you, and after I have gone and prepared you a place, I shall return to take you with me; so that where I am you also may be" (Jn 14:1-4). In the Bible, faith is understood as a joyous, grateful acceptance of the One who is our savior and our hope. In the Epistle to the Hebrews, there is a close con-nection between faith and hope. "Faith is the confident assurance concerning things we hope for and conviction about things we do not see" (Heb 11:1-2). Scripture scholars tell us this is not a formal definition of faith. In any case, the passage gives us a good insight into the dynamic nature of faith. It suggests how hope is implied in faith. We think of hope as a reaching beyond. Faith is depicted here as enabling us to reach beyond ourselves and our own powers in a double sense. The first part of the passage, "Faith is confident assurance concerning things we hope for," represents reaching beyond our-selves into the future. It concerns what is not yet pres-ent but is confidendy awaited. The second part, "Faith is. conviction about things we do not see," represents reaching beyond ourselves to grasp a present reality that is unknown except through faith. Together these two dimensions describe essential characteristics of Christian existence. First, Christian existence is marked by the assurance that the goods promised by God will be ours. Second, Christian existence is marked by the conviction that the past and present facts on which that assurance is based are indeed facts and not illusion. 67.4 2008 Clark * Revisiting Hope The assent of faith is a surrender to God reveal-ing himself and his kingdom to us, a surrender based ultimately on the testimony of the Spirit, not on the strength of any argument. Faith gives assurance to our hopes because God does not reveal abstract, philosophi-cal ideas, but trust-inspiring truths of salvation, or, better, God reveals himself as a lov-ing Father. To put it another way, by faith we not only believe in God but we also believe that God believes in us. Typically we focus on the first part of that statement. Most people, if asked what ° they mean by faith, would answer with a simple formula such as "It means belief in God." We fail to appreciate the implications of the second part of the statement, that God believes in us. This latter idea is the basis of our hope. Saying God believes in me means he knows I am capable, of being totally fulfilled. It means I have such a capability because God has so willed it. This is possible because God's faith in me does not depend on me, on my goodness. That faith in me comes from the fact that God first loved me. That love is the foundation of my goodness and my value. As Fulton Sheen used to say, "God does not love us because we are good. We are good because God loves us." God's love is unshakable. God loves us without the possibility of regret or reversal. The Bible constantly reminds us of God's initiative. It tells us over and over again of God's loving invitation to us, that he does not regret his work, that his friendship is everlasting. It is By faith we.not only believe in God but we also believe ¯ that God believes in us. 398 Re~iew for Religious not easy to believe in this faith God has in us. It is not easy to sustain the hope that belief implies. So we often minimize God's generous love. We hesitate to believe that God believes fully in us. Only too often do we have to face our limitations and our brokenness. In spite of that, God seems to be telling us: "I know everything about you but I still believe in you." In Isaiah we read: "The mountains may depart, and the hills be shaken, but my love for you will never leave you, and my covenant of peace with you will never be shaken, says Yahweh" (Is 54:10). God does that in spite of our infidelities, our sins. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool" (Is 1:18). We can trust completely in God's faithfulness even though it is beyond our ability to measure. According to our narrow standards, even a mother can lose faith in her child. But God never loses faith in us: "Does a woman forget the baby at her breast, or fail to cherish the son of her womb? Yet even if these forget, I will never forget you. See, I have branded you on the palm of my hands" (Is 49:15-16). Even if we deliberately turn away from God, God continues to believe in us. He goes on believing in our capacity to return. Like the father of the prodigal son, he will go out every morning and evening to wait for us with open arms. When he sees us returning, he will run to meet us and prepare a feast for us. There is not one text in the Bible mentioning sin and judgment without some reference to the hope to which God calls us. This conviction that God believes in us, this hope, is obviously important in our spiritual life. It also has great witness value. Traditi6nally we have been encouraged to witness to our faith by the way we lead our lives. In 399 67.4 2008 Cl~rk * Revisiting Hope 400 today's world it is vital also to witness to our hope. In our shrunken world we are constantly made aware of the problems, the suffering, the evil that exists in virtu-ally every corner of the world. That led Louis Evely to say, "Hopelessness gnaws at our era." We are called to witness to the meaning of Christian hope. We need to show by our lives how our hope gives us strength and courage to face the difficulties and problems that inevitably come into our lives, to show, as Isaiah says, "Those who hope in Yahweh renew their strength, they put out wings like eagles. They run and do not grow weary, walk and never tire" (I~ 40:31). It is important to bear that witness. In Lumen gen-tium the council fathers urged Christians not to hide their hope in the recesses of their hearts, but to bying it to bear on the external structures of daily life. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin was fond of saying, "The world belongs to those who offer it the greatest hope." Christian hope is a gift, a gift of peace, but also a deci-sion. Christian hope means that in and through Christ we can courageously face sin and evil in the world and in our own lives. Hope frees us from the need to predict the future and allows us to live in the present with the deep trust that God will never leave us, but rather will fulfill the deepest desires of our heart. It is important to realize that Christian hope is not a form of escapism or wishful thinking. It is a Christian virtue, not a purely human virtue. No one naturally hopes for victory in the face of helplessness or defeat. In his Letter to the Romans, St. Paul utters a triumphant cry of hope: "Condemnation will never come to those who are in Christ Jesus, because the law of the Spirit which gives life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and death" (Rm 8:1-2). Paul's hope arises Revie~ for Religlous out of his personal experience of the inward struggle and anguish that characterize the human situation (Rm 7:14-23). He ends that description with a desperate cry: "What a wretched man am I? Who can free me from this body under the power of death?" And Paul answers: "God--thanks be to him--through Jesus Christ our Lord" (Rm 7:24-25). What distinguishes Christian hope is that it arises in the very face of human helplessness and defeat and is anchored in Jesus Christ. The Epistle to the Hebrews says: "This is the anchor our souls have, reaching inside the curtain, where Jesus has entered as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever of the order of Melchizedek" (Heb 6:20). This does not mean we are to leave the present world as it is and simply wait for God to make it new. History reveals that the Christians who did the most for the world in which they lived were precisely those who thought most of the next. We need to look not only at what we hope for but also at what we are doing when we are hoping. Hoping implies looking ahead, but it is not just envisioning something we do not yet possess. The experience of hope includes three things: desire, we want what we hope for; belief, we believe what we hope for is indeed possible; doubt, we fear what we hope for may not hap-pen. Those are the elements of human hoping. Hope, as a Christian virtue, is something different, something more. The difference lies in the third element. Christian hope does not include doubt. Christian hoping is not just believing in the possible. It is a conviction about what is sure. Christian hope is the gift of certainty that what God has promised will surely be ours. St. Paul calls it a "hope that never disappoints" (Rm 5:5); in 401 67.4 2008 Cl~rk * Revisiting Hope Christian hoping comes only as a gift of grace. 402 Hebrews it is called "a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul" (Heb 6:20). Christian hoping comes only as a gift of grace. It is rooted in faith, which is itself a gift. Our faith and our hope are not based on history. A natural reading of history surely does not provide us encouragement to hope. In fact, that reading of history suggests that noth-ing will ever change radically for the better. That reading of history provides no model of people living together in mutual respect and universal love. In fact we see just the opposite. The human appe-tite for violence is enormous. A cynic would say history shows that people love killing each other. Almost three thousand years ago Homer wrote in the Iliad: "Men grow tired of sleep, love, singing, and dancing sooner than war." One need look no further than the last cen-tury for ample evidence supporting that view. But there is another history, the history of God's definitive intervention in our world in the person of Jesus Christ. Our faith and our hope are based on that intervention, on God's word--his word in Scripture and his incarnate Word. In his second letter, St. Peter tells us: "What we are waifng for, relying on his promises, is the new heaven and the new earth, where uprightness will be at home" (2 P 3:13). Old Testament prophets have spoken of "swords beaten into ploughshares and spears into pruning hooks" (Mi 4:3); "lions sleeping alongside lambs, the poor given justice, the weak raised to strength, and no hurt or harm done on all God's holy mountain" (Is 11:6;9). Preaching to the Jews, Paul said: Review for Religious "To keep his promise God raised up for Israel one of David's descendants, Jesus, as savior" (Ac 13:23). Hope is a challenging virtue. There are times when our hopes seem to be in vain. Hoping for, if not an end, at least a lessening of suffering and evil in the world seems almost a futile effort. And, from time to time in our personal lives, we are disappointed in our hopes. Often we may feel we have only enough spiri-tual bread in our basket for one day, and we are fearful about tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come. But we do not live in those tomorrows. We have no guarantee there will even be a tomorrow for us. In any case, just as the past is history and should not preoccupy us, so the future is mystery and should not preoccupy us. There is a difference between living for the future and living in the future. The former is done in the present; the latter alienates us from our real life. Among the ancient Christian symbols in the Roman catacombs, there is one which depicts an anchor with two small fish attached to the points of the anchor. The symbolism is clear. We Christians are the small fish attached to the anchor of our hope, Jesus Christ. God offers us the fullness of hope in Jesus Christ. Christ, as the fulfillment of God's saving love, is our hope. Christ is the great visible sign of God's fidelity and love for all men and women. Christ is our hope as victor over all the negatives of life, over the disappointments and frustrations, over anguish and pain, over sin, and even over death. "In the power of the Holy Spirit, may you be rich in hope" (Rm 15:13). 403 67.4 2008 HEDWIG LEWIS Becoming All Fire: Thoughts on Religious Identity Abba Lot, one of the Desert Fathers,. on a visit to Abba Joseph, confided: "Abba, when I am able, I recite a short office, I fast a little, I pray, I medi-tate, I stay recollected. As far as I can, I try to keep my thought pure. What else should I do?" Abba Joseph rose to his feet and stretched out his hands to heaven. Suddenly his fingers became like ten lamps alight. He turned to Abba Lot, eyes sparkling, and whispered, "If you will, become all fire." 404 A young Jesuit, in one of his regular sessions with his spiritual director, asked searchingly: "What is it to be a Jesuit today?" The older Jesuit grabbed a hard-copy of the Decrees of General Congregation 35 (GC35) that lay beside his compute.r, raised it aloft, and said, emphasizing every phrase: "To be a Jesuit today is to be 'a man on fire.'" Many a mystic has written about the "spark of the divine" in every human heart. Divine Providence graces each Of us with potential to turn that spark into a blaze. Hedwig Lewis SJ, th~ author of several professional and psycho-spiritual books, reside~ at St. Xavier's College; P.B. 4168; Ahmedabad 380 009; Gujarat, India. His website is http://joygift.tripod.com. Review for Religious We can let it burn so fiercely that everything around catches fire, spreading far and wide, destroying despair and detestation, creating space for hope and harmony. Hearts Inflamed Fire has often been used to express diverse emotions we experience: purification and passion, comfort and control, devotion and devastation. "Becoming all fire" would mean controlling these conflicting tensions and living life to the full--hearts on fire with Love. And Love then spreads out, setting other hearts afire. All religious are called to be on fire with Love and to let Love shine forth through their good works, in keeping with their charisms, so as to bring glory to God and spread the joy of the kingdom. The Jesuits recently rekindled their own fire. Over a period of about two years before GC35 (held in the first months of 2008), they met in their provinces and came up with suggested topics for discussion, which were sent to Rome. These were scrutinized and presented to the delegates of GC35, who zeroed in on six themes and drafted them into decrees. These were promulgated in early June. Decree 2, titled "'A Fire that Kindles More Fires': Rediscovering Our Charism," defines Jesuit iden-tity today. It responds to questions like: What does it mean to be a Jesuit in a globalized world? What mean-ing and message do Jesuit life and identity bring to people of diverse identities? Drawing inspiration from this decree, I offer here some reflections on what it means to be % man on fire" in the Society of Jesus. I hope this article will serve as a source of enlightenment to Jesuits, to those who share the Ignatian constitutions, and to other men and women religious, and will help them to be "persons on fire." 405 67.4 200g Lewis ¯ Becoming.41l Fire: Tbougbts on Religious Identity The Enkindling Spirit Religious founders have been "men and women on fire," and members of all religious orders and congrega-tions today can tell stories of how they originated as a spark that enkindled other sparks and became a flame. A torch was handed from generation to generation. The first Jesuits "began a narrative, they lit a fire.''t GC35 beautifully summarizes this tradition in the opening paragraph of Decree 2: The Society of Jesus has carried a flame for nearly five hundred years through innumerable social and cul-tural circumstances that have challenged it intensely to keep that flame alive and burning: Things are no different today. In a world that overwhelms people with a multiplicity of sensations, ideas, and images, the Society seeks to keep the fire of its original inspi-ration alive in a way that offers warmth and light to our contemporaries. It does this by telling a story that has stood the test of time, despite the imperfec-tions of its members and even of the whole body, because of the continued goodness of God, who has never allowed the fire to die. (§1) When we read the histories of other religious communi-ties, we find them echoing these sentiments. The story of the Society of Jesus begins with St. Ignatius Loyola. The very name Ignatius suggests fire. Ignatius faced not only cannon fire but also the ecclesi-astical canons that almost had him burned at the stake. His spiritual journey as a "pilgrim" takes a defini-tive turn after his "sublime illumination" at the River Cardoner in Manresa (§5). He set myriad hearts on fire with the love of God, sharing his spiritual experiences through "conversations" and his "school of prayer," the Spiritual Exercises. He enlightened a few enthu-siastic men on the ways of God, forming a group that Review f~r Religious would share his vision of spreading Christ's kingdom. As the Eucharistic Preface of his feastday liturgy states, Ignatius provided the church "with a society of apostles on fire with [God's] love." A letter that Ignatius wrote in 1546 reflects his fiery spirit. A certain Friar Barberan in Spain had publicly expressed a wish that all Jesuits from Perpignan to Seville should be burned at the stake. Ignatius, in Rome, heard of the outburst and wrote to a friend, "Please tell Father Barberan from me that I wish him and all his friends and acquaintances, not only between Perpignan and Seville, but throughout the whole world, to be set on fire and burned up by the Holy Spirit, so that they may all attain to great per-fection and signalize them-selves gready, to the glory of his Divine Majesty." St. Francis Xavier, the pioneer apostle of the Society, ventured beyond physical and socioreligious frontiers "to set the world on fire." Through five centuries to the present, Jesuits have been inflamed with the same spirit and have followed the blazing trails of their predeces-sors and created new paths (§25;.Decree 1, §6). As "men on fire," charged by the Ignatian magis, Jesuits are urged to spread the fire of God's love even in the darkest parts of the world's civilizations (§22). They must gather people around and warm their hearts, listen attentively to their varied stories, encourage them to dance in harmony with their different melodies, and thus "give them meaning and provide focus in a frag-mented world" (§1). The Jesuit vision is to re-create a divine milieu by manifesting "a strong sense of the The very name Ignatius suggests fire. 407 67.4 2008 Lewis ¯ Becoming All Fire: Thoughts on Religious Identity sacred inseparably joined to active involvement in the world. Our deep love of God and our passion for his world should set us on fire--a fire that starts other fires! For ultimately there is no reality that is only profane for those who know how to look" (§ 10). Hopefully GC35's decrees will bring to reality the prophecy of the Jesuit visionary Pierre Teilhard de Chardin: "Someday, after we have mastered the winds, the waves, and gravity, we shall harness for God ener-gies of love. Then for the second time in the history of the world we will have discovered fire." 408 Persons on Fire The "new" fire that GC35 has lighted engulfs the "spirit" of the Jesuit identity as spelled out in the pre-ceding three general congregations. To be a Jesuit today is to be "a man on fire." The fire at the heart of a Jesuit's identity and mission is Jesus Christ (§2). The "man on fire" is an alter Cbristus, for Christ is his con-stant companion (§3). The "man on fire" lets his light shine through good works for the greater glory of God (§22). He enkindles other hearts with the Love that burns within him, for that was Christ's deepest yearn-ing: "I have come to cast fire on earth!" (see §21). From an Ignatian perspective, it is a "fire" that con-sumes and cleanses, for the Jesuit is "a sinner, yet called to be a companion of Jesus." It is a fire that cannot be contained, for the Jesuit is "a man for and with others." It is a fire that urges the Jesuit, a "servant of Christ's mission" (§7), to the edges of society (§24) in the ser-vice of faith and the propagation of justice (both human and environmental) (§7, §24; Decree 1, §6). The fire is kept ablaze by the Jesuit living out generously the Ignatian "polarities": "being and doing, contemplation Review for Religious and action, prayer and prophetic living, being com-pletely united with Christ and completely inserted into the world with him, as an apostolic body" (§9). Our near-contemporary St. Alberto Hurtado (of Chile, 1901-1952) was "a fire that enkindles other fires" (§25). He established the nonprofit organization Hogar de Cristo (the Hearth of Christ) to aid the homeless. It provides both shelter and human warmth for body and soul. Hurtado not only enkindled these unfortu-nate people, but wanted his experience with them to intensify the fire in his own being. He made this conviction abundantly clear: "Love them in order to make them live, that a more human life may develop in them, unlocking their intel-ligence, putting an end to their backwardness. May the errors anchored in their hearts prick me continuously. May I be tor-mented by the lies and illusions used to intoxicate and enrapture them; may the mate-rialistic press that pretends to enlighten them irritate me; may their prejudices stimulate me to show them the truth. And this is nothing more than the translation of the verb 'to love.' I have placed them in my heart so they may live as people in the light, and the light is none other than Christ himself, the true light that enlightens everyone who comes into the world. All the light of natural reason is really the light of Christ; all knowledge, all human science. Christ is the supreme science. ,2 Father Pedro Arrupe SJ was described in 1952 as "a man on fire" by a seventeen-year-old student in Madrid, The "man on fire" is an alter Christus, for Christ is his constant companion. 409 67.4 2008 Lewis * Becoming All Fire: Thoughts on Religious Identity Adolfo Nicol~is.3 Like Hurtado, Arrupe had sheltered the hapless victims of the atomic bomb at Hiroshima. Given his training in medicine, Arrupe ministered to those suffering from severe burns. His experience would inflame his own heart with greater compassion and love - - for the suffer- ,~ ing. Later, as the Jesuits' superior general, he would open centers for refugees (see Decree 1, §6). Arrupe's is also a good example of how "men and women on fire" foster religious vocations: they walk their talk and talk their walk in the service of the Lord. Arrupe's lecture on his experiences at Hiroshima had rekindled in young Nicol~s's heart the burning desire to become a Jesuit. Nicolas would later follow the great missionary to Japan and eventually succeed him as supe-rior general in Rome. The Jesuit "man on fire" must realize that "the Jesuit identity is relational." He shares in the life of a com-munity, each member drawing its fire from the same source: Christ. Together as "friends in the Lord," they bear witness to the Light. A glowing community life, one that is intensive and joyful, attracts people, "inviting them--above all the young--to 'come and see,' to join us in our vocation and to serve with us in Christ's mis-sion. Nothing could be more desirable and more urgent today, since the heart of Christ burns with love for this world, with all its troubles, and seek~ companions who can serve it with him" (§ 19). The Jesuit "man on fire" must realize that "the Jesuit identity is relational. Review for Religious Playing with Fire Jesuits are also, by choice, "firemen" in Christ's brigade. The "demons" of this age are on a rampage, spreading on earth the fires of the underworld through irreligion, injustice, and consumerism (see §21). As firemen in Christ's brigade, Jesuits have been called to unflagging commitment to Christ and his mission of extinguishing the fires that defile human dignity and ravage natural resources. The Jesuit fireman plays with fire and becomes vul-nerable to the "inferno" he has to confront. It often means getting burned by rampant injustice or religious fanaticism. He comes under fire when he ventures beyond the frontiers--as is evident in the long list of Jesuit martyrs for social justice in recent times. Yet he remains committed regardless of thorns, threats, and thrashings and moves ahead fearlessly under the banner of the cross (§11; Decree 1, §9). The pathway is not always bright. There are periods in the Jesuit fireman's life when the fire within him burns low, threatened by storms inside or out, or the path is hidden in thick smoke. He experiences, in short, the challenge of the cross--where "the Divinity is hidden." The light flickers or fades in the struggle, and doubts and anxieties oppress. The time may compare with what mystics have described as the "dark night of the soul." "The experience of a hidden God cannot always be avoided, but even in the depths of darkness the transforming light .of God is able to shine" (§7). The "man on fire" must not lose hope, but seek and find that "light" so as to rekindle his fire. After the example of Jesus our companion, whose "entire life was a kenosis," he must feel supported and continue on his mission (§ 14). 411 67.4 2008 Lewis * Becoming/Ill Fire: Thoughts on Religious Identity While GC3 5 was in session, every Jesuit community around the globe kept a small lamp lit in the chapel as a symbol of oneness and solidarity, uniqueness and unity. Every Jesuit, in his own God-given way, must more than anything else be "a man on fire." And then, merging his flame with the flames of other religious "men and women on fire," together with "all persons of goodwill" (§21), he must set the world ablaze. Notes ~ GC35, Decree 2, §2. The texts of all the decrees are available at www.sjweb.info. Paragraph numbers of this decree will be given in the body of the article thus: (§2). 2 Albert Hurtado, personal reflection written in November 1947, quoted in "Saint Hurtado's Christocentric Mindset" by Hedwig Lewis sJ, Ignis 2005, no. 4, Gujarat Sahitya Prakash, Anand, India. 3 Adolfo Nicolfis sJ, "Eight Encounters with Father Pedro Arrupe," Province Express, Australia, 14 November 2007. 412 A Birthing On my way to Damascus I was tripped by Grace, and fell Into the hands of Love. My brain lay scrambled And pride lay wounded I felt blinded. Deep within my labored soul Faith gave its birth cry. Paulson V. Veliyannoor CMF Review for Religious A. PAUL DOMINIC A Source for Prayer Undreamt Of God speaks first in one way, and then in another, but no one notices. He speaks by dreams, and visions that come in the night, when slumber comes on mankind, and men are all asleep in bed. Then it is he whispers in the ear of man, or may frighten him with fearful sights, to turn him from evil-doing, and make an end of his pride; to save his soul from the pit and his life from the pathway to Sheol. (Jb 33:14-18; JB) If it is true that God speaks to us in dreams, what fol-lows? Or what should we do? We should speak in turn. Or we should at least desire to do so and try. Speaking to God in dreams as God does to us in dreams is not normally at our command. However, whether we dare speak to God after we have dreamt depends on us: it is definitely within our power. Such speaking to God is prayer indeed. Prayer linked with dreams may start in dreams and end in them or continue after them, or it A. Paul Dominic sJ last wrote for us in our 66.4 (2007) issue. His address is Human Development Centre; Port Mourant, Corentyne; Guyana (South America). 413 67.4 2008 Dominic ¯ A Source for Prayer Undreamt Of 414 may begin only outside them, drawing inspiration from them. Both kinds could be learned, though for now my interest is in the second,~ which is simpler: it is prayer following the dreams. The literature on prayer has been mosdy on how to pray rather than on what to pray. Is it worthwhile to con-sider the manner and matter of prayer separately? In any case, being persuaded myself that more deserves to be said about what to pray about, I would like to deal with the hardly dreamt-of topic broached above. To state it explicidy, whatever you dream at night can well serve as food for your prayer. I believe that something sensible can be said about dreams as source material for our praying. The idea proposed here is really part of what Christians generally use in their meditative or contem-plative prayer, namely, the Bible.2 They use the whole Bible, even if not every page and even though they most often use Gospel passages.3 Even in the Gospels, some paragraphs may seldom be considered prayer-worthy. It is a rare person who will pray over the genealogy of Jesus given at the beginning of Matthew. Still, the Bible in all its multiplicity and variety serves Jewish and Christian prayer. I think this is true of the bibli-cal passages about dreams, albeit they are not noticed much.4 Biblical dreams are found here and there in both Testaments. For many, they could prove to be a new wellspring of prayer. God Active in the Unconscious A

Issue 64.4 of the Review for Religious, 2005. ; Praying Calling Rehgious Life Perspectives The Spirit QUARTERLY 64.4 2O05 Review for Religious fosters dialogue with God, dialogue with ourselves, and dialogue with one another about the holiness we ~y to live according to charisms of Catholic religious life. As Pope Paul VI said, our way of being church is today the way of dialogue. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published quarterly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Telephone: 314-633-4610 ¯ Fax: 314-633-4611 E-Mail: review@slu.edu ¯ \\feb 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 ¯ Pontifical College Josephinum 7625 North High Street ¯ Columbus, Ohio 43235 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. ©2005 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 hear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. ~ gournalof Catholic S~iri~uali~ eli Editor Associate Editor Canonical Counsel Scripture Scope Editorial Staff VVebmaster Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Eugene Hensell OSB Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Judy Sharp .Clare Boehmer ASC Steve Erspamer SM Kaddeen Hughes RSCJ Louis and Angela Menard Bishoi~ Terry Steib SVD Miriam D. Ukerifis CSJ QUARTERLY 64.4 2005 contents prisms 340 Prisms 342 355 praying Mary, Woman of the Eucharist: A Contemplation James A. Rafferty details the unique participation of Mary in the Eucharistic sacrifice of Jesus, a proximity to Eucharistic presence that envelops her entire being. Personal Prayer and Group Reflection From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation Ernest E. Larkin OCarm provides a personal account of his study and experience of centering prayer and contemplation and Christian Meditation. Reflection Questions 369 380 calling Rekindling the Fire: Vocation Efforts Sefin D. Sammon FMS writes a letter to his own brothers to encourage practical measures to be adopted for encouraging vocations to religious life. Reflection Questions Don Bosco's Continuing Mission to Youth Leo J. Heriot SDB shares the dream of the young John Bosco that continues to shape the Salesian apostolate and system of education. Review for Religious 386 405 r Oi ious p rspe ivss The Council as Catalyst Elizabeth McDonough OP gives a snapshot picture from her own experience of living religious life in the light of the happening of Vatican Council II. Monks' Stability and Punxsutawney Christian Raab OSB suggests that a monk's vow of stability offers the opportunity to transform one's life instead of becoming stuck in the repetition of daily life. 410 spirit Led by the Spirit: St. Augustine Andrew Ryder SCJ presents the three movements in Augustine's life that are key to understanding his doctrine on the Holy Spirit. 424 429 436 443 Scripture Scope: Mark's Gospel and Jesus' Radical Humanity Canonical Counsel: Canonical Federation Book Reviews Indexes 64.4 200Y prisms Te main character in a popu-lar TV show called "Joan of Arcadia" finds that God speaks to her. God is always surprising her by speaking through quite different people-- sometimes young and at other times old or in-between, sometimes male and at other times female. This young woman is portrayed as a very ordinary person, but her experiences of God seem to set her apart. If we were to be asked where most consistently we experience God, I doubt that many of us would say that we hear God speaking to us. In fact, we tend to be wary of people who hear "voices" or God speaking to them. Yet the God of the Old and New Testaments is a communicator. We identify the scriptures as the word of God. Christian prayer has always been understood as a dialogue, with both God and ourselves speaking and listening to each other. What we are sometimes slow to recog-nize is that God communicates not just in words. In the whole world of creation, God is speaking. Our personal talents, our gifts, our traits tell us that God has loved us personally into existence. People have always found the majesty of God in the surging of the ocean's Review for Religious waves, in the soaring heights of mountain peaks, and in the rosy-fingered morning sun. Certain people coming into our lives make real to us the call, the concern, the compassion of God. Their very presence makes us feel touched by God. We Catholics have always held our saints in great esteem and affection. They continue to touch us with God's presence. We remember our dead because they too, strikingly holy or not, have spoken to us of God's care. We ask for their help because they relate us to God. And so God speaks to us not only in the sacred words of Scripture, but also through people and things and events of our everyday environment. Modern psychology has made us aware that we com-municate through body language. God, too, uses body language to talk to us. Every time we celebrate Christmas we can "hear" what God is saying to us through the baby Jesus. No one is frightened by a baby--seeing no stern judge or a wrathful and punishing monarch. The baby Jesus reaches out and hands himself over to us in great freedom and trust and love. This baby in a manger-- Jesus--is God speaking. The wonder of Christmas brings home to us how, first among all .the other ways of com-municating, God's incarnate Word speaks to us. What we need to observe in a more daily way is the silence of a Christmas night so that we can watch and listen. Perhaps that is our New Year's resolution. David L. Fleming SJ ES. The Review for Religious staff and board mem-bers pray for a holy and blessed Advent and Christmas seasons for all of our readers. 64.4 2005 JAMES A. RAFFERTY Mary, Woman of the Eucharist: A Contemplation praying This reflection looks at the relationship between Mary and the Eucharistic Lord. It attempts to show, in particular, Mary's intimate presence to the Eucharist. As a woman at the center of God's love for all humanity, Mary may properly be identified as Woman of the Eucharist, the title both reverential and affectionate that Pope John Paul employs in his encyclical Ecclesia de Eucharistia. This title is not merely a clever the-ological phrase about Mary symbolizing the entire church by her faith and receptive coop-eration. The title is about Mary's profound spir-itual relationship with her Son. Attuned as no other to the intimate communion deep within the Trinity, Mary singularly understands Jesus' Eucharistic heart as it embraces all humanity in choosing Calvary, where self-surrendering love is displayed in shocking degree. James A. Rafferty, a priest of the Diocese of Scranton, is chaplain and a campus minister at Marywood University; 2300 Adams Avenue; Scranton, Pennsylvania 18509. Review for Religious More than a theological category or doctrinal for-mulation, Mary, Woman of Eucharist, sings the hymn of one woman's surrender to the divine Love that gently invites people to become more like itself. The sacra-mental Eucharist we celebrate today has its peak expres-sion in the Last Supper that opens the original drama of the paschal mystery, but Jesus' Eucharistic offering is not limited to those hours of his life. Rather, his entire being may be described as Eucharist--sacrificial self-offering emboldened by an enormous gratitude. Mary's life, too, chants her Son's Eucharistic hymn of praise and self-gift long before she accompanies him to the moment when he hands over all that he is on the cross. Eucharistic tones reverberate in Mary's immaculate con-ception, in the annunciation, in her hearing her Son pro-claim the kingdom, in her presence at Calvary, and in her sharing in the Easter glory. The first Eucharistic moment in Mary's life, as in everyone's, is the moment of conception. Like everyone else, Mary receives her unique and unrepeatable iden-tity as nothing other than gift, gift to herself and to the world. Births celebrate the overflowing of love from the Trinity's heart into time and space, letting itself be known in the life of another. Life itself means receiving what we cannot give or produce on our own. This divine gift is always more splendid than cellular interactions and anatomical functions. The Spirit of God breathing into clay sacramentalizes the loving communion of the Creator with the created. Physical existence, even veiled in the womb, announces the divine creative imagination that renders each life sacred by bearing the image and likeness of the Triune God. While every new human life arouses awe and thank-fulness in the presence of this loving gift from God, the humble daughter of Israel has an unprecedented 343 64.4 2005 Rafferty * Mary, Woman of the Eucharist: A Contemplation God creates Mary as one ready to welcome, grace without resistance, Eucharistic glow from her immaculate conception. The child of Anne and Joachim receives from her first instant the totally unmerited gift of being preserved by God from all stain of original sin. God creates Mary as one ready to welcome grace without resistance. Her very dis-position is to seek always what is the delight of her Creator and Lord. In her immaculate heart Mary bows before the tender stirrings of the Spirit of Yahweh. She never lurches away from the Lord in willful-ness. Her submission to God is like the strings of a peerless violin at the touch of a skilled violinist. The instrument exists precisely to give resonance to the master's melody and fill the air with music. The violinist's touch is not subjugation. It frees the instrument to be its fullest self. Mary cooperates wholly in all that God desires for her. We pray during the liturgy for something of her receptivity when we say, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word, and I shall be healed." Although these words originate in Jesus' encounter with a centurion concerned for his servant's health, the litur-gical context may suggest Zacchaeus, delighted to wel-come Jesus to his home and almost happy at not concealing how much his soul has needed tidying up. As we approach the altar to receive the gift of Jesus' Body and Blood, it seems that Jesus wishes to evoke within us Peter's change of heart: first refusing to let Jesus wash his feet and then eagerly conceding at Jesus' insistence. Again, the Immaculate Conception is a permanent stance of receptivity. We seek that disposition in our own prepa-ration for Communion. Review for Religious The Eucharistic motif appears in Mary's life also in her obscurity and poverty. Her simple, humble existence in a tiny village reflects the Eucharist. There Mary depends utterly on God. Mary experiences a real, not just a romantic, poverty. She feels with all who are poor the realities of hunger, cold, and powerlessness. For her the cry of the poor is not a hypothetical, poetic verse; it echoes her authentic abandonment to the Lord's provi-dence in situations where human efforts do not accom-plish much. There is more here than a passive resolve to endure difficulty and want. Mary finds comfort and assur-ance in a faithful God who has pledged never to aban-don the people he has chosen to be his own. As a woman of actual poverty, Mary relates to God as the provider of her daily needs. She carries within her a practiced confi-dence that God attends to her hunger and thirst, a heart-felt trust that breaks into the praise of the Magnificat. She lives out of the consciousness that it is God who feeds, nourishes, and sustains. Her poverty expresses sol-idarity with every child of the Covenant who awaits God's saving action. Such indomitable hope, passed on across centuries, has been planted deep in Mary's heart. Mary's Eucharistic living is evident in the moment when divinity unites with human flesh at her consent, "Let it be done to me according to your word." The Lord instituted the sacramental Eucharist for us to con-sume and thereby have the divine life pulsing strongly within us. Mary's "yes" to the invitation of God fore-shadows our "amen" at being offered the Eucharist. Amen here means "Yes, I believe it is the Body of Christ, and, yes, I wish to receive it." It is implicitly a consent that the Body of Christ broken, offered, received, and consumed may effect a change in us who partake.of it. As believers we surrender before the mystery in a way similar to Mary's "Let it be done to me." Like Mary at the annun- 64.4 2005 Rafferty * Mary, Woman of the Eucharist: A Contemplation 346 ciation, in the Eucharist we implicitly desire that the Trinity take over our life so that our identity, fused with Jesus himself, lets itself be guided by God the Father. When the angel appears to Mary with the message that she will conceive and bear a son who will be called Son of the Most High, she perceives the compassion radiating from the heart of God. This radiance accom-panies the self-surrender of the God who comes to dwell in flesh. By the grace of the Holy Spirit, Mary is drawn into God's plan, which includes Calvary. In the powerful current of paschal love, she more than anyone else glimpses the yearning of God to heal the rift that sin causes in the relationship between Creator and creature. Every act of God in the salvific economy bears a paschal orientation, and Mary intuits the paschal horizon of God's project. That is, she senses the truth of what she meets in the annunciation--a self-offering Love that knows no limitation. Lacking the vocabulary of Trinitarian theology, Mary nonetheless encounters the Father offering his Son in the power of the Holy Spirit. She experiences deep within her the distinct energies of the Trinitarian per-sons, as if eavesdropping on the dialogue of the Trinity's plan for her. Mary knows, then, a Father sharing his Son with her, and she knows this contemplatively in the depths of her being. Mary's pregnancy does not begin as a mere procedural accomplishment, as valued posses-sions are handed over to faithful friends for safekeeping. Because the Spirit of God fills her, Mary senses the meaning of this act for the Father. The Father is hand-ing over to her, and through her to all humanity, that which is most precious to him, his beloved Son. Mary knows this with her whole being. She knows, too, the Son's active participation in this gift-giving. Before the throne of the Father in heaven, Review for Religious the Son exercises the characteristic obedience that he will manifest in the world even to death. Mary'sfiat opens the path for the eternal Word to enact his incarnation in space and time. The Son exchanges the omnipotence of divine majesty for confinement in the womb of a young woman. The Second Person of the Trinity assumes human nature in its meekest form and progresses accord-ing to the physiological laws of the human condi-tion. Mary, of course, does not, by virtue of her experience of the annun-ciation, have unrestricted access to the mind of God. She remains thor-oughly finite. Like every other human being, she knows only what she can experience. There pre-cisely do we find the glory in the incarnation, the splendid miracle that Mary is the first to perceive--God revealed in human frailty. Mary is present to the moment when the Son clothes himself in the frailty, dependence, poverty, and even death that mark every human life. The words of consecration so familiar in the Eucharistic Prayer are already subtly present at the annunciation. "You will conceive and bear a son." "How can this be?" "The power of the Most High will over-shadow you." It is as if all of creation--a suffering world yearning for the healing that it is helpless to achieve on its own--has been imploring the Holy Spirit, in one great wordless epidesis, to fill the virginal womb with life. And God responds by making himself present in history for children and adults to see, hear, and touch--and be Mary is present to the moment when the Son clothes himself in the ~ailty, dependence, poverty, and even death that mark every human life. 347 64.4 200Y Rafferty ¯ Mary, Woman of the Eucharist: A Contemplation touched by. Mary's response is personal and collective. She speaks on behalf of a wounded race. Generation after generation of messianic hope permeates the Jewish faith. In Mary and others like Anna and Simeon, this hope is not merely a passive waiting and watching. More than that, it is an ever intensifying desire, calling upon God fervently and ceaselessly from amid the welter of the human condition. Here is the imploring epiclesis to which the Father answers in the incarnation of his Son. To this intensification of Jewish prayer may be added the human hearts all over the world humbly defenseless under the weight and the stings of evil. Moved by their sobs and their silence, God intervenes decisively. Through the Holy Spirit and Mary's yes, God's Son becomes present in her womb. This is similar to what occurs in the liturgy. Mary offers herself in conjunction with the cries of a people lost in darkness, and the Holy Spirit completes her offering infinitely by bringing about the presence of Jesus in her womb. The divine love in this human form is Light itself amid earth's darkness. Surrendering himself to the human condition, the Son of God encompasses the human race's sad history in himself. He submits himself to the force of evil that pummels, confuses, and obliterates. At the first moment made possible by Mary's assent, the world begins to hear the Son whisper, "Take this, all of you, and eat it, this is my body; take and drink, this is my blood, given up for you." Mary silently possesses more than an inkling of the self-surrender that God envi-sions. The Son empties himself by taking on human nature, and Mary nourishes humanity's self-sacrificing Savior towards his birth. She and he both anticipate his self-offering on the cross, the offering that rises from burial into resurrection a~l is present each time the Eucharist is celebrated. Mary's praying heart delights in Review for Religious the wonder, adoration, and gratitude with which she accompanies the Child she carries. With maternal love she worships thankfully the Presence within her in a unique Communion. The proclamation of the kingdom of God, too, is redolent of the F~ucharistic. In the Spirit, all grace of whatever form moves human hearts to Communion. People's gifts or fruits of prayer come to naught unless they seek and find some externalization in unity, in Communion. The Spirit is Communio, and all grace drives toward perfect fulfillment in the heavenly ban-quet, the wedding feast of the Lamb, for which the litur-gical sacrifice prepares us. No wonder, then, that the New Testament's Eucharistic imagery appears in the ear-liest moments of Jesus' public ministry. At the Jordan, Jesus, who is without sin, does not accept John's baptism as a gesture of solidarity with weaker brothers and sisters. He is maturely aware of his right relationship with Yahweh. His decision to approach the Baptist, like his acceptance of the cross, manifests publicly the full sur-render to the Father's will that he has made in prayer many times. Here at the Jordan, Jesus offers himself unreservedly to his Father's plan. He pledges himself to the kingdom that John has heralded. In sublime intimacy the Son prays, "Take this, Father, it is yours." He hands over to the Father all that he receives: his body, his energy, his desire, his relationships; his future. At the Jordan, at the proper time, the Son relives on earth his own unseen choice in eternity to become incarnate. His Father accepts his self-offering and blesses it with the epiphany that confirms the beloved Son's identity. As Jesus undertakes his public ministry, right from the beginning he gathers a community from people who have little in common other than their friendship with Jesus and the willingness to risk being in his company. 64.4 200~ Rafferty * Mary, Woman of the Eucharist: A Contemplation Mary playsa role in , this formation of Christ's followers inlto a Eucharistic coinmunityi Jesus does not announce the kingdom as some exhila-rating new ideology or political vision. Rather, he forms relationships and then sees to it that they form rela-tionships with one another. And he gets them sharing in his own relationship, his own communion, with the Father. Today the Eucharistic table is the special place where the Father reaches out to his sons and daughters and where they seek the deep unity among themselves that they find occurs only when God is in their midst. In celebrating the Eucharist, Christians accompany Jesus and attend to his words and actions, and he forms the church in his paschal love just as he did with his first disciples. Mary, Woman of the Eucharist, plays a role in this formation of Christ's followers into a Eucharistic com-munity. Here this does not mean intuitions of their rit-ual participation in the Mass. Rather, it means learning a new way of being loved by God. Their souls are being awakened to tolerate and then to rejoice that Jesus comes not to be served but to serve. The Spirit is slowly instructing them in the language of God's heart, which speaks most eloquently in the silence of Good Friday. But, preparing for that day, Jesus brings his friends and coworkers home with him to Nazareth and to Mary. They have left home and livelihood to stay with him. They are good people, but they carry the soot of the world with them. Their hands and their hearts are stained with the grime of laboring in a world pol-luted by greed, prejudice, dishonesty, violence, and cynicism. Review for Religious As if in a retreat in preparation for the work of the kingdom, the disciples notice the warmth of pure love between Jesus and his mother. The home at Nazareth serves as a chapel of adoration, of deep devotion, where the love that the graced human spirit is capable of becomes visible. In Jesus' relating with Mary, there is no hardness of heart, no defensiveness, no secrecy, no inse-curity. The disciples could not have resisted being affected by the goodness of this mother and this Son. Long before Mary and John's presence on Calvary, Jesus is already drawing his friends into Mary's universal moth-erhood. At the same time, Mary quietly rejoices as she watches the glow of Trinitarian communion dawn in the lives of others. As the church begins to form, Mary joy-fully waits at the center to share what she has received. Eucharistic nuances continue to pervade Mary's dis-cipleship of her Son, especially in her loyal, fearless par-ticipation in his death and resurrection. The full meaning of the Via Crucis opens up before people who contem-plate it with Mary's eyes. Mary's consent to the angel at the annunciation reaches its climax in her yes beneath the cross, where her heart, united with her Son's, is in perfect obedience to the Father. Mary's obedience is not a horrified resignation to the inevitable, nor a resentful passivity in the face of something she desperately wants to alter. Mary cooperates in the sacrifice of Jesus. Indeed, as Jesus struggles toward the altar of the cross, Mary's spirit accompanies him with the prayer that nothing dis-suade him from his g0al. Whatever dark lies, taunts, or tortuous subtleties the tempter hurled at him in Gethsemane, Mary, in luminous contrast, gently urges him not to give up. Her intense love for Jesus cannot wish him to be other than who he is. In her Son's selfless desire to give himself away out of love, amid the hor-rific brutality of Calvary, Mary gazes upon the heart of 64.4 200Y Rafferty ¯ Mary, Woman of the Eucharist: A Contemplation the Trinity revealed in human history. Wondrously graced, she embraces both the incomparable grief of a woman who witnesses her son's execution and the awe of one who witnesses a compassion as vast as God him-self. Jesus gives forth his last breath, every last spark of energy in his being. For humaniv ~'s sake he surrenders to Mary embraces both the incomparable grief of a woman who Witnesses her son's execution and the awe of one: who witnesses a compassion as vast as God himself. the Father all that he has and is, and Mary watches the birth of a New Covenant. In her excruciating sorrow there is an unshak-able joy. What can possibly convey the significance of her tears shed that day? Hers are tears of pain and also over-whelming delight at a mystery so profound it takes an eternity to contemplate it. Mary does not impede or resist the cross of her Son. She lives and moves in the Spirit of the Father who hands over his beloved Son. Mary deeply comprehends the Trinity's sacrificial love. She is the first human being to understand all that the Eucharistic sacrifice entails. Even more incredible, she prays for everyone to have the courage to approach the sacrifice of Jesus and with her to desire its fulfill-ment in a personal assent to Jesus' self-offering. The Eucharist derives its meaning and power from Jesus' pas-sion, death, and resurrection. Mary teaches the church how to adore the Lord at the foot of the cross, where blood and water flowed from the Savior's pierced side. Jesus' disciples, even his closest friends, had to learn of Review for Religious the empty tomb before their despair turned to hope, but Mary is deeply consoled even as she cradles Jesus' lifeless body in her arms. The resurrection and Pentecost show the redeeming power of the paschal mystery. So do present-day Eucharists. They do it not simply because Christ died on the cross, but because he lives now and forever, some-thing our faith knows. Through her deep faith Mary is already disposed for Easter before her risen Son ever appears. For the faithful woman who can see more than loss and emptiness at Calvary, there is more than the silence of the grave. There is a confident communion with the Father, whose unwavering love Mary knows well. Her soul has felt the tender power of the Spirit bringing to birth what human imagination cannot fathom. Mary has learned well to trust in more than what her senses reveal. She is the authentic contemplative, familiar with the Spirit's movement, and it is not a spirit of despair. She remains a mother in those dark hours. She consoles and encourages the confused, disheartened disciples until the Paraclete fills their hearts with the light of Truth and with Pentecostal fire. Deep faith in the Risen One sees more than any eyes can see. It sees that death itself is not the tragic loss it appears to be, but is the last measure of the prelude to the divine oratorio of eternal life. In the Eucharist, too, participants see and hear more than their senses per-ceive. The bread is no longer bread, the wine no longer wine, but the living presence of Jesus Christ, who makes of his members a living communion. It is Mary who leads the church to the Eucharistic Lord. Hers is no mere external presence or observance or performance. She is intimately involved in her Son's love for the world. Her heart comes to us with the Love that overflows the heart of God. 64.4 2005' Rafferty ¯ Mary, Woman of the Eucharist: A Contemplation Sources Pope John Paul II. Encyclical Letter Ecclesia de Eucbaristia. 17 April 2003. Corbon, Jean. Tbe Wellspring of V~ord~ip, trans. Matthew J. O'Connell. New York: Paulist Press, 1988. Reprinted by Wipf and Stock Publishers. Personal Prayer In the context of the Eucharistic celebration, we might take up the following scripture passages for contemplation: Luke 1:26-38 John 19:25-37 Group Reflection In what ways has this article on "Mary, Woman of the Eucharist" opened up new insights and apprecia-tion for the Mass in our daily living? Review for Religious ERNEST E. LARKIN From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation T~nPaper is a bit of narrative theology, something y personal journey over the last twenty-five or thirty years trying to practice meditation and contem-plation. My account begins in midstream of my religious life, in the mid 1970s, with my introduction to centering prayer. Basically the journey has been from centering and centering prayer to Christian Meditation, the prayer discipline of John Main (+1982). Three Ways to the Center First, the point of departure. What do I mean by cen-tering and centering prayer? These .terms have become familiar and clearly defined today. It was not always so. Centering and centering prayer meant different things to different people in the 1960s and 1970s. An example is the article by Thomas E. Clarke sJ in the British journal The Way titled "Finding Grace at the Centre.''1 The title may be familiar, because it named a collection of Ernest E. Larkin OCarm wrote for us last in July-August 2003. His address is St. Agnes Catholic Church; 1954 North 24th Street; Phoenix, Arizona 85008. 64.4 2005 Larkin ¯ From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation essays on centering prayer published by the Trappists in 1978 and again by Skylight Paths Publishing in 2002. The whole article was reprinted except for the last two pages, which at the time represented one of the chief contributions of the article. So I have a quarrel with the editors for deleting the pages and not indicating they did so. Apparently they wanted to highlight the one form of centering prayer they were espousing in the booklet, and so dropped two other prayer forms that Clarke was presenting as ways to the center. In the article Clarke presented a philo-sophical exposition of centering and then posed the ques-tion: How does one make the journey to the center? His answer was threefold. The first way was classical center-ing prayer, the way of dark faith, which proceeds beyond images and concepts and seeks to rest in the indwelling God. The other two ways to the center used imagination and feelings; they were the prayer of images and fantasy and the practice of the examen of consciousness. All three were ways to the center, ways to dispose the soul for the great gift of contemplation. Together they offered a rich and broadly based prayer life. Teachers of centering prayer should have applauded the connecting of centering prayer with other forms of active prayer. Centering prayer is contemplative in intent, but active in method, as are all forms of meditation. Centering prayer was not supposed to replace lectio div-ina, nor to become one's total prayer life. Centering prayer is a spiritual exercise to deepen one's whole spir-itual life, animating, for example, the liturgy and one's devotions. Connecting the three ways put flesh and blood on centering prayer by acknowledging that imagination and human effort can help in the process of centering. Clarke's paper stated a simple and even obvious fact, Review for Religious namely, that the search for contemplation, especially in beginnings, is not an abstract act; it invokes images and thoughts even while it strives to get beyond them. All three ways converge to the center. This was a welcome reminder in the early days of centering prayer. I remember how the insight thrilled me. I talked about the distinctions with Father John Kane, a Redemptorist, who founded a contemplative house of prayer in Tucson, Arizona. We both agreed that the article was a breakthrough because it made room for the imagination at least in the beginnings of con-templative prayer. The search for contemplation was not restricted to forced abstract search; one did not have to empty the mind. Centering prayer was one way to contemplation and a good way, but it was not the only way. Clarke's article contextualized the search for contemplation and freed it from a one-track pursuit based on theoretical textbook definitions. Before this time I had a philosophically correct but pastorally deficient understanding of contemplation as imageless prayer. I thought "Ignatian contemplation," for example, which consists in reliving a gospel story, was a misnomer; the process was meditation, not con-templation. I did not cotton to Morton Kelsey's thesis that the imagination ruled the prayer practice in the church in the first millennium, and that abstract con-templation in the mode of John of the Cross was Johnny-come- lately in the second millennium. Kelsey argued this position in his popular The Other Side of Silence. To my mind, contemplation had no room for images; they Have we had a philosophically correct but pastorally deficient understanding of contemplation as imageless prayer? 64.4 2005 Larkin ¯ From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation belonged to discursive prayer, the way of meditation, which was a lesser species of mental prayer. But here was Tom Clarke connecting the imagination with centering, thereby broadening horizons in contemplative prayer. The three ways of centering were a significant help to me. Two years earlier, in 1975, I had made a thirty-day Ignatian retreat and came away with the resolution to spend an hour each morning in mental prayer. I was faithful to the hour, but I lacked method. My prayer was amorphous. I read and reflected, I pondered, mused, stirred affections, and made resolutions. I also centered and sat for long periods of silence. But there was no particular order in my pondering. After two years of struggle to be faithful to the hour without a clear methodology, my prayer had became dry and difficult. I "white-knuckled" my prayer, holding on to the bench to fill out the hour. All this may have been a species of the determinada determinacion of Teresa of Avila, but it was probably closer to the "zelus sine scientia corruit" of St. Bernard: "Zeal without knowledge destroys." How long could I hold on? Only the grace of God kept me from giving up on the hour. My efforts in the hour were the same as my practice in the two daily periods of formal meditation in my Carmelite community over the years. These two peri-ods were shorter, usually a half hour each, and I was able to handle them, though somewhat haphazardly. Because they were amorphous, I subsequently looked on them disparagingly. I thought I had wasted a lot of time in my mental prayer. I do not think that way now. I have come to take a more benign view. I realize with Woody Allen that ninety-five percent of life as well as of prayer is showing up. If we are there, putting in time with the Lord, the Lord will do the rest. We should not exag-gerate the role of method. Review for Retigious But method helps. The three ways of Tom Clarke supplied a format for my contemplative prayer. I would do twenty minutes of classical centering prayer, twenty minutes of reflection on the day's readings, and then after Mass twenty minutes ofjournaling. I did not char-acterize the imaginative parts of my prayer--the biblical meditation and consciousness examen--as contempla-tive, but I saw them as part of my pursuit of contempla-tion. Moreover, the active prayers gave permission for elements of imagination to enter my centering prayer. At this time I made a study of the prayer of St. Teresa of Avila in her early premystical years to determine how she employed the imagination in her beginning con-templative prayer.2 She later called this "practice of prayer" active recollection. In the paper I argued that the imagination played a significant role in her practice. Her prayer was her own making, hence active in form; but it was contemplative since her whole effort was to rest in the deep personal realization of the Divine Indwelling. This was her whole prayer. Teresa called it "re-presenting Christ within." Commentators sometimes incorrectly interpret this phrase to mean the imagina-tive recall of some mystery in Christ's life, such as of his being scourged at the pillar. The imaginative recall is part of the prayer, but not its heart, since the recall is only the refocusing of the person in moments of wan-dering. The remembrance of an image from the passion serves the same function as the holy word in centering prayer. The holy word does not detract from the con-templative character of centering prayer any more than the image in active recollection. I concluded my paper on Teresa by saying that her prayer was a mixture of imageless and imaged centering prayer. Today I agree that the term centering prayer should be reserved to the prayer of imageless dark faith. 64.4 2005 Larkin ¯ From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation 3,60 This primary thrust, however, leaves room for some imagination in the practice of this prayer. Teresa's active recollection, which can rightly be called centering prayer, was both apophatic, that is, beyond imagining and thinking, and kataphatic, that is, with a role for the imagination. These insights into Teresa's prayer confirmed Clarke's suggestion and allowed me to accept a minor but real role for the imag-ination in my own practice and theorizing about con-templative prayer. As late as the year 2000, I was still experimenting with a role for the imagination in my contemplative prayer. I was on another long retreat at the Camaldolese monastery at Big Sur in California. For five weeks I prac-ticed Christian Meditation several times each day. I described three different experiences of my contempla-tive prayer in an article in Review for Religious in 2001.3 Two of the patterns I reported engaged the imagination to a small extent. These points about the imagination and contemplation are not irrelevant; they continue to occupy the attention of writers.4 The Move to Christian Meditation The centering and centering prayer so far described were the focus of my efforts at daily mental prayer for some fifteen years. I did not, however, practice it twice daily as was specified by Contemplative Outreach under the leadership of Thomas Keating. The two periods of twenty to thirty minutes, morning and evening, are essential for the discipline of centering prayer. These periods are catalysts for one's prayer life. They are like workouts in a physical-health regimen, and their role is to bring one's life to a deeper level in one's spirit. The outcome is the goal of contemplation in Carmelite terminology. Review for Religious In the mid 1990s I switched my prayer practice to Christian Meditation, a similar but different form of cen-tering developed by John Main, an Irish Benedictine from England. I did so mainly because I was not satisfied with my practice of classical centering prayer. Christian Meditation is promoted by the World Community for Christian Meditation, headed by Laurence Freeman OSB. The major difference between centering prayer and Christian Meditation is the holy word versus the mantra. "Holy word" and "mantra" are not synonyms. Their dif-ference specifies the two forms of contemplative prayer. Christian Meditation repeats the mantra, usually the biblical prayer "ma-ra-na-tha," which means "Come, Lord," from the begin-ning to the end of the prayer. The holy word, on the other hand, is not repeated continu-ously, but only as needed to renew the consent to the Divine Presence. The holy word expresses the will of the person to rest quietly, silently, in the Lord. The mantra, on the other hand, carries the prayer. John Main does not tire of saying that the mantra is the prayer. It creates the silence that is emptiness and open-ness before God, the silence that invites the Divine Presence. The mantra nurtures the beatitude "Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God" (Mt 5:8). Purity of heart and contemplation are the two hinges of the door of the mantra. The mantra is not magic, but a simple device to shut down ordinary rational activity in favor of silence. How would we explain the major difference between centering prayer and Christian Meditation as the holy word versus the mantra? 361 64.4 2005 Larkin ¯ From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation 362 Since I switched my daily practice to Christian Meditation ten years ago, I have been faithful to the two times each day. My personal preference for Christian Meditation is not a condemnation of centering prayer; the same fruits and benefits are available in both forms. The choice of one or other of the two disciplines is a personal matter. I feel that centering prayer has a closer affinity with Teresa of Avila than with John of the Cross and that Christian Meditation has a closer affinity with John than with Teresa. I base these opinions on the sim-ilarity between active recollection and centering prayer, and a similarity of absolutes between the nada and the todo in John and the call to kenosis or self-emptying in Christian Meditation. In the final analysis the two approaches are more alike than different. For this reason I have studied them together and emphasized what is common to them. I have published several articles on the two forms, which I hope to gather into a book. The leaders in the two movements work closely together and see their ministries as parallel. One example of this close collaboration is a prayer center in Phoenix called the Cornerstone. It is sponsored by both movements, which share the same space in a former convent in the Carmelite parish of St. Agnes. The Cornerstone offers programs that are sometimes common to both groups and sometimes specific to one of them. It is lay orga-nized and lay directed. The Genius of Christian Meditation I have come to see Christian Meditation as a com-panion piece, a "how to" addition to the teaching of St. John of the Cross on the passage from meditation to contemplation. This area is one of his specialties. He defines in precise terms both meditation and contem-plation and why the transition from one state to the other Review for Religious can be difficult if not traumatic. Meditation for him is a rational activity, the work of the imagination and the discursive reason; it is active and self-directed. Contemplation is passive and receptive of the gift of the love and presence of God. The transition from one state to the other can be disturbing. Beginning contempla-tion may look like a step backward, even total loss. The old way of meditation is no longer appealing or even possible, and the new way of contemplation is not self-evident. The experience is the passive dark night of the senses. It is a great grace, but easily mistaken and open to misunderstanding. John gives his famous three signs to authenticate the state as well as detailed instruction on the conduct to be followed. In discursive meditation one deals with concrete indi-vidual acts, striving to remove the bad ones and to pro-mote good ones. So meditation is analyzing, evaluating, making choices and resolutions. The soul is like a win-dowpane, St. John says, and the work of meditation is to remove the smudges of bad habits and replace them with acts and habits that are bright with the light of Christ. The light of Christ is faith. The window pane is lighted up by faith-motivated activity. Over time the win-dow becomes clear and the soul purified in the matter of concrete choices. The light of faith shines through with fullness, simplicity, and wholeness. This is the light of contemplation. The light is always there, John of the Cross says. It is part of the state of grace. The perception of the light, however, is dependent on being rid of delib-erate sinful habits. John writes as follows: This light is never lacking to the soul, but, because of creature forms and veils that weigh on it and cover it, the light is never infused. If individuals would elimi-nate these impediments and veils and live in pure nakedness and poverty of spirit, as we will explain 64.4 200~ Larkin * From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation 364 later, their soul in its simplicity and purity would be immediately transformed into simple and pure Wisdom, the Son of God. (Ascent 2.15.4) Thus these graces, when received, are "infused light and love," that is, infused contemplation. The way of con-templation is self-awareness of this new state of being. One simply opens one's eyes and sees and basks in the love and presence of God. At first there will be a going back and forth between meditation and contemplation. John of the Cross gives detailed advice on how to recognize the times for the one or the other, that is, when to continue to meditate and when to rest in the contemplative light and love. His teaching is renowned for its clarity and effectiveness for spiritual direction and retains its place in the life of every budding contemplative. But it is a complicated teaching. Along comes John Main who sees meditation and contemplation in conti-nuity with each other and as one process. The prayer or discipline of Christian Meditation is one dynamic that begins with the mantra and stays with it through multi-ple experiences of God's love. Contemplation is the awareness of Abba's love for me, who am bonded with the Son in the love of the Holy Spirit. The contemplative grows in the appreciation of this love and gets ever more deeply in touch with the knowledge and love that the Tr!nity showers on the world. There is communio, koinonia, participation in the reality of God and his cre-ation. This communion is unitive knowledge, of subject and subject inhering in each other. It is not dualistic knowledge, from the outside, leaving subject and object apart from one another. It is not any particular psycho-logical experience. There is at-oneness, a "common union" or communion, in which the Trinity and the human being enter into what Teresa of Avila called Review for Religious union, namely, "two things becoming one." Communion is the ontological reality; contemplation adds awareness and attention. Not every experience of Christian Meditation is infused contemplation such as John of the Cross has in mind. But every experience is communion and eventually will bring the fullness of contemplation. The commitment to Christian Meditation is a com-mitment to a way of life. The way is always the same; it is the way of the mantra from beginning to end. The goal of the prayer is without limits. One stops saying the mantra only when one is reduced to silence. These are moments of special grace that John of the Cross calls "oblivion" (Living Flame 3.3 5). One resumes saying the mantra as soon as the silence is recognized, because that is the sign that the special mystical grace has passed. John Main's program is one of utter simplicity. He does not stress, though he may acknowledge in theory, the abstract differences between meditation and con-templation or the different degrees of contemplation. But he treats them as one spiritual practice and says explicitly that meditation, meditative prayer, contem-plation, and contemplative prayer are all synonyms. No need to be concerned about essences, he seems to say; the important thing is to grow in purity of heart and recep-tivity to divine grace. The journey is the same in both John of the Cross and John Main, but it is described from different viewpoints. The older John presents objective theology in the manner of the scholastics; the younger John has made the turn to the subject, and his exposition is experiential and practical. Laurence Freeman remarks that John Main's purpose was to start people on the journey and let experience of the prayer teach the rest. The one task proposed is the mantra. The mantra does not deal with obstacles one by one or even supply building blocks for a spiritual edi- 64.4 2005 Larkin ¯ From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation 566 rice. It silences the mind, emptying it of its contents. The silence makes room for the Spirit to take over. "Be," says John Main," and you are in the Spirit."s The Spirit is already there with Father and Son in the Divine Indwelling. If the soul is silent and receptive, the Spirit will pray there beyond images and thoughts, in sighs too deep for words (Rm 8:26). The Spirit will do this because the soul is open and ready and God wants that mutual indwelling even more than the soul does who is sincerely seeking God. John Main's simple method frees the person so that the presence of the Trinity can come alive and be actualized. When there is space and freedom, the meditator is caught up in the prayer of Jesus. That prayer is the one and only prayer in the world since the Incarnation, because it is the love between Father and Son and envelops all of creation. Faithful meditators are woven into that salvit]c love. The journey with the Son to the Father will traverse the stages of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross. Christian Meditation will be the vehicle, the discipline to get one going and to help one stay on the path. These are astounding claims for Christian Meditation. Their jus-tification is the beatitude "Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God" (Mt 5:8). The silence of the mantra produces the purity of heart, and the reward of purity of heart is the love of God, of people, and of the world found in the gift of contemplation. How does silence accomplish this twofold task? By allowing one to escape from the false self by placing one beyond the toils of ego and the world it creates, by free-ing one from the imprisonment of false desires. This healing produces purity of heart. The new freedom allows one to go deeper into the spirit, the domain of the Trinity. The reality of this state is primary and comes before awareness and appreciation. The reality is called Review for Religious communio or participation in the life of God; the aware-ness is contemplation. The Spirit will give us contem-plation when we are ready. Contemplation is thus the outcome of faithful prac-tice of the mantra. Contemplation is the life of God received, the backdrop and engine of one's whole spiri-tual life. It is the life that animates one's community rela-tionships, one's ministry, and one's prayer. The short definition is the realization of God's love for us, "the love of God poured forth in our hearts by the Holy Spirit, who is given us" (Rm 5:5). Contemplation is the outcome of a faithful life. It means claiming what was there from the beginning. It is the Abba experience of Jesus. In his human life Jesus was filled with the Father's presence and love. Certain events like the baptism or the transfiguration were climactic experiences of that love, but Jesus abided in that love always. He looked out upon the world bathed in the Father's love. He was the "beloved Son," and in him the reign of God was estab-lished on the earth. That reign is the kingdom of God's presence and love. It is the resurrection experience. It fills the world with the grandeur of God. Christian Meditation promises this contemplation. Each practice will not necessarily bring forth a recog-nizable, reflexive experience of that love. But every exer-cise will put one a little more in touch with it and will be an experience of communion, of koinonia, of participation in that love. Transformation is taking place, slowly, incre-mentally, and the Christian is being formed in the Wisdom of God, the Son of God, in whom we live and move and have our being. Christian Meditation can indeed be one practical response of meditation and con-templation in our troubled times. 64.4 200Y Larkin ¯ From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation Notes 1 Way 17 (1977): 12-22. 2 "Teresa of Avila and Centering Prayer," in Carmelite Studies 3 (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1984), pp. 203-209. 3 "An Experience of Christian Meditation," Review for Religious 60 (2001): 419-431. 4 See, for example, Brian V. Johnstone CSSR, "Keeping a Balance: Contemplation and Christian Meditation," Review for Religious 63 (2004): 118-133. s John Main: Essential Writings, ed. Laurence Freeman (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2002), p. 105. Reflection Questions 1. In the light of Father Larkin's prayer journey, how would I describe some major moments in my own prayer growth? 2. "The commitment to Christian Meditation is a commit-ment to a way of life." What meaning do I give to this statement? 3. Let Larkin's story elicit a group's sharing about the joys and difficulties of praying. Review for Religious SEAN D. SAMMON Rekindling the Fire: Vocation Efforts Dear Brothers and all who cherish the charism of Marcellin Champagnat, It is early morning here in Rome. The last guests from Saturday evening's vigil celebration of the founder's feast have departed, the house is quiet, and the first hours of a new day are just beginning to unfold. What better time than the dawn of St. Marcellin's day to begin a letter to you about the awakening of vocations to his Little Brothers of Mary. Please join me in this continuing effort, this continuing prayer. Like so many of you, I believe that God continues to move the hearts of young people and call them to a variety of voca-tions within our church. So let us pledge to do our best to foster their generous response, while concentrating our efforts on those called to our way of life and mission as Little Brothers of Mary. After all, our Marist Constitutions and Sefin D. Sammon FMS, superior general of the Marist Brothers, writes again in epistolary form. His address is Fratelli Maristi delle Scuole; C.P. 10250; 00144 Roma, Italy. calling 64.4 2005 Sammon ¯ Rekindling the Fire Statutes reminds us that to do so is a sign of our vitality as an institute. 3:70 Awakening Vocations Well-designed publications, attractive posters, lively and thoughtful presentations that deal with our life and ministry are all ways of cultivating vocations. They all help young people, their parents, and our church to have a better sense of who we are and what we do, and espe-cially to learn something about what we cherish and hold dear. When all is said and done, however, isn't it actually the lives of thousands of brothers over the almost two-hundred- year history of our institute that are our most effective means to awaken vocations? And so your voca-tional tale and mine are good places to start if we want to understand more fully just what we are trying to do. It does no harm to ask ourselves from time to time what first brought us to the life of a Little Brother of Mary and what keeps us here. My own story began when I met the small group of brothers who staffed the high school I attended in the heart of New York City. Even with the distance of years, I can still remember what it was about those men that captured my imagination and my heart. They were obvi-ously religious people, and they appeared happy in their work together and in their commitment to it. There was a spirit of sacrifice among them that somehow appealed to my adolescent soul. And there was passion. This element is at the heart of any vocation worth its salt. Though I may not have rec-ognized it at the time, I realize now that there were some very passionate men in that small group of brothers. In retrospect I can see that, in their love for Jesus Christ and his Good News and for us their students, they shared with us some of the very qualities that our founder Review for Religious inspired in the young men we know today as Francois, Laurent, Jean-Baptiste, Dominique, and Louis-Marie. Even now I find myself surprised at how subtly God was at work in my life, though I surely would never have used that language when I was fourteen. I have to say that I was blessed early in life to meet those men who took delight in helping a rather uncivi-lized crowd of young men to grow up and grow closer to God. These men--many were young themselves--were willing to waste time on us. Time, it was their only currency, and they shared it with us freely and gen-erously. During the years since then, perhaps in imitation or through the mystery of grace, some of my happiest moments have been with young people, sharing their world, their hopes and dreams, their fears and concerns, their ques-tions of faith. Vocation promotion :should neVer be undertaken solely for survival. Vocations for Mission and Not Survival Vocation promotion should never be .undertaken solely for survival. Nor is it simply a matter of numbers. Numbers are not necessarily a sign of viability, nor is age the best measure of vitality. Our zeal for mission, then, rather than a desire to survive "come what may," must be our reason for awakening vocations. This tradition goes back to Father Champagnat. The ever unfolding tale of our institute records that Marcellin's visit to the bedside of a dying teenager is what persuaded him to found a com-munity of brothers with this aim: to proclaim God's Good News to poor children and young people. We know the story well. Discovering that Jean-Baptiste Mongagne knew ¯ " 64.4 2005 Sammon ¯ Rekindling the Fire nothing about his faith, Marcellin instructed him, admin-istered what were then called "the last sacraments," and went on his way. Returning a short while later, he dis-covered that the lad had died. I have often wondered about our founder's thoughts and feelings as he returned home to Lavalla that evening. We can imagine his pace quickening. We know that almost immediately upon his arrival he met Jean-Marie Granjon, who had been a grenadier in Napoleon's army. Picture their conversation taking place on the bridge near what today is the Hermitage. For Marcellin the mission was clear, the reasons for founding a commu-nity of brothers evident. As they talked on that bridge, our founder's passion convinced the former soldier to join him and give his heart to a corporate adventure soon to be known as the Little Brothers of Mary. Marcellin loved the children and young people of his day. More than once he said, "l cannot see children with-out wanting to tell them how much Jesus Christ loves them, and how much I love them." In today's world many children and young people are the victims of war, human trafficking, and the streets. Denied an education and other basic human rights, they are in desperate need of hearing God's Good News. And so, I ask you, do you believe as I do that the mission of our institute is as urgent today as it was in Marcellin's day, and that it will remain so for the foreseeable future? If you do, then let us agree that the awakening of new vocations can no longer be a sideline attraction for you or for me. Instead, we need to develop a plan for promoting vocations and then put that plan into action. A First Set of Challenges A few challenges before we go on. First, a challenge to my brothers in the institute. If you and I want to make Review for Religious vocation promotion a top priority, most if not all of us will need to arrange our other commitments so as to free up twenty percent of our best time for that work. Why twenty percent? Because there is a lot to learn and a great deal of work to be done. We can all beg off, citing good reasons not to get involved. Lack of time, the demands of ministry, age--who among us has not heard that litany before? But, if you and I want a future for the mission and life of our institute, we need to avoid making excuses and, instead, commit ourselves enthusi-astically to promoting vocations. And now a word to my lay partners. I ask you to join us in our efforts to educate parents, the young people in your care and ours, and the church at large about who we Little Brothers of Mary are, what our life is, and what our ministries are. You know us and know what we cher-ish and hold dear. Help others come to know us as you do. And help us, too, by inviting young people to con-sider making our way of life their own. I have no hesi-tation in asking you to give these efforts top priority. All who share our founder's charism should eagerly promote vocations to the brotherhood he established. God's Good News remains to be proclaimed to more children and young people than we might imagine. And what happens if all of us--brothers and lay part-ners alike--decide not to make vocation promotion a major concern and not to give enough time to this impor-tant ministry? What are the consequences? Some would say that a failure to act and act decisively would dimin-ish the probability of a vital and vibrant future for our way of life and ministry. Others would be harsher. If we fail to act, they would tell us, we probably do not deserve a future. In 1822 Marcellin Champagnat faced a vocation cri-sis, the first in the history of our institute. And how did 373 64.4 200~ Sammon ¯ Rekindling the Fire he respond? By taking action, beginning with his pil-grimage to the chapel of Our Lady of Pity. We do well today to follow his example. Today more than a few peo-ple use the term vocation culture to describe an environ-ment in which a call or vocation can take root and flourish. You and I can foster such a culture by believing that vocations to Marcellin's Little Brothers of Mary exist today and that with God's grace and our human efforts we can find and cultivate them. A Pastoral Plan for Awakening Vocations A pastoral plan to awaken vocations can help us awaken vocations to our way of life and ministry. A num-ber of provinces and districts already have a well- A ,pastoral: p!an to awaken vocations can help Us awaken, vocations to our way of life and ministry: designed plan in place. Time will tell of its effec-tiveness. Other provinces and districts can take time or make time to develop a plan. The plan should be comprehensive and include in its details the province or district, all the mem-bers, each community, and every ministry--and, of course, all the others who share Marcellin's charism and want to help promote vocations. In drawing up any plan, you and I are better off con-centrating on what can be done rather than lamenting things we cannot change. In some parts of the world, for example, families are smaller than in the past, young people have far more vocational options to consider, and they may make their life commitments at a later age. Neither you nor I can do much to alter these realities. We can, though, invite young men to our way of life and ministry once again, and we can open our homes and Review for Religious hearts to them. We can also help them and others to understand all that has happened in religious life and in our institute during the forty years since Vatican Council II. Let us do what we can, and not keep wringing our hands about what we cannot change. In making plans we must be sure they are adapted to the culture in which we live. A universal pastoral plan for vocations is unrealistic. Differences exist between regions, and customs vary. What is quite acceptable in one part of our world is looked upon with suspicion in another. And so I offer below just a few ideas to get your thinking started. Be as creative as you can. And do not forget to include in the plan exactly whatyou plan to do personally. a. Province or District Provinces and districts should have at least one full-time vocation promoter, but everyone should promote vocations. The full-time promoter should help the oth-ers to do what they can. There should be a well-designed program that explains contemporary religious life to lay men and women. Some of our brothers will tell you that they feel shaken by the changes in our way of life during the last four decades. In that case, just imagine how shaken the average Catholic may be. In some countries, for example, people feel betrayed and confused about why we no longer staff the local school and do not live in the brothers' house next to the church. A good program could clarify the reasons behind such changes. It could also show that everyone--the laity, bishops and priests, and men and women religious themselves--has a respon-sibility for recruiting new members for religious con-gregations. Some among these groups appear reluctant to do so. I cannot help believing that such reluctance may stem from a lack of understanding about our life today. Catholic parents deserve special attention. At one 64.4 2005 Sammon ¯ Rekindling the Fire 376[ time they were great allies of ours in awakening voca-tions. Today many parents are confused about religious life, about why and how people are still living it. Where their trust has been eroded, we must work to restore it and enlist their aid once again. Our program could include offering an adult educa-tioncourse in a local parish, or as in-service training for faculties in our schools, or as part of parent-teacher con-ferences, or as an Advent or Lenten series. Some could write articles for their parish bulletin or diocesan news-paper. Others could say a few words during or at the end of Mass on Sunday. The means are not quite as impor-tant as the message: our life and mission as brothers is alive and well and ready to receive new members. The work described above could be coordinated by the full-time province vocation promoter. He should not, however, take on these tasks for a local community sim-ply because its members do not want to. His time is bet-ter spent persuading them that the tasks mentioned are rightly theirs and that they have the resources to accom-plish them. Finally, the media and the internet, where avai]able, have great potential to awaken vocations. Where a province web page exists, the vocation pro-moter should make sure that the topic of vocations appears on it and is effectively presented. b. Local Communities Local communities have many opportunities to pro-mote vocations. First of all, though, they should as a group agree to a common plan that ensures that their work will be effective and that nothing will be uselessly duplicated. Prayer must be part of any community's plan. Along with this, three or four times a year a community might invite groups of young people from their school or parish to an open house that is focused on religious life. Such a visit, particularly if it is well planned, can com- Review for Religious municate more about religious life than a series of lec-tures would. Another community might invite parishioners of all ages for a time of prayer, some refreshments, and some friendly conversation, particularly about religious voca-tions. Many people are willing and ready to participate and help, but they need to be asked. A brother's involve-ment in a parish's youth ministry program can be the occasion for young people to learn more about broth-ers and their life. Lay people involved in youth ministry, especially if they know us well, can also raise the topic or answer questions the young may have about religious life. A community might also arrange to print a pamphlet describing our life and mission and place it in the vestibule of the local parish church. In places where the local newspaper or television station does human-inter-est pieces, one or two members of the community could commit themselves to write an article or be interviewed about our life and ministry. c. Our Works Visibility! That should be the yardstick for measur-ing efforts to promote vocations in the institutions where we serve. Posters, pamphlets, days set aside to present the history, life, and mission of the Little Brothers of Mary--all these should be regular fare in any school or social-service project in which we are involved. Our col-leagues and those whom we serve should know clearly just what it means to be one of Marcellin's brothers. While being happily aware that our schools, parishes, and agencies touch others' lives well beyond themselves, we must not overlook those with whom we share min-istry. There may, for example, be lay faculty members in our schools who have given thought, to religious life and our life in particular, but just do not know how to [377 64.4 200Y Sammon ¯ Rekindling the Fire 378 bring up the subject. We should make sure that oppor-tunities exist to discuss the matter, and that they exist in abundance. d. Each Brother and Lay Partner If you asked me to suggest one thing that you as indi-viduals could do to promote vocations, I would answer immediately: Invite young men that you know to think about making our life and ministry their own. Such an invitation by a brother is the factor mentioned most often by young persons and by those further along in years as well. So I say to my brothers: Awaken vocations, find persons who in good time can replace yourselves. And to my lay partners I say: Awaken vocations so as to ensure a vibrant partnership between brothers and yourselves. Without enough brothers, partnership with you is not possible. To all, I offer this reminder: Personal prayer is most important. So pray for those who have religious life on their minds. Pray for them daily. Pray for them by name. If writing is your gift, put it to good use by writing about our life and mission. And if music, or art, or the media world is your passion, use it to awaken vocations. Teach about our life if teaching is your talent; encourage vocations if your gift is to motivate people. Above all, be creative in planning to awaken vocations. Keep asking yourselves how to use your God-given skills to promote vocations. Give twenty percent of your best time to the effort, and do not forget to invite. Blessings and affection, Se~in D. Sammon FMS Superior General Review for Religious Reflection Questions 1) Spend some time thinking about young people that you know. They might be members of your family, the children of friends, students, those with whom you work in ministry, young people in the parish, or elsewhere. Once you have spent some time thinking about the young people in your life, please turn your attention to the questions below. 1. What is it that you most admire about the emerging generation? Take a moment to explain your answer more fully. 2. What is it about the young people you know that most baffles you? Once again, please take a moment to explain. 3. What qualities do you look for in a young man today when considering candidates for our Marist brother-hood? 2) Spend some time thinking about what you might do individually to awaken vocations during this year ahead. What skills can you bring to the task, what will be helpful to young people, particularly those with an interest in our Institute, how can you best convey the many dimensions of our life rather than one or another? Yes, take some time to pray, seek to understand what God is asking of you this year in terms of awakening vocations, and then turn your attention to the ques-tions below. 1. As you look ahead to the coming year, what steps will you take personally to awaken Vocations? 2. What will you do the first month, during the first three months, during the first half of the year? 3. Is there a way you can combine your efforts with oth-ers to have even greater .influence awakening vocations during this time of grace? Please explain. 64.4 2005 LEO J. HERIOT Don Bosco's Continuing Mission to Youth 380[ Jr~hn Paul II's apostolic exhortation on religious life minded us religious of our founders' charisms and what they offer to us, their followers: "Consecrated per-sons live Jbr God and from God, and precisely for this reason they are able to bear witness to the reconciling power of grace, which overcomes the divisive tenden-cies present in the human heart and in society" (Vita con-secrata 41). And in the same vein we have words that mean much to persons consecrated to a mission: "In the image of Jesus, the beloved Son 'whom the Father con-secrated and sent into the world,' those whom God calls to follow him are also consecrated and sent into the world to imitate his example and to continue his mis-sion" (VC 72). The young John Bosco, the son of Francis and Margherita Bosco of Becchi in Turin, had a unique expe-rience at the age of nine, and we can think his mission Leo J. Heriot SDB lectures in Salesian history and also teaches pas-toral psychology and Scripture in Moamoa Theological College; P.O. Box 9226; Apia, Western Samoa. Review for Religious took root at this very time. He had a strange but com-pelling dream, and this dream would return to him often and remind him of this mission of his. Each vocation is unique, and each calling is special, but for God to call a boy of nine and show him his mission in symbolic form is very special. He told about his dream in his own terms, couched in his own plain language, but it seems that the Lord was surely present in it: When I was about nine years old I had a dream that left a profound impression on me for the rest of my life. I dreamed that I was near my home, in a very large playing field where a crowd of children were having fun. Some were laughing, some playing, and not a few cursing. I was so shocked at their language that I jumped into their midst, swinging wildly with my arms and shouting at them to stop. At that moment a man appeared, nobly dressed, with an imposing appearance. He was dressed in white, and his face radi-ated such light that I could not look directly at him. He called me by name. "John," he said, "you will have to win over these boys of yours not with punches, but with gentleness and kindness. So now begin to show them that sin is ugly and virtue is attractive." At this stage John said, "I am still only a boy. How can I influence these children for the better?" But the man of his dream told him that he was to change these boys by acquiring knowledg~ and being obedient to the Lord. As the young John watched, he saw these boys change into goats, dogs, cats, bears, and a variety of other animals. The person of his dream told him, "This is your field where you must work, and to carry out your task you must become humble, steadfast, and strong!" As he looked again, he saw these wild animals change into lambs. In his confusion John Bosco asked the majestic lady who appeared next to him to explain the meaning of this strange thing in his life. She told him, "In time 381 64.4 200~ Heriot ¯ Don Bosco's Continuing Mission to Youth When he was ordained a priest on 5 June 1841, he wondered what his future work would be. 382 everything will be made clear to you, and you will under-stand your apostolate." The next morning during breakfast John told his dream. His brothers scoffed at his simplicity, and every-one, including his mother and grandmother, had differ-ent explanations for this dream. Joseph, his older brother, said he would become a sheep farmer, and Anthony, his step-brother, told him he would probably become the leader of gang of robbers. His mother suggested that he might become a priest, and his wise old grandmother told him not to take any notice of dreams!. This dream when he was nine influenced John Bosco all his life. His apostolate and his system of education would be based on the reflections of this dream. When he was ordained a priest on 5 June 1841, with little or no fuss about the ordination, he wondered what his future work would be and how he was supposed to achieve the mission planned for him when he was a little boy. He was offered one or another parish or chaplaincy in Turin. Uncertain of his choice, he went to his spiritual director, Father Joseph Cafasso, and placed before him the various proposals. Strange as it may seem, his guide told him to go to the Convitto Ecdesiastico, a residential center where priests studied spirituality and moral the-ology according to the teaching of St. Alphonsus Liguori. It was not an academic institute so much as a pastoral center w.here a lecture was given morning and evening and the rest of the day was taken up with priestly min-istrations to people in prison, to families in their neigh-borhoods, and to patients in hospitals, especially the Review for Religious hospice founded by Canon Cottolengo (now St. Joseph Benedict Cottolengo). Later on, Don Bosco would write about his experience in this clerical convitto: "Here I learned what it means to be a priest." Turin in the 1840s was a town filled with young per-sons looking for work. There had been a drought for a number of years, and poverty in the villages had forced many boys and young men into the town seeking employment. Employment was limited, and before long many of them were stealing food or money to survive. They were coming from Lombardy, Savoy, and as far away as Switzerland. Needless to say, with the influx of these young men, the prisons became full. In Turin there were four main prisons, and they were crowded with boys from thirteen to eighteen. Their crimes were more from necessity than malice. Don Bosco made it a point to visit these prisons, tak-ing with him bread, sweets, and tobacco. The conditions were appalling: overcrowded, unsanitary. Loudmouths and foulmouths aired their hatred when these priests came to visit. Many priests from the Convitto Ecclesiastico found it hard to visit the prisoners living in such sub-standard conditions. One described the boys in prison as caged animals, often aggressive and impervious to the kindness of friendship. In his first visit to the prison, where the juveniles were mixed together with the hard-ened men, Don Bosco was treated with disdain. Just after Easter in 1842, however, he invited some prisoners to make a retreat. His friendly concern was slowly seeping into the hearts of the detainees. Some came around, but the going remained difficult. Still, he persevered with his plans, even with the comings and goings. Boys in one prison might be released all of a sudden, perhaps only to be apprehended again and given a sentence in another prison. 383 64.4 2005 Heriot ¯ Don Bosco's Continuing Mission to Youth 384] The success of this retreat becomes evident in what Don Bosco managed to obtain for the boys. After the retreat he asked the official in charge, Urban Rattazzi, whether he could take the prison's juveniles to Stupingi for a picnic. Rattazzi agreed, provided that some police-men went along. Don Bosco bargained with him for another arrangement, no policemen. At eight o'clock, .:when the prison gates opened, the guards said to one another, "Well, this is the last we will see of some of these 260 wretches!" But, at the roll call at the end of the day, all had returned--showing that a little bit of kindness brings out the best in the worst of children. Another of Don Bosco's apostolates was in the neigh-borhoods of Turin. Industries were growing there, and on the building sites boys as young as ten or twelve were often seen lugging heavy loads of bricks and mortar on poorly erected scaffolding. Don Bosco would argue with the contractors, appealing for the boys' safety. When he first went to the building sites, he would hear the boys sneering and snickering as he passed: Ecco lo prete, "Look at the [good~for-nothing] churchman!" He would reply, No, un sacerdote, "No, a priest [who sacrifices and blesses]." He would invite these young boys to his house on Sunday, and many would come for the meal and the instruction he offered them. As a matter of fact, many of these boys became his first Salesians. Don Bosco had enormous persuasive power with the young. Don Bosco's third apostolate in these early years of his priesthood was in Canon Cottolengo's hospice, the Little House of Divine Providence. True love was found there. Don Bosco's special interest was in the section dedicated to the young. Many young persons coming from villages had become the victims of syphilis and gon-orrhea. As a result of these sexually transmitted diseases, young sufferers often finished their lives in this hospice. Review for Religious Don Bosco would often put his head in his hands and say in humble prayer, "What can I do to help these young people avoid these diseases that are symptoms of a loose society?" One wonders whether the spirit that in the 19th cen-tury motivated St. John Bosco--founder of the Salesians and, as Pope John Paul II called him, the Father and Teacher of Youth--can be found once again in a world that seems to have forgotten the importance of heart for educating hearts. Education without love is incomplete and can only end in frustration. Compensation Foliage fallen from its color's weight leaves emptiness in the treetops. I look up through gaps in their circuitry and see more of heaven than I could in June. And now at night as I lie in bed. the highest branches are abloom with stars. Patricia L. Schnapp RSM 64.4 2005 religious life ELIZABETH McDONOUGH The Council as Catalyst perspective W-hen I entered the convent, John xxIII was pope, and John E Kennedy was president of the United States. He was the first Catholic to be elected president. The USSR's Nikita Khrushchev had already been on the cover of Time maga-zine holding Sputnik, the first successful unmanned spacecraft. Vatican Council II had completed its first session, but no documents had yet been issued. The city of Berlin in what was East Germany was divided by a massive and formidable wall that could be breached only at the risk of one's life. The French had recently withdrawn from Vietnam, and some of my high school classmates had already fled to Canada to avoid the military draft as American involve-ment in that war began to escalate. JFK had already experienced the Bay of Pigs fiasco, and Elizabeth McDonough OP, our Canonical Counsel colum-nist, has written a number of articles for us. She holds the Bishop Griffin Chair of Canon Law at the Pontifical College Josephinum; 7625 North High Street; Columbus, Ohio 43235. Revie'w for Religious the Cuban missile crisis had been concluded without a nuclear war. Martin Luther King Jr. had very recendy delivered his now famous "I have a Dream" speech at the Lincoln Memorial. Elvis Presley had appeared on the Ed Sullivan show, the Beatles had finished their first frenzied foray into the USA, and Betty Friedan's Feminine Mystique had iust been published. Within ten weeks of my entering the convent, our nearly one hundred postulants and novices were at choir practice early on a Friday afternoon in November when we heard that JFK had been critically wounded in an assassination attempt in Dallas. We said a prayer and continued singing, unaware that he was already dead. Of the thirty-four postulants who entered the same time I did, twenty-two received the habit almost a year later. No one seemed to think it unusual that so many of the postulants who had entered nearly a year before had now departed. By the time Vatican Council II had concluded in December 1965, Malcolm X had been gunned down, and the Watts riots in Los Angeles were a matter of history. Less than two and a half years later, Martin Luther King was assassinated in Memphis. Riots immediately left burnt-out buildings, mounds of rubble, and shattered lives in much of the nation's capital as well as in other major cities across the country. Two months after that, in June 1968, Robert Kennedy was assassinated while cam-paigning in Los Angeles. Later that summer, antiwar riots disrupted the Democratic National Convention in Chicago. That same year, Mary Daly of Boston College published The Church and the Second Sex, and Richard Nixon, who had lost the election to JFK in 1960, became president of the United States. By July 1969, when America placed a man on the 64.4 2005 McDonough ¯ The Council as Catalyst 388 moon, only a dozen of the original thirty-four postu-lants were still members of my religious community. One month later, on the weekend in August when I professed first vows, a three-day "Music and Arts Festival" was held on a rural farm in upstate New York near the small town of Woodstock. The admission price was $6 a day. The following spring, in May 1970, students at Kent State University protesting the Vietnam War were shot and killed by National Guardsmen. In that same year, for the first time in anyone's memory of our commu-nity's hundred and forty years of existence, no one pro-fessed first vows. The decade of the 1960s was considered by some as possibly the best of times, and by others as positively the worst of times. For American Catholic sisters, it may simply have been, on the whole, the least auspicious of times for the church to suggest that we reassess every aspect of our lives. From the vantage point of nearly half a century, it seems that Pope John's basic intent in convoking the Second Vatican Council in 1959 may have been to initi-ate a radical renewal of all of Christian life. In other words, he may have envisioned a total conversion of mind and heart on the part of all Catholics and even all Christians. It seems he may have intended to sow the seeds of a personal and collective, intellectual and voli-tional metanoia in all believers, so that what Jesus Christ bequeathed to the church might further the salvation of humanity more effectively than it had the first two thou-sand years. Recall that by January 1959, when the council was first announced, the world had just witnessed the most continuously violent, humanly devastating half century in recorded history. From his vantage point, Pope John possibly considered it high time--or time well overdue-- Review for Religious for the whole church to reassess its meaning and role and self-understanding in face of the crying needs of humanity. Recall that Vatican II was convoked before the Berlin Wall appeared almost overnight, before the Cuban mis-sile crisis, before America's seventeen-year involvement in the Vietnam War, before the multiple assassinations and urban violence of the 1960s, before humanity first looked at the world from the moon, before the first ter-rorist attack at the 1972 Olympics, and before the suc-cessful cloning of animals. The council was convoked before the resolution of South African apartheid, before Sarajevo, before Rwanda, before Pol Pot in Cambodia, before Tiananmen Square in China, before the Lockerbie crash in Scotland, before Somalia, before the Gulf War, before Oklahoma City, before Columbine, and long before 9/11. It was convoked before the Iraq War, before Darfur, before the Beslan grade school massacre, before the impact of global warming, and before the global impact of AIDS. What, indeed, we might ask, would John xxIII pos-sibly think now? Perhaps much the same as he was think-ing in 1959, namely, that the church still needs to take a genuinely new look at itself and at the rest of reality in light of the salvation wrought by Christ's life-death-res-urrection- ascension. Whatever any of us may think, say, hope, or regret regarding the Second Vatican Council, few even suspect that the positive potential of its origi-nal intent has yet been realized. This is in part because much more time is needed theologically and practically to assess and to internalize what it said and did. But the council's unrealized potential is also, at least in part, the result, of widely divergent interpretations of its content and meaning which have been categorically co-opted and systematically disseminated by clearly dichotomous seg- 64.4 2005 McDonougb * The Coundl as Catalyst A catalyst initiates a reaction and enables to,proceed under milder conditions than otherwise possible. 390 ments of ecclesial society. For nearly four decades, both sides of this ecclesial dichotomy have consciously sus-tained their combative engagement at all levels of church life. And they have done so with an energy and efficiency that has left most Catholics exhausted and not really very much renewed at all. Meanwhile, any genuine intellectual and volitional conversion that might more effectively bring Christ's salvation to the complex human and spir-itual needs of our battered world has not been afforded a fair chance to begin in earnest. So it seems to me. The title of this article refers to the council as a cat-alyst. A catalyst initiates a reaction and enables it to pro-ceed under milder conditions than otherwise possible. The council did initiate a reaction. When the council began, sis-ters in my community were all known by the names given them when they entered the novitiate. This change initi-ated us into an ego-effacing formation deliberately created to foster an encompassing new way of life. All our sisters lived in convents with local superiors and did things in order of rank from old-est to youngest according to when we had made profes-sion. We all ate in silence while someone read an article or book judged by the superior to be of some signifi-cance (which was often unknown to us who listened as we ate). We all ate whatever was served, though exceptions were made for personal illness. Some sisters seemed to have some personal illness rather regularly. A few seemed to have some personal illness for as long as anyone could remember. We generally washed our own dishes "at table" in a large dishpan of initially clean, soapy water. Review for Religious With rare exception, we never ate at unscheduled times and never ate outside of our own refectory (our term for dining room). We all had three habits: one for Sunday, one for our everyday apostolate, and one for work. Unlike men's reli-gious communities, wherein a habit could often be con-veniently donned or doffed, our habits were the only clothes we had. They were worn at all times except when we went to bed. We were fully "habited" at prayer, at our apostolate, at table, when working in the garden, when doing heavy housecleaning, and even when occa-sionally sledding or playing basketball with sisters around our age during a school break. Depending on where we were stationed (that is, where we were assigned to live and work), the work we did could be teaching a class of fifty or more students, peeling bushels of fruit, running industrial laundry equip-ment, washing dishes for as many as five hundred people, using large, heavy, institutional machines to wax wooden floors that had already been waxed far too many times before, or cleaning with toothbrushes the metal grids on the edges of three flights of stairs. This kind of work was not punishment. It was simply the way we took good care of things. We did almost all of the work ourselves, and almost everything was in perfect condition most of the time. We never wasted anything. Wrapping paper and ribbons, boxes and jars, aluminum foil and plastic containers--all were saved to be used again and again. Our families would joke about our reusing everything and called it "nunny." Nowadays many people do it but they call it ecology. We ordinarily awakened to a bell shortly after four o'clock and almost every minute of every day was sched-uled with some event or responsibility. We all retired at a specified time, usually no later than nine-thirty. 64.4 200Y McDonough ¯ The Council as Catalyst 392 Permission was needed for exceptions. After the "lights out" time, some sisters read books in bed under the cov-ers with a flashligl~t. Our rooms were rather small (about 8 x 14 ft.), but they usually had everything we really needed. Back then what we really needed were a bed, a bedside table, a desk, a bookcase, a chair, a lamp, a closet, and a small dresser. Every room had a crucifix on the wall and a little bottle of holy water on the dresser. We did not hang other things on the walls, and we did not have nicknacks. In some of our convents, a few sisters lived in dormitories with curtains separating generally equal spaces which contained mostly the same furniture. In some convents the rooms might have a small sink and a small easy chair. We had common bathroom facilities, but often the superior's room had a private bath. Superiors also had a small, separate office, and the house treasurer usually did too. We could write to our family once a week. Family members could visit occasionally, oftener and more briefly if they lived nearby, less often and longer if they lived farther away. On these visits we never had meals together. We ate in the refectory with the sisters, and our families ate in the guest dining room. Any gifts our family brought were given immediately to the superior, who transferred the best of everything to the chaplain or the pastor if they were things a priest could use. We all regularly asked permission from the superior for doing such things as opening our mail, using the books at our disposal, and having necessary personal toi-let articles. About once a month the superior conducted a meeting of all the sisters which was known as "chapter of faults." This had been a salutary monastic practice of publicly admitting to the sisters with whom you lived your own externally manifest foibles and failures and then asking forgiveness. But by the 1960s this practice Review for Religious had been truly trivialized into merely mentioning some fault from a previously prepared list of supposedly light or medium or serious ones. They ranged from leaving something out of place to talking during "times of silence." Things we actually did or failed to do that really annoyed one another were mostly not on the list. It did not matter much what a sister mentioned from the list, because the sisters you lived with were already very much aware of your external foibles and failures. Some were even aware of your internal ones. What we actually did or failed to do that really annoyed each other was seldom on the list, - - but these provided the ever-present, unrelenting, mutual sandpaper of our lives together. Every sister knew it, all too well. Most sisters in local-community convents had sev-eral jobs besides teaching. Shortly after first profession I taught five classes of math a day (algebra, geometry, trigonometry) at a co-ed high school of a thousand stu-dents, was in charge of the bookstore (textbooks, sta-tionery supplies), was responsible for the convent cars (keeping them clean, full of gas, and fixed when neces-sary), was convent treasurer ("qualified" because I taught math), and traveled a hundred miles each Saturday for M.A. studies financed by a National Science Foundation grant. What I was doing was not unusual, it seems to me. But we were much younger then. When Vatican II began, the religious community I entered had 720 members. It owned and operated two colleges for women, three highly successful high schools, and a small hospital. All of these had a sister as presi- Most sisters in local-community convents had several jobs besides teaching. 64.4 200~ McDonough ¯ The Coundl as Catalyst 3941 dent, principal, or CEO. All of these had at least a dozen sisters serving in various capacities. We also staffed sev-eral large Catholic high schools and more than three dozen Catholic grade schools in various dioceses in five different states. We were known for being quite good at what we did, and it seemed to me we were. We related professionally to the lay people with whom we worked, but we never really socialized with them. They were called "seculars," and the sisters greatly outnumbered them. By the time I entered, because learning and teach-ing were central to our heritage, it was rare for a sister to be assigned to teach without having at least a B.A. degree. Many sisters already had or were studying for master's or doctoral degrees. Except for those studying, we all came "home" to the motherhouse and worked there or nearby during the summer months. In mid August year after year, we received any new assignments by hearing a list read aloud to all of us assembled in the motherhouse chapel. We were not consulted about the assignments. The very next day we were all on our way to this or that convent in this or that town, each of us with all our belongings. Back then, those belongings always fitted into one large trunk plus, for some, a small suitcase. The convent in which you landed in those days might be subject to the occasional but dreadfully harmful tyranny of a superior who probably should never have had a position of authority. In those days the mother general--the sister in charge of the whole congregation, who herself was elected--appointed all the local superi-ors. It was only in the mid 1970s that sisters in our local houses got to elect their own superior. The election of the mother general took place every four years at a for-mal, solemn gathering called the general chapter. All the sisters voted for delegates to the chapter, and the dele- Review for Religqous gates elected the mother general and the four councilors who assisted her. Besides the elections, these delegates also made decisions about other things that concerned the whole community. While the chapter was in progress, the rest of us usually did not know much about what was going on, although a few always seemed to know most of what was going on everywhere. In local communities, some superiors treated author-ity as a matter of control and more or less trampled on the sensibilities of others in the house, except for favorites of theirs (for whatever reason). In retrospect, it seems that the favorites were being groomed to become future superiors. Many of them did. The nonfavorites were thankful when they were assigned to another house or when the superior went "out of office." Some incom-petent superiors, recycled in a sort of "lateral arabesque," wreaked havoc again on sisters elsewhere. Such superi-ors were the exception, not the norm. But they were really notable exceptions if they were your own supe-rior. The convent in which you landed could also fall under the diplomatically gloved but predominantly iron hand of a local pastor who controlled everything, from the horarium (our daily schedule) to the purse strings. Back then, financial remuneration for sisters was a pittance. In the early 1970s I was among twenty-eight sisters in a city with one of the highest per capita incomes in the country. Two dozen of us had degrees, some even graduate degrees. We taught in a large diocesan high school or in a nearby parish grade school or worked in a diocesan office. One sister was a full-time cook for the convent. Though not many of us knew how to cook for twenty-eight people, we took turns helping to cook on weekends. Every sister in the convent received a salary of $1,800 per year. Of course, the convent and its mainte-nance were paid for by the parish or school, and we had 64.4 200Y McDonough ¯ The Council as Catalyst 396 three cars for our use, paying only the cost of gas for community trips. At that time there was rarely any for-mal provision for sisters' healthcare, but most necessary medical services were donated by local doctors and den-fists. No one ever even thought of retiring, so no retire-ment funds were ever requested or received. It all "worked" fiscally because there were so many of us and we were so young and lived so frugally. I cannot say we went without necessities and must admit we also had occasional extra amenities that were probably unavailable to most of our own families. Remarkably--or perhaps not so remarkably--we usually sent a monthly surplus to the motherhouse. In that way, convents which had difficulties in making ends meet could be given sup-plements from the congregation's general fund. The gen-eral fund also supported our older sisters when they were no longer able to work, but every sister worked for as long as she could. In retrospect it seems that, if we had received higher stipends, we could have recycled much more of that town's wealth into poorer schools and parishes elsewhere through our sisters' donated services. Like most sisters' communities, we also operated schools where many parents simply could not pay any tuition at all. Wherever you lived back then, ever-present poten-tial pitfalls of our life together centered on the possible overemphasis on externals or a possibly excessive legalism in observing regulations as supposedly indicative of what constituted a "good sister." I label them potential pitfalls because, in retrospect, there may have been only three basic ways for us to deal constructively with the exter-nals and the legalism. These realities seemed to domi-nate the entire ethos of Catholicism in America before Vatican II, and they certainly fit all too comfortably into the total ambience of religious life. But, to be construc- Review for Religious tive about it, you could basically only comply with the externals or you could identify with them or you could try to internalize their meaning. Whether or not a sister was really prone to legalism was somehow related to which of the above options predominated for her. Back then, it seemed that just about any sister who wanted to stay in the convent could learn to comply with just about everything that was asked of her, and most did. Even if you did not like doing this or that, you could usually appear pretty good at doing it. Even novices could learn to comply externally most of the time, or at least enough of the time to be admitted to first profes-sion. At another level, back then it seemed to me that most sisters rather readily identified with the communal importance of what was expected of us for the sake of the bigger picture of who we were together. And most somehow sensed that who we were together was immensely greater than the sum of the parts. So the value of accepting certain externals of our collective identity, such as living and praying and working together or wear-ing the same habit or engaging in common practices, was eventually mostly integrated as part of the overall package that both strengthened and assuaged the ins and outs of the day-to-day reality of our lives. But, at still another level, back then it seemed to me that you could personally and spiritually internalize what-ever you did as fitting somehow in the adventure of hav-ing promised your whole life to God no matter what. It also seemed to me that some sisters, mostly older ones, had actually internalized what it might really mean to live our life within the ambience of all the externals but with a balance and healthiness that had no hint of legal-ism. They seemed to understand that none of the exter-nals were the essentials. They also seemed to understand 64.4 2005 McDonough ¯ The Council as Catalyst 398 that all we did was intended to foster somehow the life we publicly professed and interiorly hoped to live. I think we all truly hoped to be good, maybe even holy. And I think we all truly wanted to do good, no matter what we actually happened to do. From the deeper, longer, wiser perspective of these seasoned sisters, the externals seemed to matter less, even though they were faithful in observ-ing them. For sure, very early on, I knew I definitely wanted to belong someday to the last group just described. In the midst of all this, it also seemed to me that most of us were happy and productive most of the time. We mostly tried to be prayerful women as best we knew how and to be responsively obedient in sometimes diffi-cult circumstances. For the most part, we had fun with one another, good clean fun, much more often than onlookers may ever have suspected. For the most part, we were quite competent at what we did in significant areas of education, study, and learning. And the regimenta-tion of much of our life even afforded some sisters the opportunity of serving others much more effectively than they might have done on their own. Somehow, in com-munities of women religious forty years ago, in some real way, we really were family to one another, warts and all. And through it all, perhaps in spite of it all, we were definitely not all alike, and we knew it. We knew that no visible similarities rendered us actually similar. But we knew, too, that in many ways all was not well with the way we lived and that much could or should be effec-tively changed for the better. From the moment conciliar documents were avail-able in English, the sisters in my community enthusias-tically read and studied them. The promulgation of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy in December 1963 had enormous positive consequences for American Review for Religious Catholic sisters. Until then, other than Mass, prayer in common for sisters in communities with post- Reformation origins often consisted entirely of medita-tion in common, various litanies~ multiple rosaries, and numerous devotional prayers composed by whoever had founded them. In these communities the meditation topic was usually chosen by the superior, announced the evening before, and had an obligatory format usually fol-lowing standard steps adapted from Ignatian spiritual-ity or from a variation of the 17th-century French school of spirituality. Sisters in communities tracing their her-itage to before the Reformation usually prayed a short-ened "little office" consisting of psalms, with antiphons and responses in honor of the Sacred Heart, the Blessed Virgin Mary, or others. These communities also prayed the rosary in common, but usually had fewer litanies and devotional prayers. Meditation was always in chapel together at an early hour, but a common meditation topic or specific method set by the superior would not usu-ally have been obligatory. Before the council, for the most part, only clergy were considered as officially praying the official Divine Office in the name of the church and as part of its offi-cial worship. Indeed, even if nonclergy prayed the same Divine Office from the same books, it was not considered participation in the church's liturgical prayer. Very soon, however, sisters in communities of any heritage began chorally praying the psalms of the breviary and finding this practice to be immensely more meaningful than their previous devotions. The promulgation of the Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation in November 1965 also proved particularly significant for American Catholic sisters, who responded instantly and enthusiastically to new or renewed biblical studies. But no conciliar document altered the reality of reli- 64.4 200Y McDonough ¯ The Council as Ca~alys~ gious life for sisters in apostolic congregations in the United States more than the Decree on the "Accommodata Renovatione" of Religious Life promulgated in October 1965. The Latin phrase accommodata renovatione is delib-erately retained here, not to be pedantic, but because this cryptic description of what was apparently intended for religious life is not easily translated and because one common translation--"adaptation and renewal"--is sim-ply not correct. This erroneous translation, however, was at first used so frequently that dichotomous expla-nations arose describing "adaptation" as pertaining to external elements of religious life and "renewal" as per-taining to internal, spiritual matters of religious life. The title actually called for the entire reality of religious life to be renewed or restored or refreshed or revived in a suitable or fitting manner. This was quite in keeping with John xxIII'S intention that the church more effec-tively bring the riches of salvation in Christ to bear on humanity's immediate and ultimate needs. To this end, article 2 of Perfectae caritatis made clear that effective renewal should occur under the influence of the Holy Spirit and with church guidance. It would involve returning to both the sources of Christian life and the initial inspiration of religious communities as adapted to the altered conditions of current times. PC (Perfectae caritatis, not personal computer!) affirmed fol-lowing Christ in the Gospels as the supreme rule of life for every religious, while urging acceptance and retention of the community's original spirit and aims and sound traditions. It encouraged religious institutes to foster church initiatives in keeping with their own proper char-acter. It mandated that communities should help their members to better understand human realities, world conditions, and the needs of the church. It strongly reaf-firmed the profession of the evangelical counsels and Review for Religious clearly emphasized the importance of spiritual renewal. Article 3 of PC asked every religious community to harmonize its life, prayer, and work with the physical and psychological condition of its members, and it asked us to do likewise in relation to the apostolate, the sur-rounding culture, and overall economic circumstances. It mandated examination of the community's mode of gov-ernment and called for proper revision of constitutions, directories, customs, prayers, and ceremonies in order to bring them into sync with changes promulgated in other conciliar documents. Article 4 of Perfectae caritatis urged the cooperation of all community members in the renewal effort, which it particularly entrusted to competent internal authorities such as general chapters and legitimate superiors. At the same time, it required superiors to consult with com-munity members and to actually listen to them. So it seemed to most of us that someone somewhere who had worked on the formulation of PC must have known that many things might need changing from the way they were back then. All this was prescribed in the context of our individ-ual response to a divine call to express our baptismal consecration more fully by living solely for God with an apostolic orientation in service of the church (articles 5 and 8). Not surprisingly, PC reaffirmed that the three evangelical counsels commonly professed by religious are spiritually and humanly efficacious for fostering maturity, responsible interaction with authority, and con-structive life together. The reordering of the traditional vow sequence from poverty-chastity-obedience to chastity-poverty-obedience was noted, though there was no evident reason for it (articles 12-15). PC also mandated alteration of religious habits inso-far as they were not conducive to hygiene or were no 401 64.4 2005 McDonough ¯ The Council as Catalyst Women religious in the Unl,ted States took these conciliar mandates)~,~- and challengers quite.seriously,; responding to them with astounding interest and concerted action. 402 [ longer simple or were not genuinely attuned to apos-tolic needs (article 17). It initiated longer and more com-prehensive formation (article 18) and urged maintenance of current ministries while simultaneously calling for a renewed missionary spirit (article 20). And it pointedly reminded religious everywhere that the "example of their own lives" was the best invitation for others to join them in this way of witness in the church (article 23). Without a doubt, women religious in the United States took these conciliar mandates and challenges quite seriously, responding to them with astounding interest and concerted action. And, without a doubt, Vatican II was a catalyst for renewal. It initi-ated a genuine, whole-hearted, enthusiastic response on the part of American Catholic sis-ters regarding who they were, how they lived and prayed, what they did, and what they were being called to do. On the other hand, from the vantage point of hindsight, it is now rather clear that many changes in religious life catalyzed by the coun-cil did not proceed under the milder conditions that cat-alytic conversions are supposed to make possible. In most communities of American Catholic sisters, experimentation in living and praying and working seems never to have ended, while in some communities their living and praying and working seems never to have changed. In most communities of American Catholic sis-ters, constitutional revisions seem never to have found Review for Religious the last, best way of expressing what sisters really want to say, while in some communities only grammar and syn-tax seem to have been altered, and only minimally. In most communities of American Catholic sisters, corporate apostolates have almost completely disappeared, while in some communities apostolic endeavors seem to have remained exactly the same as they were forty years ago. In most communities of American Catholic sisters, many members wear completely secular attire, while in some communities the sisters' only attire remains a Sunday or weekday or work habit, one of which is worn at all times. In most communities of American Catholic sisters, many members live alone in rented apartments, are responsible to no internal superior below the gen-eral council (now commonly known as a leadership team), find their own jobs, visit relatives at their own convenience, organize their own work schedules, and are basically responsible for maintaining their own well-being. In stark contrast, in some communities life is very much the same as it was forty years ago: all sisters live in convents, are assigned to ministry with little consulta-tion, have local superiors, follow a standard horarium, eat in common, wash dishes at table, never visit their families overnight, and--among a plethora of other per-sonal human constraints--may still be permitted to shower or bathe only once a week. This article refers to the council as a catalyst. In ret-rospect, it is clear that the catalytic impulse of the coun-cil occurred during a decade of rapid and sweeping cultural upheavals in the world. In retrospect, it is also clear that in the United States the catalytic impulse of Vatican lI coincided with conditions of extreme social turbulence. Ostensibly genuine responses to the man-dates of Vatican II during a time of great and ongoing social unrest seem to have resulted forty years later in a 64.4 2005 McDonough ¯ The Council as Catalyst far more than minimal divergence in the ways various communities of sisters in America live and pray and work. From what appear to be the result of forces in play forty years ago, in merely human terms the 1960s may have been the least auspicious time for the church to have sug-gested that American Catholic sisters should reassess every aspect of their lives. Indeed, it seems that strongly affirmed good inten-tions and long-sustained earnest efforts have actually brought American Catholic sisters to diametrically opposed positions of immense disparity in spirituality, theology, apostolic endeavors, internal structures, and overall functioning. In four decades of trying to achieve an accommodata renovatio, many communities of American Catholic sisters appear to have unconsciously but enthu-siastically adapted themselves into impending oblivion, while some other communities of American Catholic sis-ters appear to have consciously and steadfastly remained basically unrenewed. And, in this ongoing process, the genuine challenge of Vatican Council II for religious life as a gift to the church--and to the waiting world-- remains as yet overwhelmingly unrealized. Or so it seems to me. His Smile Radiant goodness broke out from ear to ear a would-be down of pain turned up a smile ingratiating, inviting a welcome sign to an open heart; a home. I stepped in and stayed awhile. Walter Bunofsky SVD Review for Religious CHRISTIAN RAAB Monks' Stability and Punxsutawney Toe 1993 Harold Ramis film Groundhog Day is the ry of a television weatherman named Phil, played by Bill Murray, who soon finds himself in a time warp. As the film begins, Phil is cocky, sarcastic, and self-important and resents being sent to the small town of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, to cover the Groundhog Day festival. He spends the day ridiculing the provin-cialisms of the people, bragging about his chances of becoming an anchorman, and trying, rather rudely, to charm his attractive ~producer, Rita, played by Andie MacDowell. At day's end Phil's TV crew gets snowed in. Phil awakens the next day to discover that it is February 2 once again, though he is the only one who seems to notice. He relives the whole day, encounter by encounter, no more gracefully and with even more frustration than he had the day before. He finally goes to bed, hoping that he has gotten over the world's worst case of d4j~ vu. He awakens, however, to find that it is February 2 for Christian Raab OSB is a newly professed Benedictine monk at St. Meinrad Archabbey; 100 Hill Drive; St. Meinrad, Indiana 47577. 64.4 200Y Raab ¯ Monks' Stability and Punxsutawney the third time. These repetitions continue for the rest of the movie. Phil quite clearly has become stuck in Groundhog Day. As he keeps reliving this day and reencountering the people in it, Phil's reactions change--from utter frus-tration and angry outbursts to something else. He real-izes that a life without consequences beyond one day can be used for unbounded pleasure seeking. When he tires of this, he turns his attention toward winning the heart of Rita. He spends days figuring out who the perfect man is in Rita's eyes, and then he pretends to be this person. Needless to say, it does not work. Phil responds with despair and, believing it is the only way out of his private hell, tries again and again to end his life. After each attempt, however, he awakens to the same song on the radio and sees that it is still February 2. Finally Phil recognizes that his selfishness is getting him nowhere. He begins to live for others. He gets to know people and responds to their needs. He feeds a homeless man. He is kind to an annoying character. He helps counsel a young couple. He knows what time every day several old ladies get a flat tire and hurries there to fix it for them. He knows what time each day a young boy falls from a tree, and he rushes there to catch him. Discovering that he has a gift for music, he develops and shares it. He becomes part of the community he once ridiculed, and at last, by forgetting himself, he escapes his fate and reaches February 3. There is something about Phil's Groundhog Day that living as a novice in a Benedictine monastery resonates with. Benedictine iife, especially in the novitiate, is very structured and repetitive. Every day begins the same. At 5:15 a.m., the bells announce Morning Prayer. After Morning Prayer is breakfast, then private spiritual read-ing. At 7:30 a.m. we return to church for Mass. When Review for Religious this is over, we may grab a quick cup of coffee before the workday begins at 8:30 a.m. Coffee break is at 10 a.m. At noon comes Midday Prayer and then lunch, fol-lowed by work or class again at 1 p.m. At 4:30 p.m. the workday ends. The monks go back to church at 5 p.m. for Vespers. After this we have another period of private spiritual reading, and then at 6 p.m. we meet for the evening meal. After dinner, monks are usually free to recreate, study, or go to bed, as the case may be. The monk ends his day, goes to sleep, awakens again the next day to the ring-ing of the bells, and the cycle begins again. It is - - a structured, repetitive, and somewhat predictable life. In some ways, every day feels the same. Of course, this structured life is not just a repetition of practices. More important, it is a repetition of encoun-ters with people. It is easy to know that a particular brother can be expected to sit at a particular place in the refectory during breakfast. A certain father will be arriv-ing at the coffeemaker at 7 a.m. Some monks will sit on this side of the calefactory during coffee, break, and oth-ers will sit on the other side. We expect to see certain monks in the computer lab before we open the door. We know who will almost surely be playing cards after supper. We become familiar with the sounds of monks' breathing and walking. We begin to know who will like a book and who will hate it, who will take a joke and who won't, who likes hugs and who doesn't, who prefers the mornings and who prefers the evenings. In the way that monastic life provides a series of repeat encounters This structured life is not just a repetition of practices; it is a repetition of encounters with people. 407 64.4 2005 Raab ¯ Monks' Stability and Punxsutawney 408 and practices, it is not much different from Groundhog Day. The monk, unlike Phil, voluntarily chooses this life of repetitive practices and encounters in connection with the vow of stability. The vow is a monk's promise to stay in the same place with the same people and engage in the same monastic practices for the rest of his life. Like all the vows, stability is a means toward the end of con-version. Our Brother John Mark explains that stability aids conversion by providing a sure and solid context in which the human will may conform to the will of the loving God. He compares the human will to a steel rod that, in conversion, is bent into conformity with the divine will. One cannot bend a rod without having something strong and solid to hold it in place. This is what stabil-ity does. It provides the strong and solid foundation that makes conversion--the bending of the rod--possible. Stability means the monk stays put. He commits to repeat his day over and over again in the same place with the same people doing the same things. And so the monk, in a very real way, is choosing to do what Phil did invol-untarily, to stay in one place, to relive and reencounter while being transformed. Repetition can help us with this transformation, not merely by keeping us surefooted, but by supplying and resupplying opportunities for loving choices. For exam-ple, because I am in this repetitive life, each day I have the opportunity to be more attentive in liturgy, and to be more open in prayer, than I was earlier. As I live and work each day alongside some people who annoy me, I have the opportunity to "love my enemies," to set aside grievances, to practice patience, to exercise charity. Each day I have the opportunity to anticipate needs in the elderly monks, to clean things with more care than I did Review for Religious the day before, to listen with more receptivity to the lonely and the needy. Because so many of our experiences and encounters repeat themselves, I am, each day and always, given the opportunity to be humble where I was proud, to be chaste where I was lustful, to be calm where I was angry, to be forgiving where I was unforgiving, to be assertive where I was a pushover. In this way, stability, by its rep-etition, can be accepted as a great gift on the path to holiness. The monk who perseveres can, like Phil, be trans-formed. Like Phil, we may come to this life with prob-lems of self-centeredness, sarcasm, conceit, anger, despair, or lust. But, if we are open to the grace that comes with living, out stability in a monastic community, we, like Phil, may be transformed into persons of char-ity. In the last scene of Groundhog Day, Phil has finally "gotten it right" and the morrow has finally come. On the morning of February 3, the now-transformed Phil says to Rita with joyful single-mindedness, "Is there any-thing I can do for you today?" It is this monk's hope that he may be able to start his own day, each day, with the same happy singularity of purpose, saying to my broth-ers and to God, "Is there anything I can do for you today?" ZPlease:note that the phone and fax number for the editorial offices of Review for Religious :have changed. The new numbers are: PHONE 31'4-633-4610 :and FAX 314-633-4611. 409 64.4 2005 the ANDREW RYDER Led by the Spirit: St. Augustine spirit 4101 St. Augustine's reflections on Christianity were very original and also much influenced by the facts of his own life. He forged his ideas 6n the hard anvil of his own conversion and his need, as a bishop, to defend the teaching of the Catholic Church. This combination of speculation and experience gives his writings a unique ongoing relevance. Their blending of the theoretical and the practical is nowhere more evident than in his teaching on the Holy Spirit. His Spirit doc-trine develops through three movements: his agonizing effort leading to his conversion, his need as a pastor to explain the church's doc-trines, and his awareness that the action of grace is the love of the Holy Spirit dwelling in our hearts. Fortunately, the key to understanding these three movements, and indeed all of Augustine's theology, is his most popular com- Andrew Ryder scJ presents the second of his four arti-cles on the Holy Spirit. His address is St. Joseph's Retreat Centre; Malpas; Cheshire SY14 7DD; United Kingdom. Review for Religious position, the Confessions. This work records his long-drawn- out struggle to find God. The Confessions The opening words of the Confessions set the tone. Augustine's masterpiece is not a sorrowful account of past misdeeds. It is not a lurid description of a misspent youth, but rather a joyful poem praising the God who has delivered him from sin and error: "Can any praise be worthy of the Lord's majesty? How magnificent his strength! How inscrutable his wisdom! Man is one of your creatures, Lord, and his instinct is to praise you. He bears about him the mark of death, the sign of his own sin, to remind him that you thwart the proud. But still, since he is a part of your creation, he wishes to praise you" (Conf 1.1).' The Confessions are not an autobiography in the mod-ern sense, but rather a profession of faith in the majest

Issue 60.1 of the Review for Religious, 2001. ; Renewal Vocation Spiritual Legacy Empowerment JANUARY FEBRUARY 2001 VOLUME 60 NUMBER 1 Review for Religious'helps people respond and be faithful to God's universal call to holiness' ' ° by making available to them the spiritual legacies tbat flow-from the cbarisms of Catbolic consecrated life. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bimonthly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Telephone: 314-977-7363 ° Fax: 314-977-7362 E-Mail: review@slu.edu ° V~reb site: www.reviewforreligious.org Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393 Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP Mount St. Mary's Seminary; Emmitsburg, Maryland 21727 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©2001 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library, clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. MI copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. view for religious LIVING OUR CATHOLIC LEGACIES Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming sJ Clare Boehmer ASC Philip C. Fischer SJ Elizfibeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm James and Joan Felling Adriafi Gaudin SC Sr. Raymond Marie Gerard FSP Joel Rippinger OSB Bish6p Carlos A. Sevilla SJ Patricia Wittberg SC JANUARY FEBRUARY 2001 VOLUME 60 NUMBER 1 contents 6 renewal Beyond Jubilee and Jubilees A. Paul Dominic SJ relates the biblical notion of jubilee to the teaching of Jesus and the practice of the early church in order to point to ways that we might live the spirit of jubilee in our Christian life today. 20 A Continuing Pentecost: Appreciating "Ecclesia in Asia'~ James H. Kroeger MM shares the optimism and gratitude that pervade the apostolic exhortation Ecclesia in Asia as he summarizes and evaluates its various chapters. 30 40 vocation Who Is a Brother? Philip Armstrong CSC traces the church reality of brothers through history to the present-day challenges. Vocational Being Donald Macdonald SMM stresses that, if we Christians need to adore the gift of God in Christ from the core of our being, then Scripture provides the practical means to make our own this perspective of faith. 2j Review for Religious 48 spiritual legacy Spirituality for Mission: Marguerite Bourgeoys and the Ignatian Tradition Mary Ann Foley CND traces the originality of the missionary spirituality of Marguerite Bourgeoys, drawing upon a varity of sources including the Ignatian tradition. 62 The 350th Anniversary of the Sisters of St. Joseph Joan L. Roccasalvo CSJ gives evidence that Ignatius Loyola's Spiritual Exercises are the inspiration and source of Jean-Pierre Mddaille's Maxims of Perfection, which contain the entire spirit of the foundational documents of the Sisters of St. Joseph. 76 empowerment Till the End of My Days Agnes Cunningham SSCM identifies five factors that have proved helpful in her actively pursuing retirement. 80 Power Made Perfect in Weakness: Ministering to the Dying and Bereaved Laurel M. O'Neal offers a correction to our common misconceptions of death, its relation to sin, and especially the relation of God to death. departments 4 Prisms 99 Canonical Counsel: Conclusion of the Novitiate 105 Book Reviews January-February 2001 prisms Review for Religious cele-brates its sixtieth year of publication. Sixty years is not the milestone of the younger fifty or the more dra-matic one hundred. Of course, it is not in the same league as a millennium. But a sixty-year anniversary does present the occasion for a pause--a time for assess-ment, for evaluation, for celebration, for gratitude. We have so many of these "pauses" built into our ordinary life that we can forget how important their place is for the healthy living of life, including the spir-itual. The changing seasons of the year, with their cycles of growth and dormancy, present one rhythmic pattern observed in religious practices of people through the centuries. As we quantify the rhythm of a day into our minutes and hours and then measure fur-ther into days of a week and weeks of a month and months of a year, we are struck at how we humanly have built in so many pauses into ordinary living. As a matter of fact, we humans are not meant to be "energ-erizer bunnies" (as in a famous TV ad about a brand of battery) that just keep going and going, always doing more of the same. No, we are people who have waking and sleeping patterns, who enjoy times of work and of recreation, who seek out periods of solitude and of social interaction, who are marked by successes and failures and those many "gray-area" projects whose value remains unclear. We are meant to pause, to be a Review for Religious reflective people, because we are formed by the Bible--that very reflectively written account of God's dealings with his people. We have just been celebrating the biblical jubilee year as a divinely inspired pause. We Christians are a people who appre-ciate the flow of a liturgical year, with its celebratory pauses that bring home in ever new ways the key moments of our faith-life with God. Though there are these many natural and ecclesial pauses in our life, we seem to be unwilling to choose such a rhythm in our personal daily living. Both in our personal life and in our parish or community projects, we often do not take time to set and identify some intermediate goals. We rush on, instead of reflecting on what we have done up to this point, on what changes might be desirable, on how much gratitude we should have and express for all the cooperation we have received, and perhaps on what mistakes we have made and whose feelings we may have bruised. We Christians need to make time to reflect, to assess and celebrate and apologize, as our way of working with God. We need to choose to build this kind of pause into our day (like the Ignatian daily awareness examen) and into the works and projects we are busy on in concert with others. In commu-nity we need to choose to build in these pauses so that commu-nity life and community projects can make wise choices and avoid sad crises. If we choose to make "anniversary-like pauses" ordinary and so build them into our daily life, we will discover a power source that makes for a physically, psychologically, and spiritually healthy life. We have had our new year's celebration, pausing to ring out the millennium year of 2000 and to welcome the year of 2001. As we enter into this new year, perhaps we all need to look for timely occasions when we .can pause--to celebrate, to assess, to correct, to revitalize for the continuing effort. By such choices, we grow into being the reflective Christians God's word calls us to be. We meet God, in his gift of time to us, by pausing to appreciate it and use it well. David L. Fleming SJ Janualsv-February 2001 renewa A. PAUL DOMINIC Beyond Jubilee and Jubilees The celebration of any jubilee is necessarily public. It cannot be thought of except in social terms. Even in per-sonal jubilees, which are different from institutional jubilees, individual jubilarians do not make their jubilee a private affair; they invite their relations and friends to a celebration. In so doing almost all follow the unwrit-ten bourgeois rule of making their celebration an exclu-sive affair of their particular class and so upholding the social scale. When such segregated festivities are arranged by the rich (and not the poor, who anyway have nothing to celebrate because they have nothing to cele-brate with), they hurt even the rich, not just some other people, because they bring the burden of keeping up with the Joneses. The same thing happens, mutatis mutandis, in institutions and nations, with subtle but real harm to humanity. This is not a modern phenomenon but an old, unfortunate human one. Jesus saw it rampant among his people and ~ought to save them from bringing harm in this way to themselves and others. And so he did not think it unbecoming to tell his host during the meal to imagine another pattern of invitations, one that would break the tradition of inviting select persons or rich ones A. Paul Dominic SJ writes again from Satyodayam; 12-5-33 S. Lallaguda; Secunderabad 500 017; India. Review for Religious or relatives and instead invite particularly the poor and the hand-icapped (Lk 14:12-14). When he was thus breaking new ground in the matter of celebration, was he not inspired by the good news of jubilee that he had learned as a Jew from the Hebrew Scriptures in the bosom of his Hebrew family? Going Back to the Source of Jubilee The very word jubilee is biblical, with a specific religious con-notation of joy. Though it has come into secular parlance, all those who celebrate "jubilees," personal or institutional, would do well to be aware of the term's centuries-old wealth of meaning. The joy that is now associated with jubilees in the secular or religious worlds looks back on achievements of excellence, but the jubilee joy in biblical times looked forward to achievements still to come; also, it involved the whole of Hebrew society, without excluding any class. While all celebrated the jubilee, both the haves and the have-nots, they participated in it differently. The former were behind the whole celebration, promoting it, while the latter benefited from it. The promoters were concerned with building a promising future, not so much for themselves as for others, who unlike them had had a harrowing past of financial reverses. Who on earth could have had this joyful interest in others rather than themselves except God and God's faithful people? Hearing the cry of people who, perhaps even through their own fault, had lost their ancestral holdings and consequently their own rights of freedom and dignity, God would have the losers gain back their lost land and their very persons. As all land and all peo-ple belonged primarily to God, God would ordain a time of grace once every fifty years, when good, law-abiding persons would come forward and voluntarily restore to the unfortunates whatever the latter had lost to them even by way of fair deals. The very idea of people responding to God's call to selfless joy on behalf of the deprived will be effective only to the extent that it is appreciated for its inspire~t and sensible holiness. People will be most joyful in their jubilee only when they thoroughly accept that it is a holy thing for them and declare so (Lv 25:10 and 12). The biblical jubilee is all joy only when it is all holy. It is first and foremost holy and, as such, it cannot but be joyful. It is the holi-ness of the God of joy that makes for the joy of all his people, who are to be holy like him. January-February 2001 Dominic ¯ Beyond yubilee and Jublilees This causal link of holiness to joy in the celebration of jubilees cannot be emphasized too much. The joyous celebra-tion of jubilee enjoined in Leviticus 25:8-17 and 23-55 forms part of the Law of Holiness in Leviticus 17-27. The dynamics of jubilee should be understood in the light of the most important piece in the Law of Holiness: "You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy" (Lv 19:2b). How is this orthodoxy of holiness to become, the orthopraxis of joy? This is a highly practical question even though there remains the theoretical question of how it is possible that our human nature can share in the nature of God, namely, holiness. Leviticus and the rest of the Bible have no use for such questions, but hand down in God's name ways of living that are pleasing to the very God of holiness and joy. With the stunning command to human beings to be holy, there came from God clear directions about how they were to deal with one another. He wanted his people to associate with each other in ways that included practi-cal concern for the poor and the weak and the handicapped so that they would not feel left out: When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap to the very edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. You shall not strip your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the alien: I am the Lord your God. (Lv 19:9-10, emphasis added) This was a practical minimum test of the maximum law he enjoined on them of cultivating a loving disposition towards one another, abjuring grudges and hate (Lv 19:18-19). If people had lived in this original spirit of divinely ordained love, shown in personal dealings and shaped in concrete societal action, there would have been no urgency for such an institution as the jubilee. From the beginning, people did not abide by, but slid from, this ideal. To stem this slide and to set a minimum for the people to reach, God brought about the program of the sabbatical year (Lv 25:2-7). Its enactment, going back to the wake of the Exodus reads thus: For six years you shall sow your land and gather in its yield; but the seventh year you shall let it rest and lie fallow, so that the poor of your people may eat . (Ex 23:10-11, emphasis added) . Though no definite information is found in the Bible's his- Review for Religious torical books about how and how long the sabbatical law was observed,~ there is no denying that it was (see Ne 10:32 and 1 M 6:49-53), though not always (see 2 Ch 36:21). And that is why one may dare say--in this field there are as many opinions as scholars-- that the law was further developed to include remission of debts in favor of the poor and, what is more, to be generous to them. Aiming at abolishing poverty, the new law unambiguously said: If there is among you anyone in need . . do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor. You should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be. Be careful that you do not entertain a mean thought, thinking, "The seventh year, the year of remission, is near," and therefore view your needy neighbor with hostility and give nothing . Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so. (Dt 15:7-10, emphasis added) Who could better this law? For all its beauty (if law can be said to be beautiful), who would want this kind of beauty for them-selves? Who would observe this beautiful law? Indeed, there may be people now who would question its very place in a legal corpus. Though this was presumably not the case then, still, given human nature, it would not be surprising if it was practiced in its violation rather than observance. For this reason, and with a view to getting people to observe the high ideal of the law, it was drastically changed with regard to the time of its enforcement. The new law, unlike the old, would come into force not every seven years as before, but every fifty years, heralding what came to be known as the jubilee year, called so after the instrument used for the announcement, namely, yobe! (Hebrew for trumpet). Though the sabbatical law was thus made less burdensome (one would not have had to observe it more than once in one's lifetime, given the biblical lifespan of eighty even for the. strong), still the jubilee law retained the essential burden of the previous laws, namely, reversing the trend of the rich becoming richer and the poor poorer. Its complete formulation specified four things. (1) People must allow all land to lie fallow, must live on what it pro-duces by itself and has been stored, and must share with others. (2) In selling and buying, the rich should not cheat and oppress the poor, taking advantage of their plight. (3) Those who have grown richer by buying other~' properties should freely restore them to their former owners. (4) Those who own Israelites as slaves January-February 2001 Dominic ¯ Beyond g~ubilee and j~ublilees (because in their poverty they sold themselves) have to honorably release them and their families. Was the mitigated law observed? While some scholars say that it does not seem it was ever observed,z others opine cautiously that the possibility of its having been observed in the beginning of the settlement in the Holy Land cannot be ruled OUt.3 Relying on the two applications of the jubilee law to specific situations (Lv 27:16-25 and Nm 36:1-12), we may presume that there indeed was a time when the law was in force and not a dead letter. Also, ¯ from the fact that the Greek Alexander and the Roman Julius Caesar exempted their Jewish domain of Judaea from the annual tribute during the sabbatical year,4 may we not infer that the jubilee directives were at that time not out of vogue in the life of the peo-ple? It would be interesting, then, to know how they could have been carried out generation after generation. But unfortunately no historical observance of the jubilee was recorded in either the Old Testament or the New. Anyway, from the kind of juridical Judaism found in the New Testament, we have no compelling rea-son to believe that the jubilee still prevailed in practice, leaving us to wonder what ever happened to Judaism that God founded as a contrast communitys with its liberative laws, such as jubilee. Retrieving the Jubilee after Jesus Where does this le~d us? An answer may spring up from sens-ing how Jesus responded to the moribund custom of jubilee in his time. Though the word jubilee does not occur in the Gospels, the way he looked at some issues may point to his thinking on jubilee. He was surely positive in his attitude to the Law, and so we hear the puzzling logion: "Do not think that I have come to abol-ish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to ful-fill" (Mt 5:17). In so taking his stand, he was calling for right obedience to the Law: hearing the voice of God in the word of the Law, understanding God's genuine purpose, and acting on it. If he often invited attacks by those who were on the side of reli-gion, it was to challenge them to read the L~w aright according to the mind of the Lawgiver. He pointed out, too, that in the course of history the Law was sometimes mitigated or even distorted, as in the case of divorce, because of human hardness of heart. In order to accomplish the Law, he would advocate first and fore-most a return to its origin in the heart of God and a discernment Revie~v for Religious of its true relevance for the day, guided by the signs of the times, the ongoing surprise revelations of God's ways. Inspired by such a vision of the Law, Jesus would have insisted that jubilees were not occasions to be observed merely twice in a century, whether by omission or halfheartedly or even whole-heartedly. In this spirit he would have spoken searchingly: "If it was said of old that in the jubilee year you should return to the owner the land he had sold to you in his penury, I ask you, 'Why buy at all in the first place from a needy person?' Again, if it was said of old that you should not, during the jubilee, claim your money lent to the poor, I ask you, 'Why lend at all to the poor with a view to getting it back? Rather, give to anyone who asks you and, if anyone wants to borrow, do not turn away.' Again, if it was said of old that in the jubilee year you should free your slaves, I ask you, 'How dare you .ever buy out your brothers or sisters and enslave them even if they sold themselves to you in their dire need? For you are all slaves of God, and among yourselves you are brothers and sisters.'" Further, he would have told any challengers to search the Scriptures and realize how God had freed their forebears from slavery and settled them in a new land, a land that was not theirs but his, so that they might know the holy joy of living together in rich fellowship and surrounded by the blessings of Providence. Finally, in Ezekiel's fashion (Ezk 20:4-24), he would even have made them face their Roman subjugation and answer whether it was not due to their forsaking the jubilee of God and ceasing to be truly subject to the God of jubilee. It would have been with such silent thoughts that he went beyond the old jubilee and initiated a new era, calling it the year of the Lord's favor (Lk 4:19) and heralding the longed-for liberty, fulfilling Ezekiel's prophecy6 and climaxing John's preaching.7 God's own aspiration was ever to create a people witnessing to his blessing. Going Forth in the Spirit of Jubilee In picking up such possible thoughts of Jesus, what is our own jubilee aspiration and how are we to realize it? We do so by becom-ing the community of God's people and striving to do away with poverty. God's own aspi.ration was ever to create a people wit- January-February 2001 Dominic ¯ Beyond Jubilee and Jublilees nessing to his blessing. When Jesus came on the scene, he pro-claimed that constant purpose of God. When he announced God's kingdom emerging in the world, he heralded equivalendy the com-munity of God's people. Further, in imitation of his Father, he was re-creating it visibly out of the remnant that was left of the old community.8 The new community, though very much in the world, was not of it. It was fashioned to be an alternative society in the spirit of jubilee. It had its own charter, promising and promoting the fulfillment of individuals and groups in society and thus the whole society (Mt 5:3-10). Its foremost beneficiaries were the poor of all sorts, that is, those who had been all along without name, voice, or standing, like children and women, the ritually and socially outcast, and, of course, the economically awkward. Though made up of different classes, the new community would not have the distinction and segregation of the high and the low; rather, the so-called high would serve the so-called low. If such terms as highest and lowest were to be used at all, then the highest in the community would be those who, bending over for the sake of others, made themsel+es little and served them-- even washing their feet. Their insignia would not be the tradi-tional one of selfish power, privilege, and possession, but the downward mobility of service and healthy promotion of others, avoiding all competition. Their royal rule would be: "In every-thing do to others as you would have thdm do to you" (Mt 7:12). Perhaps the one incident in which almost all the above distinctive qualities of the new community came into play was Jesus' feeding the multitude and satisfying them all with the little supply of bread and fish made available by a little boy. Living in this spirit of permanent jubilee, apart from which there is no jubilee worth talking about, we dare dream of becom-ing a contrast .community of Christians, renovating the structures of the age-old world in many details and so creating places where individual and social well-being can exist. Jubilee Praxis at the Start of the First Millennium How on earth can this become part of the realm of reality? Though we may find ourselves overwhelmed by forces against true community, did Jesus not envisage such a community of the future right at the start of his ministry when he declared that the era of universal liberation was beginning there and then with him- Review for Religious self (Lk 4:21)? Did he not confirm it as he went about forming one flock On 10:16)? And, at the very end, was he not intent on drawing all to himself and forming one community (Jn 12:32)? Did he fail in all that? The pristine community of the church witnessed that he certainly did not. Indeed, it acquired early an identity of its own, distinguishing it from the surrounding com-munity and marking its way of living together. Their identity was not so much their theoretical acceptance of the gospel, but prac-tical allegiance to it with consequences in social behavior. Luke named it koinonia, meaning fellowship or communion, which "con-notes the bond of responsibility to one another enjoined on believ-ers by their assent to the gospel."9 His firsthand report of this unique phenomenon reads thus: All who believed were together and had all things in com-mon; they would sell their possessions and goods and dis-tribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of the people. (Ac 2:44-47) Perhaps to emphasize the veracity of his report, he drew another such picture: Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common . There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apos-tles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need. (Ac 4:32-35, emphasis added) The kernel of koinonia was thus communism in its best sense, namely, the community of goods which expressed, proved, and strengthened the community of spirit.1° The trial of koinonia even brought about the institution of diaconia or service (Ac 6:1-6) to oversee the practicalities of koinonia. Nothing like it had happened before in the Mosaic period, but it did not come out of the blue. It had its clear precedents as the law~ of the sabbatical and jubilee year show. The sharing of the rich with the poor envisaged by such laws did not merely look to the temporary or intermittent allevia-tion of the hardship of the.poor. Rather, it aimed at the divine ideal of annihilating poverty altogether according to the hopeful com-mand: "There shall be no poor among you" (Dt 15:4).~ January-February 2001 Dominic ¯ Beyond j-~ubilee and 3~ublilees Inspired by Jesus, the early church learned well, translating the above command into action and initiating jubilee living. The later church, as far as the 3rd century or so, followed suit in such a striking manner that the historian Pliny thought of Christians as tertia gens, a third group of people besides Romans and barbarians. Still the ideal had to be nurtured from the beginning against natural human hesitations, weaknesses, and failures. So Paul bade the Corinthians regarding help for the famine-stricken commu-nity in Jerusalem: Strive for equality; at present give from your abundance what they are short of, and some day they will repay in abundance what you lack. Then you will be equal and what Scripture says shall come true: "To him who had much, nothing was in excess; to him who had little, nothing was lacking." (2 Co 8:13-15, Christian Community Bible) The equality of everyone in the community, whether rich or poor, will remain no more than an illusion as long as .economic inequality remains. That is a warning implicitly given by James, when he confronted Christian assemblies with their old unequal dealings with the rich and poor: For, if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say "Have a seat here, please" while to the one who is poor you say "Stand there" or "Sit at my feet," have you not made distinctions among yourselves? (Jm 2:2-4) On the contrary, where the rich willingly forgo some of their riches in order to raise the condition of the poor, there is equal joy for both; and so James could say, "Let the believer who is lowly boast in being raised up, and the rich in being brought low" (Jm 1:9-10). Jubilee Praxis as the Third Millennium Starts With such precedents, are we going to achieve community of equals? Yes, if we enter upon unambiguous, if taxing, praxis. The first practice would seem to be self-awareness of our "chronic" failure in shaping human communities. If even now we let the societal laws considered above provoke not offense (pace Paul, Rm 3:20) but repentance, convicting us of our share of humanity's sin in this matter, we would be on the right track. Review for Religious Part of this initial practice is to realize how we, like the rest of humanity, have cultivated the pleasing or even cozy practice of good intention rather than a.ction, of fine words rather than deeds. James had reason to ask bluntly: If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food and one of you says to them "Go in peace, keep warm and eat your fill," and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? (]m 2:15-16) Is this challenge any less relevant now for the church community, and in particular the talking (even if not pontificating) theological fraternity, despite two millennia of Christianity? This is, however, no time for despair, but a time for immediate, earnest, and con-sistent praxis based on the twin nature of human beings as spiri-tual and economic. The second practice could well be conscientization for both the rich and the poor. The former may not even realize what being poor actually means. I, for one, was surprised to hear a city dweller say not very long ago that he missed Sunday Mass because he had no clean clothes to wear. Situations like this must be brought to the notice 6f the well-dressed community at Sunday Mass, among whom might be found some, like a Chicago priest I heard about, for whom a shirt worn once is too soiled to be worn again on the same day. In a school run by a group of sisters, a poor child went to class in slippers instead of shoes; for punishment her teacher, a former nun, made her wear them round her neck with her belt. Such unbe-lievable things occur and need to be made known, through chan-nels such as pastoral councils, to the rest of the community. For their part, the poor must be transformed by becoming conscious of what they deserve but are denied by society, includ-ing the church. St. Vincent de Paul Societies may serve this crit-ical cause, first learning themselves and then teaching poor people their rights enshrined in Canon Law. What a revelation to hear: There are canons that can be said to promote the ~velfare of the poor and speak fibout the defense of their rights. There are canons that promote the participation of the poor in church life, facilitate their access to the sacraments, uphold the right to receive help from the temporal goods of the church, require norms on legal aid for the poor, and so forth?~ If such conscientization is to become reality, much depends on a third practice, ecclesial leadership, which at least in India rests Dominic ¯ Beyond Jubilee and Jublilees largely with the bishops and then the clergy. Who is to tell them what their praxis should or could be? That, though, is what the Servant Leadership school in Washington, D.C., has dared, train-ing leaders in community living that is intimately associated with the life of the poor.13 It is heartening to hear of a bold Indian bishop who would not oblige his priests' clamor for his support of projects for the poor unless they committed themselves to conscientiously spend-ing for the target group all the money received. Not many, how-ever, are like him, intent on being levelers, mindful of benefiting the poor wholly and so bringing all people to a level of equality. So we hear stories of bishop~ who are not loath to receive a purse on the occasion of their jubilees celebrations, in clear violation of the spirit of the biblical jubilee. Vv'hat are we to think when a bishop, to please his family, tries to dissuade a young man from becoming a brother to serve the poor and even offers to make him a priest in his diocese? Does he have a ghost of an idea, let alone a chance, to build a true community where the poor will find their due, equal place of honor and feel blessed? Would that the unworthy bishops acted on the proposal, made by themselves or their confreres at the Synod of Bishops on Justice, to "under-take an examination of the modes of acting and of the posses-sions and lifestyle found within the church itself'U4--even though they seem not to take seriously the anticlerical strictures of Christ himself. Whatever the praxis of the leadership may be, the rest of the community may aid it indirectly by their own related praxis. And this may express itself in at least three ways. The first one is com-ing to know the likes of the locally famous Indian Jesuit Bishop Saupin (who, reportedly, would, in the style of the populace, travel in a rickshaw, clad in kurta and pajamas and smoking his beedi) or the globally famous Archbishop Romero. The second is pray-ing conscientiously and hopefully, while mentioning the ordinary's name at Mass, for the metanoia and metamorphosis of bishops so that they may know the importance of serving their community ¯ (which itself exists for serving one another in charity) by witness-ing to the incompatibility of chronic poverty with the visible king-dom of God. And the third (which is difficult but must be done) is humbly calling ecclesiastical high-ups to account, even against their resistance, in forums such as the parish and diocesan coun-cils enjoined by Vatican Council II. Review for Religious The fourth practice concerns the religious who have their own sphere of leadership for good and bad. While those in the limelight engage righdy or wrongly in discussion on the religious life of the future, there are a small number, like the Little Sisters and Brothers of Jesus, whose life itself is mostly.their practice of naturally and not optionally'5 accompanying the poor by their.presence among them in their living place, by their solidarity with them in the workplace, by their adoption of the lifestyle of their poor peers, and by their hospitality to the poor and rich which makes both groups feel equal and at ease. In the economy of communion practiced b~" Focolare members, they economize for the purpose of sharing and, of course, socializing with those expe-riencing poverty, misery, and humiliation. Their way has attracted the attention even of gov-ernments. A year ago, for example, a Brazilian parlia-mentary commission made an official visit to their cen-ter in order to learn prac-tices that could help solve poverty problems in their country. Hearing the expe-riences of the Focolare entrepreneurs, they marveled at the con-crete achievements of the economy of communion, achievements that seemed impossible in the current economic context. One of them said: "The economy of communion is an already proven and revolu-tionary alternative. It is a new concept of economy, a new con-cept of wealth."16 The two groups mentioned above do not have any "apostolate" whatever as other congrggations understand the term. While other groups may benefit from the innovative experience of the these two groups, still, to develop their own praxis of involving them-selves in the lives of the poor, there would be no better way than going back to their original sources.~7 For, as a~le, religious con-gregation have always been founded with real bonds with the poor. Another thing that may help various religious congregations is the zealous search for ways to adapt present missions "for the ben- In the economy of communion practiced by Focolare members, they economize for the purpose of sha~ing and, of course, socializing with those experiencing poverty,, misery, and humiliation. January-February 2001 Dominic * " Beyond J'ubilee and Jublilees efit of the poor and for a more just and fraternal world."~s A sure test of this will be making sure that, whatever work they begin, it benefits the poor most, as was surprisingly advocated by Gandhi to the members of his congress party striving for India's freedom. Another thing that may promote right praxis among them is to go back, in the spirit of what Paul and James advocate (1 Co 2:26 and Jm 2:5), to their own personal origins and find how poor indeed they were. For one may wager that most of us hail from families that are middle class, but commonly are lower than mid-dle class or indeed poor, even very poor, not unlike the apostles. There is no better way of concluding all this than what Jesus said to his disciples so poignandy at the Last Supper: "If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them!" (Jn 13:17). Notes t See Rui de Menezes, "The Biblical Jubilee Year," Vidyajyoti Journal 61 (1997): 653. [See also Robert G. North, Biblical Jubilee, after Fifty Years (Rome: Editrice Pontificio Biblico, 2000), a revised edition of his Sociology of the Biblical Jubilee, 1954.--ED.] 2 See The New Jerusalem Bible (NyB) (New York: Doubleday, 1985), note Lv 25a, p. 167. 3 See The New Jerome Biblical Commentary (N'JBC), ed. R.E. Brown et al. (Bangalore: Theological Publications in India, 1991), n. 4:53, p. 78. 4 See Rui de Menezes, "Biblical Jubilee," p. 667, for the reference in Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible. s See T. Malipurathu, "Contrast Community: Its Meaning and Relevance for our Times," Vidyajyoti Journal 62 (1.998): 606-623, esp. 610-613. 6 It is striking that Ezk 46:7 uses the expression the Year of Liberty to refer to the Year of Jubilee. 7 See the relevant notes on Lk 3:3-14 in Christian Community Bible (Quezon City: Claretian Publications, 1990), p. 123. s See the note Mt 16g in NJB, p.1637, and the note on Ac 2:46 in NyBC, n. 44:28, pp. 734-735. 9 NyBC, n. 44:28, p. 734. ,0 See note Ac 2ffin NyB, p. 1803. n For the translation in the style of the Decalogue, see Rui de Menezes, "Biblical Jubilee," p. 654. 12 Jeyaseelan, "The Poor and the Priest in the Code of Canon Law, I," Vidyajyoti Journal 63 (1999): 924. ~3 See Henri J.M. Nouwen, In the Name of Jesus (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1989), p. xii. Review for Religious 14 AS in Jeyaseelan, "The Poor and the Priest," p. 930. t5 Fausto Gomez suggests that the preferential option for the poor is not simply optional but obligatory. See Jeyaseelan, "The Poor and the Priest," p. 927. 16 Mariapolis (Focolare newsletter), December 1999, p. 14. ~7 See, for example, Decrees of the Thirty-Fourth General Congregation of the Society of Jesus (Anand: Gujarat Sahitya Prakash, 1995, and St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1995), §288. ,s Decrees, §289. The Sun The sun rose At 7:02 a.m.', standard time, the paper told me. The changing silhouettes of peaked boxes transformed into houses sided in pale pink and grays and browns proved it. But no explosion of color ¯ announced the moment, no silent fireworks to wake the sky. Only the quiet finger of God'~ tracing day-gold across the horizon. Suzanne Mayer IHM January-Februaly 2001 JAMES H. KROEGER A Continuing Pentecost: Appreciating "Ecclesia in Asia" "T he church in Asia sings the praises of the 'God of salvation' (Ps 68:20).-" These opening words set the tone of Ecclesia in Asia (hereafter EA), the postsynodal apostolic exhortation promulgated in November 1999: Clearly, themes of gratitude, celebration, and optimism characterize this document. The church sings God's praises for "choosing to initiate his saving plan on Asian soil," for sending "his only-begotten Son, Jesus Christ the Savior, who took flesh as an Asian!" The church sees the "marvel of God's plan in Asia" and exults "in the goodness of the continent's peoples, cultures, and religious vitality" (§1). Pope John Paul II signed the document during his Asian pastoral visit to India (5-8.November 1999). The issuance of EA was the concluding moment of the special assembly for Asia of the Synod of Bishops, popularly known as the Asian Synod. This four-year project of church reflection and renewal began with the publicafon of the Lineamenta (1996), continued with discussion on the Instrumentum Laboris (1998), reached its apex with the month-long synod sessions in Rome (19 April-14 May 1998), and culminated with the proclamation of the postsynodal Ecclesia in Asia James H. Kroeger MM, a Maryknoll Missioner who has served in Asia since 1970 (Philippines and Bangladesh), is currently professor of systematic theology, missiology, and Islamics at Loyola School of Theology in Manila. His article was first published in Landas 13, no. 3 (journal of Loyola School of Theology). His address is Marvknoll; P.O. Box 285, Greenhills Post Office; Metro Manila, Philippine~ 1502. Review for Religqous (6 November 1999). Yes, "Asia-Church" rejoices and unceasingly proclaims God's enduring love! The Asian Synod was a multifaceted event on many levels. As EA notes, "it was indeed a moment of special grace" (§3). It was also "a celebratory remembering of the Asian roots of Christianity" (§4). The synod event became "an ardent affirmation of faith in Jesus Christ the Savior" (§4), and, as the local churches of Asia gathered in Rome, "the synod fathers sought to discern the principal areas of mission for the church in Asia as she crosses the threshold of the new millennium" (§ 18). The synod's theme was much debated and carefully chosen: "Jesus Christ the Savior and his mission of love and service in A~ia: 'That they may have Life and have it abundantly' On 10:10)." AS the pope writes, this particular formulation of the theme was to "illustrate and explain more fully that Christ is the one mediator between God and man and the sole redeemer of the world, to be clearly distinguished from the founders of other great religions" (§2). The theme manifests the chu[ch's faith in Jesus and his mission; he is Savior who serves and bestows abundant life; he is to be.joyfi4.11y proclaimed in Asia. Ecclesia in Asia, a rich, lengthy document, now becomes an important signpost of evangelization for the local churches in Asia in the new millennium. An analysis of EA reveals three major sections or underlying thematics: (I) Asian realities relevant to the church and her mission of evangelization (§§5-9); (2) theological-doctrinal aspects of Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit (§§10-23); (3) The church's mission of love and service in Asia (§§24-49). The main body of EA is framed by an introduction which captures the highlights of the synod process (§§1-4) and a conclusion that expyesse~, the pope's gratitude and encouragement along with a final prayer to Mary, "Mother of Asia" (§§50-51).The entire document is focused on "seeking to discern the Spirit's word to the churches in Asia" (§51). Asian Context Ecclesia in Asia devotes its chapter 1 to the concrete situation of .contemporary ~sia--her r.eligious, cultural, economic, social, political, and historical realities (§§5-9). This inductive approach, characteristic ~)f current Asian theological reflection, mirrors the method and experience of the Federation of Asian Bishops' January-February 2001 Kroeger . A Continuing Pentecost Conferences (FABC). The Asian church accepts that "a critical awareness of the diverse and complex realities of Asia is essential if the people of God on the continent are to respond to God's will for them in the new evangelization" (§5). As EA notes, "Asia is the earth's largest continent and is home to nearly two-thirds of the world's population"; its various peoples are "heirs to ancient cultures, religions, and traditions." One is amazed "at the sheer size of Asia's population and at the intricate mosaic of its many cultures, languages, beliefs, and traditions." Asia is "the cradle of the world's major religions" and "the birthplace of many other spiritual traditions" (§6). Economically, socially, and politically, "situations on the Asian continent are very diverse, defying any simple classification" (§7). EA highlights various concrete pastoral concerns: rapid change, migration, nuclear power, tourism, population growth, poverty, women, and a host of additional challenges. In this complex situation the church's one ambition is to continue Christ's mission of service and love (see §50). Her approach is that of mutual exchange and enrichment; thus, EA confirms "the importance of dialogue as a characteristic mode of the church's life in Asia" (§3). Mother Teresa of Calcutta is proposed as "an icon of the service to life which the church is offering in Asia" because of "her loving and selfless care of the poorest of the poor" (§7). This "chosen" continent of Asia, with all its immensity, diversity, and complexity, holds special meaning for the church. God's only-begotten Son "took flesh as an Asian" (§I); "Behold, the Savior of the world is born to us, born in Asia" (§2). Yes, Asia is unique as "the birthplace of Jesus and of the church" (§5). This church thanks God "for choosing Asia as the earthly dwelling place of his incarnate Son" (§50; see §§2, 9, 20). This unique gift implies a task; the church commits her energies to making Jesus, his gospel of life, and his community the church truly "at home" (inculturated) in Asia and her peoples (§§9, 20). Theological Foundations Three chapters of.EA, focusing on Jesus and the Spirit, describe a type of doctrinal orientation to the church's Asian mission. Yet the manner of presentation is decidedly pastoral; it blends theologies "from below" and "from above." It reads easily, the flow is smooth, and inclusive language is partially employed. Some insights even Review for Religious " enjoy poetic expression: "Contemplating Jesus in his human nature, the peoples of Asia find their deepest questions answered, their hopes fulfilled, their dignity uplifted, and their despair conquered" (§14). The thematic of girl is frequently found in these "theological" chapters. Jesus the Savior is a gift to Asia; this faith-gift is to be both appropriated and proclaimed. "The church's faith in Jesus is a gift received and a gift to be shared; it is the greatest gift which the church can offer to Asia" (§10). "Only if the people of God recognize the gift that is theirs ~n Christ will they be able to communicate that gift to others through proclamation and dialogue" (§31; see §20). The church in Asia must ask itself a probing question: How do we "share with our Asian brothers and sisters what we treasure as the gift containing all gifts, namely, the Good News of Jesus Christ" (§19)? Proclaiming the Christian faith-gift meets unique challenges, particularly in the "multiethnic, multireligious and multicultural situation of Asia" (§21). Asia has its indigenous religions, soteriologies, and savior figures (see §§14, 19, 20). This reality demands a humble, dialogical stance on the part of the church; "proclamation is prompted not by sectarian impulse nor the spirit of proselytism nor any sense of superiority" (§20; see §§4, 31, 46). And yet this genuine respect and reverence for the church's dialogue partners "does not eliminate the need for the explicit proclamation of the gospel in its fullness" (§20; see §31). By her very identity the church is "a community aflame with missionary zeal to make Jesus known, loved, and followed" (§ 19). Affirming the relevance of Jesus for Asia (§§1, 9, 10, 18, 50) demands a particular approach to proclamation. The church "needs to follow a pedagogy which will introduce people step by step to the full appreciation of the mystery." She should employ "narrative methods akin to Asian cultural forms" and follow "an evocative pedagogy, using stories, parables, and symbols so characteristic of Asian methodology in teaching." In a word, the church must "evangelize in a way that appeals to the sensibilities of Asian peoples" (§20). Engaging Asian peoples, their cultures, and their religions (FABC's triple dialogue) demands genuine commitment to inculturation (§§20-23) and interreligious dialogue (§§29-31). Asia is unique as "the birthplace of Jesus and of the church." January-February 2001 Kroeger * ,4 Continuing Pentecost EA asserts that Christology is necessarily integrated with pneumatology as well as Trinitarian faith. It is the "uniqueness of Christ which gives him an absolute and universal significance" (§14); one cannot "separate the activity of the Holy Spirit from that of Jesus the Savior" (§.16). The Holy Spirit, "the prime agent of evangelization" (§17), is "an absolutely vital part of the mystery of Jesus and the salvation which he brings" (§15). Jesus and his Spirit are only adequately comprehended within,the "Trinity's plan of salvation" (§15); there are no two parallel economies of salvation. There are real, complex missiological questions, and the Asian Synod and Ecclesia in Asia attempted to face them. A Missionary Community The longest section of F~ (§§24-49) focuses on the church and her mission in the vast Asian continent. Four discernible themes emerge: church as communion for mission (§§24-28), dialogue (§§29-31), human promotion (§§32-41), and agents of evangelization (§§42-49). EA presents a vision as well as concrete approaches for mission; these emerge from a particular faith stance: "The question is not whether the church has something essential to say to the men and women of our time, but how she can say it clearly and convincingly" (§29). EA recognizes "the pressing need of the local churches in Asia to present the mystery of Christ to their peoples according to their cultural patterns and ways of thinking" (§20). "Communion ecclesiology" finds strong expression in EA. The church is a "privileged place of encounter" between God and people; her first purpose is "to be the sacrament of the inner union of the human person with God." She is also "the sacrament of the unity of the human race." This means that "communion and mission are inseparably connected [and] they interpenetrate and mutually imply each other." Communion is "both the source and fruit of mission." In short, "communion give~ rise to mission and mission is accomplished in communion" (§24). The church in Asia promotes internal communion and participation on many levels: with the successor of Peter, among various sister local churches, dioceses, basic ecclesial communities ("a positive feature Of the church's evangelizing.activity"), renewal movements, the Catholic Eastern churches,, and other. Christian churches (see §§25~2:7). Internal communion emanates outward Review for Religious ¯ toward other groups throughout Asia: the variety of peoples, cultures, and religions with whom the church shares life (§25), churches and peoples in mainland China, North Korea, and the ex- Soviet territories of Asia (§28). Regional and continental associations of bishops that foster communion (for example, FABC) are recognized and praised (§26), but their profound insights are never directly quoted. ¯ .An inherent demand of "communion ecclesiology" is dialogue. This "desire for dialogue . . . is not simply a strategy for peaceful coexistence among peoples; it is an essential part of the church's mission, ¯ . . a veritable vocation for the church" (§29). A particularly helpful section is devoted to interreligious dialogue (§31), seen as % part of the church's evangelizing mission, an expression of the mission adgentes." The advent of the new millennium offers the church "a great opportunity for interreligious dialogue and for meetings with the leaders of the great world religions." Following the lead of Nostra aerate, "the Magna Carta of interreligious dialogue for our times," the church in Asia is called to a double fidelity: to affirm her "belief that the fullness of salvation comes from Christ alone" and to gladly acknowledge "whatever is true and holy in the religious traditions of Buddhism, Hinduism, and Islam as a reflection of that Truth which enlightens all people." Interreligious dialogu~ seeks "mutual advancement [and] the elimination of prejudice, intolerance, and misunderstandings" (§31). Dialogue demands will only increase with passing years. Persons must be formed to have "a mature and convinced Christian faith" that qualifies them "to engage in genuine interreligious dialogue." They need to be "deeply immersed in the mystery of Christ [and] happy in their faith community." The call to dialogue requires the church in Asia "to provide suitable models of interreligious dialogue." In the dialogue endeavor it is imperative "to revitalize prayer and contemplation" and to give witness to "the great Christian traditions of asceticism and mysticism" (§31). The advent of the new millennium offers the church "a great opportunity for interreligious dialogue and for meetings with the leaders of the great world religions." January-Febr~ary 2001 Kroeger ¯ A Continuing Pentecost Chapter 6 treats human promotion and church social teaching. S~iving to build a "civilization of love," the church views all human development not only as a "technical or economic question; it is fundamentally a human and moral question" (§32). An integral, holistic approach to evangelization is employed, encompassing the areas of human dignity (§33), preferential love for the poor (§34), healthcare (§36), education (§37), peacemaking (§38), globalization (§39), foreign debt (§40), and the environment (§41). In these diverse fields the church resists "the culture of death" in accord with her vision of"the gospel of life" (§35). Agents of Evangelization Chapter 7, titled "Witnesses to the Gospel," focuses on the church's missionary identity in Asia. The church strives to be a credible witness because "people today put more trust in witnesses than in teachers, in experience than in teaching, and in life and action than in theories"; in the Asian context "people are more persuaded by holiness of life than by intellectual argument" (§42). EA asserts that it is "a genuinely religious person [who] readily wins respect and a following in Asia" (§23). Gospel witness in Asia needs holy men and women who themselves are "on fire with the love of Christ and burning with zeal to make him known more widely, loved more deeply, and followed more closely." Why? "A fire can only be lit by something that is itself on fire"; Christian witnessing demands "a true missionary spirituality of prayer and contemplation" (§23). Asian peoples, especially the youth, manifest this "deep thirst for spiritual values" (§6). In a word, living Christian mission in Asia incorporates and, in fact, demands "contemplative action and active contemplation" (§23). EA addresses a v.ariety of gospel witnesses: pastors (§43), religious and missionaries (§44), theologians (§22), laypers6ns (§45), families (§46), young people (§47), and those whose apostolate is social communications, "the areopagus of the modern age" (§48). Striking insights are often presented: "People in Asia need to see the clergy not just as charity workers and institutional administrators, but as men whose minds and hearts are set on the deep things of the Spirit" (§43). "The synod fathers were most concerned that the church should be a participatory church in which no one feels excluded, and they judged the wider Review for Religious participation of women in the life and mission of the church in Asia to be an especially pressing need" (§45). The pope encourages and thanks missionaries (§§20, 42, 44, 50), urging "the church in Asia to send forth missionaries, even though she herself needs laborers in the vineyard" (§44). Mission is to be central to each local church; local "missionary societies of apostolic life, characterized by their special commitment to the mission ad genres, ad exteros, and ad vitam" are strongly encouraged (§44). EA calls upon "the great host of Asian martyrs, old and new,. ¯. to teach the church in Asia what it means to bear witness." (§49). Additional Emphases The Asian Synod surfaced crucial questions facing local churches in Asia; EA reflects several of these pastoral and missionary concerns. The question of Jesus' Asianness surfaces in various discussions¯ "Jesus is often perceived as foreign to Asia. It is paradoxical that most Asians tend to regard Jesus--born on Asian soil--as a Western rather than an Asian figure" (§20). "It is indeed a mystery why the Savior of the world, born in Asia, has until now remained largely unknown to the people of the continent" (§2). To address and overcome this reality, the church must open herself to "new and surprising ways in which the face of Jesus might be presented in Asia" (§20). How can Jesus be effectively proclaimed-- bearing an "Asian face"? The subject of religious freedom arises because in various places in Asia "Christians are not allowed to practice their faith freely" (§8); "explicit proclamation is forbidden, and religious freedom is denied or systematically restricted" (§23). Christians are forced "to live their faith in the midst of restrictions or even the total denial of freedom" (§28). Governments are enjoined to "guarantee religious freedom for all their citizens" (§28), assure "immunity from coercion" (§23) in religious matters, and recognize "the right to freedom of conscience and religion and the other basic human rights" (§34). Analysis and comparison between the content of EA and the decades of pastoral reflection by Asian bishops (FABC) reveals many similarities. 'Since 1974, in its document "Evangelization in Modern-Day Asia," the FABC has promoted the local church's triple dialogue with Asia's peoples, cultures, and religions; this vision is January-Februat.~ 2001 Kroeger * A Continuing Pentecost Inculturation received much attention during the synod. repeatedly found in F~ (see §§1, 15, 18,.20, 21, 24). Again, the FABC pastoral priorities enunciated over the years, particularly the focus on the family, women and the girl-child, youth, ecology, and the displaced (see FABC VI:lS) are also highlighted by ~ (§~34, 37, 41, 46, 47). FABC itself is mentioned (§§2, 3, 26, 31), though none of its fine work is directly quoted or even noted in the copious endnotes. The theme of inculturation received much attention during the synod, and certain particular areas were identified as requiring concentrated focus: "theological reflection, liturgy, the formation of priests and religious, eatechesis, and spirituality" (§21). Central to inculturating the faith is the biblical word, the message of salvation, the sacred text; Sacred Scripture is proposed as ."the basis for all missionary proclamation, catechesis, preaching, and styles of spirituality" (§22). One may inquire about criteria for authentic inculturation; ,EA notes: "The test of true inculturation is whether people become more committed to their Christian faith because they perceive it more clearly with the eyes of their own culture" (§22). The Christian virtue of compassion repeatedly surfaces in Ed (for example, §§11, 12, 14, 20, 45, 51). The apostolic exhortation is correct in expressing the church's mission.in terms of this appealing focus. Presenting Jesus as "the compassionate friend of the poor" (§20) will find a resonance and reception among Asians. In the ' church's mission of love and service, women evangelizers contribute greatly "to bringing the compassionate Jesus, the healer and reconciler, to Asian people, especially the poor and marginalized" (§45). Jesus, the God-man, was "close to the poor, the forgotten, and the lowly"; "he wept for a dead friend [and] welcomed children"; "divine compassion had never been so immediately accessible" (§11). As the church in Asia enters the new millennium, she faces some demanding challenges. EA highlights some importfint apostolates: women (§§7, 34, 45), you.th (§§6, 47.), nuclear power (§§7, 38), peace~naking and reconciliation (§38), globalization (§39), foreign debt (§40), and the environment (§41). The authenticity of the church's "mission of service and love" (§50) will indeed be Review for Religious tested; will it produce "a great harvest of faith . in this vast and vital continent" (§1) of Asia? Gratitude and Optimism Ecclesia in Asia concludes as it began on a clear note of optimism and gratitude. "Blessed be God for the peoples of Asia, so rich in their diversity yet one in their yearning for peace and fullness of life" (§50). With committed faith, "the church in Asia joyfully makes her pilgrim way into the third millennium" (§50). "Mary, model of all disciples and I~right star of evangelization, . . . look tenderly upon the church of your Son planted on Asian soil. ¯ O Mary, mother of the New Creation and mother of Asia, pray for us, your children, now and always!" (§51). In this m6od of gratitude and optimism, the local churches of Asia accept the Holy Father's gift: Ecclesia in ~sia. Its contents are a mixture of the old and the new (see Mt 13:52), a summation of Asian.reflection and insights in the Vatican II era, a presentation of the missionoagenda for Asia's faith communities, a program for evangelization iri the new millennium. All in all, EA is a much-appreciated gift. Its treasures need opening in the coming years and decades; its dream for the church--God's holy people--beckons implementation; its theme--abundant life in Jesus the Savior-- requires contemplative action. Yes, Jesus' Asian disciples affirm that the Holy 'Spirit, who moved upon Asia in times past, "moves now among Asian Christians, strengthening the witness of their faith among the peoples, cultures, and religions of the continent" (§ 18). Contemplating God's salvific deeds and wonders during the Easter Vigil liturgy, the universal chh~ch proclaims in the Exsultet: "Rejoice, O Mother Church!" In similar fashion, th~ local churches in Asia' acclaim 'God's marvels in theirmidst; they joyfully affirm the Asian Synod event as a "celebratory remembering of the Asian roots of Christianity" (§4). They pray that the proclarriation and subsequent internalization of Ecclesia in Asia will confirm the church in her servant mission to bring Christ's love and abundant life On 10:10) to Asia and her peoples. Rejoice, O Asia-Church! .~anua~y-February 2001 vocation PHILIP ARMSTRONG Who Is a Brother? I am not sure the title should ask who. Maybe it should ask: What is a brother? People have been trying to frame an unambiguous answer for ages, and in the meantime new applications of the word brother have compounded the issue. My interest is to define, as best I can, that rare creature in the Roman Catholic Church known as a religious brother. What does the ordinary word brother usually mean today? Looking at that may help us comprehend ,similarities and differences of the term as applied to men who, by the vows of poverty, celibacy, and obedience, commit themselves to what is commonly called religious life. What Is a Brother? Male siblings of the same parents are called brothers. People's close friends who are male are' sometimes compared to a brother: "He's like a brother to me." Sometimes males call one another brother when they do not know the other's name but feel some affinity toward him. The Great Depression is characterized by one of its slogans, "Brother, can you spare a dime?" In some seminary programs a man is addressed as Philip Armstrong CSC, of the Brothers of Holy Cross, wrote on mission and the vows for our September 2000 issue. His address remains P.O. Box 460; Notre Dame, Indiana 46556. Review for Religious Brother, or its Latin form Frater, when he has achieved a certain level of preparation for the ordained priesthood. This use of the term creates confusion over lay/clerical identity. Volunteer organizations may use the term brother in identifying a mentoring relationship between a man and a boy, as in "Big Brothers." African Americans use the term brother to identify males of their race, using the word to indicate the relationship existing by reason of their common African origin and the consequent bonds that solidify them in matters of importance: "One of the brothers sold his house and moved." Some small religious denominations, particularly the more evangelical or those built on sociocultural ties, refer to any male fellow believer as Brother. "Next Sunday Brother Anderson will pass the plate at our service." In the Bible, Jesus uses brother to signify equality among people: "If you are bringing a gift to the altar and remember that your brother has anything against you . " Peter asks, "How often must I forgive my brother?" The terms brother and sister are used generically by church-related personnel in addressing members of the congregation: "My brothers and sisters in Christ." The common thread through all these uses may help us understand, too, why some dedicated men within the Catholic Church are called brothers. There is interpersonal relationship and open trust not based on kinship. The others have the same values, have similar goals, and use the same general methods to achieve their goals. This intangible affinity among brothers (or sisters) does not rely on blood ties yet depends on that relationship to provide a name for this closeness. The substance of such a relationship is: "That man accepts me, confronts me, counsels me, helps me as if I were his own brother." The image of the Good Samaritan comes to mind. Jesus' way of relating with men and women, whether they were righteous or sinful, offers many examples of what it means to be a brother to someone. Simply put, a brother is a man who at all times acts ds a blood brother would act. The Brother in the Church How did the term brother for a vowed religious in the Roman Catholic Church originally surface? Quite likely it arose from relationships in blood families: father, mother, brother, sister. The picture.would include the fact that few were educated as we define education, with those who possessed some "book knowledge" being Janltary-Februaly 2001 Armstron~ ¯ Who Is a Brother? considered natural counselors and mediators. Those representing the people before God and using their knowledge to help them understand and practice their faith could reasonably be called Father, because providing for his family and counseling them are importan~ tasks of the father of a family. Those exercising positions of leadership in communities of vowed women could be called Mother. Those who followed the lead of these fathers or mothers, who assisted; who undertook to fulfill the tasks related to the group's ministries, were called sisters or brothers. Over the years men religious who did not feel called to priesthood, but who assisted clerics in their ministry of preaching, teaching, or sacramental service, were called brothers--like male siblings helping their father do the work of a family farm or business. Help.ers somewhat behind the scenes, they were generally less-educated men doing the more hidden or more mundane and practical tasks connected with the priests' mission of sacred mediation and of education. In time brothers became in people's minds the "hewers of wood and the drawers of water" whose silent and nearly invisible presence was invaluable, essential, though largely taken for granted by the clergy and laity alike. By rule these men remained politically sequestered within their congregations, ha~ing no voice in choosing their leaders and not eligible to become leaders themselves. They prayed much, often apart from their clerical confreres, who in cloister or corridor would pass them by like supportive, exemplary specters. After the social and cultural disruption of the French Revolution, many groups of nonordained but vowed men religious sprang up through the initiative of bishops and parish priests who were in a position to support the development: These apostolic religious were to educate the untutored youth being lost to the church. In contrast to earlier brothers, these men were at least minimally educated and were dedicated to a professional life similar to that of the ordained. For more than a century such groups were formed, and their members went wherever there was a cry for Catholic education, even beyond the borders of their native lands. These became more known to stciety" at large, if not muct~ more visible, by their focus on schools . A concurrent reality that did no favors to many groups of brothers was their unwitting and unplanned gravitation toward ~an identity more clerical than lay. Many brothers, whether as members of laycongregations or as an arm of a clerical community, dressed Review for Religious like clerics and carried out ministries supportive of clerical min-istries. These brothers, nearly indistinguishable from priests, were extended the rights and privileges that a Christian society accorded the priesthood. As a result, a mindset developed among the brothers out of which they identified themselves more with their clerical associate~ than with the laity. It was the laity, though, from a strictly ecclesial perspective, (o whom brothers in fact related more closely. True, they were indeed set apart from the laity by their vowed commitment within a particular congregation approved by Rome. But their external, visible ministries did nothing to project a specific image of brother as distinct from the clerical, patriarchal image they had lived With for so long. "The Terrible Twos" of a Century After World War II and Vatican Council II, both productive of cultural and social upheaval (in a way, the century's "terrible twos"), all vowed religious were challenged to reassess how faithfully their founding purpose and their ministries responded to the newly emerging needs of both church and society and to renew and adapt accordingly. As communities they were to open themselves to the "signs of the times" that hinted at potentially diverging directions in life and mission for vowed religious. Congregations of brothers and mixed congregations (clerics and significant numbers of brothers) found themselves affected by the momentous challenges put before them by the church. Many members departed, fewer young men joined the community, and those who remained grew older, began retiring, and soon were dying unreplaced. These realities were running parallel to the clear and urgent call issued by the Vatican Council to the laity to exert by right a more prominent and active role in the church. Education was one of the first areas affected. As the numbers of brothers declined at a pace impossible to retard, lay people began to fill their places in schools. Along with their declining numbers and increasing age, brothers were suddenly challenged on the level of their profession as teachers and administrators even while they and others were waking to the fact they are not clerics. For brothers the question of the day became: Well, then, who are we, and what is our proper role now in the church and the world? Answers have not come quickly or easily, and some would argue they have not yet come at all. [---3~3-~- January-Februa~. 2001 Armstrong * WlTo Is a Brother? Immense energy has been expended reflecting on, discussing, and determining the identity of the brother for the church today. Some of that energy may have seeped over into trying to determine the brother's role in church and society. In neither case, however, does there appear to be widespread satisfaction with the results, and many retain a confused and hazy notion of the brotherhood as a way of life in the church. It does not help that some of the least informed and articulate on the matter are found among bishops and priests. Worse yet, many brothers cannot adequately define their own identity. The foundations have crumbled on which some based their sense of self-definition. What will it take to pour new and indestructible footings? A Beginning Perhaps a judicious mix of the old and the new is the best place to begin forming a relevant and appropriate definition of a brother in today's church and world. Retaining acknowledged and presumably nonnegotiable hallmarks of the brother's state of life, but blending and refining them in the crucible of postmodern experience, intuition, and prayerful discernment, one might descriptively define a brother somethii~g like this: A brother is a lay religious ¯ committed to living a common life ¯ and consecrated, by public profession of the vows of religion, ¯ to witnessing to the presence of God in his life and in the world. ¯ He reveals his identity more by example than explanation, ¯ more by doing than defining. ¯ In short, he relates and acts like a brother, ¯ to the exclusion of no one.¯ As an equal, ¯ and as supported by like-minded associates in community, ¯ he is free to respond in a variety of practical ways, ¯ living and working fraternally with others ¯ in promoting and preserving human dignity and justice ¯ through his prophetic stance ¯ and professional expertise. The nonnegotiables of this definition consist in identification more with the laity than w~th the clergy;living in community; publicly professing the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience; standing as prophetic witnesses to gospel vaiues; and reaching out in service to others. The postmodern experiential components are: more emphasis on a bold and perceptible expression of what being a brother means from the inside; a clear sense of reaching out to others in need as "brothering" them as a blood brother would; serving others out of a conviction of universal human equality under God; openness to the Review for Religious many forms of ministry to which brothers are free to respond by reason of being unrestrained by the ecclesiastical and cultural expectations imposed on ordained ministers; and, within community parameters, rightly seeking and achieving professional expertise in fields of interest and competence. Postmodern? Experiential? Is this more verbal gimmickry, or do these concepts add something substantial to the recipe for today's brother in the church and the world? I believe that both terms are appropriate and relevant. Postmodern is a term used by historians, sociologists, and anthropologists to refer generally to the period following the lengthy modern era that began in the 1500s and ended in the 1960s with the cultural revolution we in the United States tend to associate with events such as the Vietnam war and anti-establishment protests and also with Vatican II and its aftermath. There is no question that the events and the changed moods and understandings of the final four decades of the 20th century have had an immense impact on religious life, some of it distressingly disruptive, some creatively challenging. Experiential surely applies by reason of the mandate of Vatican II's document Perfectae caritatis and the Norms addressed to religious communities asking them to adapt and update their constitutions and rules as necessary, almost literally "refounding" their congregations. Experimentation through changing or discarding certain anomalous or anachronistic disciplinary elements in religious life was to be permitted for a reasonable time, normally eight to twelve years. The religious garb fell under this category, as did the daily schedule, areas and modes of accountability, the exercise of authority, forms and styles of prayer, and so forth. This experimentation was meant to contribute to a newly framed definition of each congregation's giftedness for today's church. Brothers who persevered in the religious life during these years had to respond creatively to the challenges of the day just to remain faithful to themselves as persons, let alone as religious in community. They were challenged to become more observant of evolving needs in the church and society and to search for w. ays to place their congregation's talents and resoui'ces at the disposal of Many brothers cannot adequately define their own identity. January-February 2001 Armstrong * Who Is a Brother? the church. And they, some for the first time, had to go about this discernment out of a conscious acknowledgment that they were definitely not clerics. Still, if the brothers were not clerics, then who were they? Somewhat as the Christian adolescent needs at some point to confront the faith infused through infant baptism, the postmodern religious brother has had to deal with whatever motivated his entering religious life years ago. It has been a true moment of conversion for him, a fresh confirmation of the validity of his choice of a way of life. Without this process a new sense of identity leading to broader availability would have been impossible for him. Most religious have found this exercise challenging and regenerating, reminding them that they had in fact committed themselves first and foremost not to a structure, not to a profession, not to any particular members within the organization, but to God. Whatever permutations were introduced into the externals over the years, the substantial reality has remained immutably in place, and that is enough. But simply defining one's identity is not enough. Unless conviction and a comfortable acceptance of what it means to be a brother are internalized, there is little hope of either acquiring or cultivating the openness necessary for finding new and challenging directions in mission and ministry, for living community, or for attracting others to embrace the same way of life. What Will It Take? Let me personalize this conversion experience even further, because for each individual brother identity is a matter of deep concern. Unless I can perceive myself as a valid, needed, and effective player of a unique role among many roles in the church, I cannot muster and sustain the conviction that will provide the energy I require both to pursue my way of life and to face the exigencies it inevitably entails. As essential as this perception is, it alone cannot support my efforts. Unless the church, both in its hierarchy and in its wider membership, can be convinced that the brothers' way of life is important for the church and the world, I by myself will be able to do little except go about my daily ministry and life in community in the vague hope that the witness I give to the world is somehow being diffused like a healthy mist settling on persons, places, and Review for Religious events near or far. I could not do this alone. I need help from within the church. Yet, if appropriate authority at even the highest levels is struggling to understand the identity and role of the brother in the church today, from what source will the definition come? Who is the "credible authority" that will provide it? The answer is simple: the brother himself. Why not? We brothers may for the most part not be trained theologians or men steeped in the history and development of the church, the sacraments, and ecclesiastical discipline, but we have a lifetime of experience being brothers that should count for something. We have evolved together with our vocational call, responding to challenges along the way that have forced us to question our identity, or purpose, and our reason for remaining brothers. Our prayer life, presumably "alive and active over the years, has kept us in touch with the One to whose call we have responded daily, and the resulting relationship has, we would hope, matured to the point where we can be at ease with our interpretation not only of who we are as brothers, but of how each of us is personally a witness to the reign of God. why should we not define our own identity and offer it to the institutional church as a valid and authentic interpretation, indeed as a gift? We should--and until we do we will continue to mill about, lost, confused, an.d impotent, within vague definitions of prophetic witness and ministerial service in the church. Until we are perceived by others as relevant and competent and are accepted as equal players on the field of evangelization, we will constitute a "loose cannon" threat to the ecclesiastical bureaucracy and receive little support or affirmation, nor will young men be encouraged who may be considering the lay religious life as a desirable option for their own futures. Why should we not define our own identity and offer it to the institutional church as a valid and authentic interpretation, indeed as a gift ? A Corporate Effort Beyond the effort each brother must exert to clari~ for himself what it means today to be a brother and to fashion a revived sense of January-February 2001 Armstrong * Who Is a Brother? mission based on renewed identity, there remains, I suggest, a need for a corporate endeavor among all brothers to invite, support, and help implement a new era, a "second coming," for men in the lay religious life. Even then it is not brothers alone who must feel responsible for resurrecting both awareness of and interest in the brotherhood. In the Vatican, in the hierarchy of bishops, priests, and deacons, and in the lay membership of the church, a fresh attempt must be made to bring about a renewed understanding of the vital role brothers play in the church as an institution and as the community known as the people of God. Because the truly authentic essence of brotherhood in religious life has to be articulated by brothers, it is they who must be the primary educators, as historically they have been in their numbers since the foundation of their congregations. Ready teachers, of course, must encounter willing students or the lesson will go unlearned and unappreciated, leaving the church and the world the poorer for it. And so brothers must seek and gain the confidence of church authority through their expertise in theologizing about and articulating the experiential essence of the lay religious life. This aim can be achieved through two practical steps. First, the theological reflection, even if informally undertaken, must unfold in a deliberate and orderly manner. Second, a path must be opened, a clear and smooth thoroughfare of effective communication between brothers and the rest of the church. To accomplish .this, good public relations will be required, for brothers have such a history of invisibility and silence that any change, if it attracts attention at all, will tend to create or exacerbate confusion in people, if not suspicion. Brothers must learn how to harness modern communication technologies and get assistance from the media, because the teachers will be implementing the most important lesson plan they have ever devised. Meanwhile. Meanwhile, brothers must continue preparing for their vocational parousia through personal effort at educating themselves to the point of absolute confidence and conviction. Nothing less will succeed in reeducating the church, let alone the world, as to the gift the lay religious life for men is now and can be to the whole of humankind. Out of what definition ought brothers to operate in the Review for Religion, s meantime? I suggest, once again, that the italic passage above on page 34 constitutes a solid working definition, one that incorporates both nonnegotiable expectations of male lay religious and elements that seem essential in a postmodern world. O~r own experience as brothers has confirmed the validity of the definition. Let us at the very least seize its substance and begin the task of refining and developing it. The task is immense and will require every bit of our faith and hope--and our perseverance. Were it not for the One who is author of our faith and our hope and who inspires us to persevere, we would find ourselves in the nearly untenable position of expecting to increase understanding of and enthusiasm for a kind of religious witness and ministry that relates directly to neither the clergy nor the laity. Happily, the God who created the world itself and made life increase and multiply can create new little worlds within it that can grow in understanding and age and grace. It is that possibility in which we place our greatest hope, and it is that God to whom we look for its realization. Postseason Christmas is dismantled again, syncopated lights from shaggy tree transported to basement. It's time to mine the darkness of these shrunken days for fire-feeding coal , and to scan the night skies, each quadrant strung with twinkling lights stretching Christmas hope across the long winter coming. Patricia Schaapp ~M .~anuary-February 2001 DONALD MACDONALD Vocational Being d note about the cleaning and restoration of Sandro Botticelli's Virgin Adoring the Sleeping Christ Child gives an account of the artist, his painting, and its restoration. "[Now we can see] Botticelli's purity of form and color ideally suited to its subject. It is this perfect union of means and meaning that makes the painting so powerful."' To speak of "this perfect union of means and meaning" is superlative praise. In most human endeavor there is a gap between means and. meaning. Achievement hardly ever matches the intention. Brush strokes on canvas, notes from a cello, lines on a page, the lie of a golf ball--rarely do means and meaning synchronize to a person's satisfacfon. Environment and Faith From the perspective of art appreciation, Botticelli is said to have done justice to his subject and himself to an incomparable degree. The power of his painting confirms this, If the union of means and meaning reached such perfection from the artist's view-point, what might be said of his achievement from the perspec-tive of a viewer's faith? What if I, the viewer, adore Christ now in our Lady's company, aware that to paint Christ and the kneeling Virgin does not just capture an abstract ideal, but real people, liv-ing still, to whom I can relate? With dynamic faith I the viewer can be drawn into (not just to) the scene as an integral part of a present Donald Macdonald SMM continues writing about aspects of the reli-gious vocation. His address is Montfort House; Darnley Road; Barrhead, Glasgow; G78 1TA Scodand, U.IC Revie~ for Religious reality. By faith I am at one with the meaning in a way I could never hope to be with just the painter's means. "The purity of form and color ideally suited to its subject" invites and challenges my faith to express itself in reflective ado-ration. The painting directs me to consider what is within me from the viewpoint of faith. The gap between means and meaning is then evident, but so is the inspiration to adore from the center of my being. The beauty of the picture has aesthetic appeal and more, showing what might be if I were fully alert to the wonder of an incarnational faith. I, too, can do what Mary does now, for I am one with her in Christ through baptism. A growing symmetry between means and meaning results in an integrated life. "The beauty of wonder caught in Botticelli's Adoration of the Virgin, reflects what is really there. It may have spectacular appeal to the imagination, but it is not imaginary. Glimpsing this wonder and trying to answer its challenge may suggest consecrated reli-gious life. Do I need to give myself radically, as did Mary, before its wonder compels adoration? Before I adore I must first see and be taken out of myself. This means that I should take note of the environment and any clutter which inhibits insight. Only then can I see what means I have at hand by which I can pursue meaning expressed in adoration. It is neither negative nor defeatist to see in the environment much that is harmful to a life of disciplined faith. The concern for God and neighbor through which authentic faith finds mean-ing lags behind other priorities. Where the current media do not ridicule or dismiss faith, they may actively oppose it whenever they feel threatened by a lived and living faith. There are then no Marquis of Queensberry Rules to govern the fight, and writers, editors, and producers know it. In its many forms--radio, film, TV, internet, print--the media cross continents. Cherished, prac-tical values are often trivialized, and the absence of reticence often coarsens what should be held in great respect. Skillful contempo-rary presentations and inveterate noise may deaden an individual's capacity to respond in wonder to the worldview seen in the Gospels and in Botticelli. Many media movers and shakers "dirty the flower with muddy hands" whenever spiritual or religious values appear on their horizons. A contemporary illustration of this is in a national newspaper correspondent's account of the presentation in London of the Sony Gold Awards for radio broadcasting. "IX] won the music presen- January-February 2001 Macdonald ¯ Vocational Being tation award . By the time he had finished his acceptance speech, he had made half the Great Room of the Grosvenor House long, if not for the grave, then at least for the cool embrace of silence. It wasn't just that he swore. Many people who stepped up that night to receive their awards displayed scan( knowledge of any noun or verb longer than four letters. The effing and blinding was ferocious, the badinage it embellished was desperate . I have sel-dom sat so long and celebrated so little."2 This is not from some drinking den after hours or some adolescent playground, but from a prestigious hotel in a capital city, sponsored by an international company. These are the winners, not the losers, evidendy cocooned in their pei'sonal world, free to pursue their own agendas regard-less of others' feelings. Obviously they succeed, with prizes to prove it. Such behavior coarsens whatever it gets near. The name Jesus Christ in that company is invariably an expletive or a joke. Many feed on that diet and develop a taste for it, and so lack the nour-ishment to grow in Christ. This is a major reason for lack of reli-gious practice generally and for the small number of persons willing to commit themselves to a life of religious consecration. Also, it is something I need to consider if I am to find the means to give myself in adoration through the perspective of faith. How much of this has a claim on me? The evidence of hearing, if I am blessed with it, is that contemporary care to be "politically correct" in speech goes hand in hand with a massive rise in offensive lan-guage, not least among the educated. The coarsening of sensibil-ity by elements of the media makes it harder to find and faithfully use the means to achieve mature meaning as the gospel would have us do. Where no one seems to care, it is no surprise to find that many are careless. I am not made.of stone--how much have I succumbed to this environment? Necessary Means Living in such an environment, I need something practical that can help me maintain a Christian perspective, both encour-aging me and challenging me. IfI have that "something," I have a means for pursuing meaning, the fullness of which, for religious liv-ing, is adoration that engages my whole being. Several practical suggestions could be made, but assimilating Scripture is one that can help, both in judging society and guiding Review for Religious me through it. Scripture, after all, is the accumulated experience of people trying to relate their society to God. More particularly, it was largely the original inspiration behind monastic and reli-gious life. Monastic life began as a statement about contemporary society and the primacy of God. It has been said that God is either 6f sole concern or of no concern. After hearing Scripture speak and then seeing that many contemporary values either opposed or limited the freedom of faith, many persons became aware that they had to cut the cable between themselves and society. Writing of the origin of monastic life in the 4th century, a commentator notes that "what is utterly clear., is the pulsing life the sacred texts give to the daily existence of the early monks. ¯ They serve as a basic frame of reference . In. memorization, rumination, and medita-tion of Scripture, words penetrated the deepest recesses of the soul and created ne~v possibilities and challenges.''3 The Spirit who so energized the word that it came ablaze with meaning and inspiration for those pioneers can do as much for me now if I do some "humble loving listening to him who speaks. It is in fact by the light and with the strength of the word of God that my own vocation can be discovered and understood, loved, and followed and my own mis-sion carried out. So true is this that the person's entire existence finds its unifying and radical meaning in being the terminus of God's word.''4 This is a colossal claim for Scripture, namely, that all strands of life can be brought together, and meaning can be recognized at the depth of my being, if only I am attuned to Scripture. The claim is for ontological meaning in my being's depths. This guar-antees a fusion of means and meaning. Scripture is a superb coun-terweight to much in current society which could keep me from God. As the light of the word slowly dawns, adoration may well be my being's basic response. Perhaps never before in the history of the church has Scripture been available to so many. The means of communication undoubt-edly facilitate this, but this does not mean that, with the media present everywhere, the Christian message is too. In my wide experience of monastic and religious life, home and abroad, for thirty years, I have yet to be convinced that this is so. To what Where no one seems to care, it is no surprise to find that many are careless. .~anuary-February 2001 MacdonhM ¯ Vocational Being 442 degree can we speak of "the pulsing life of the sacred texts" influ-encing consecrated.life generally? How many understand what it is to be "a terminus of the word of God"? I have never forgotten Protestant scholar Frederick C. Grant's comment in 1966 on Dei Verbum, the Vatican Council's Constitution on Divine Revelation: "Why not tell people what joyful discoveries lie before them in the Scriptures, what feasts of learning, what inspiration and encouragement, what sound teach-ing, what help in facing the problems and frustrations of life? As the prophet shouted, 'Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price'" (Is 55:1).s How many individually or collectively "shout" or reflect such enthusi-asm from personal conviction? Here is a superb means to assimi-late meaning, but how many habitually make it their own? Grant's approach may yet be rather new to us. It may take generations before Scripture is sufficiently bedded down among us to produce such results. Scholarship, excellent at the highest level, has perhaps not found a way of enlightening us. Source criticism, form criticism, redaction criticism, reader-response, structural lin-guistics, and so forth make an ever lengthening list; and so people nibble among the commentators and do not get round to assimi-lating the text. In a sad comment on his university studies, a priest spoke of "the acid rain of biblical criticism" and its effect on him vis-a-vis our Lord. If I am hooked already on Scripture and well know what Grant experienced, then current biblical commentaries and journals can help me. Regrettably, though, many of these scholarly materials seem to lack the warmth that could come from a community's fervently.shared faith; they seem not to reflect the wondrous joy that our risen Lord brought to the early church. Has any English writer, for example, during the past twenty years or so, been so fascinated withSt. Paul (man and writer) as to claim failure to do him justice if Paul does not leap from his pages and invade the reader's imagination? This is Richard Holmes's purpose in a superb biography of the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He wants Coleridge's voice to be heard and to domi-nate the book. (His own edition of Coleridge's poetry functioned as ~a controlling influence on the biography.) Holmes serves the poet far better than any Christian writer has served--unless I missed it--St. Paul. In the seminary, not uncommonly, Paul is approached as an Review for Religqous intellectual problem, and the student is made to jump hurdles, to no very clear purpose. Scholars give the impression of seeing Paul as a maverick, like an unconventional student the disapproving examiner never knows how to place: "He is here to be examined, and clearly is not quite one of us!" This is a pity. (Bonhoeffer believed, incidentally, that the Sermon on the Mount could never be lived in a university context.) Paul is, of course, larger than any one pen can capture, but, rooted in Christ and in people and in his own evident humanity, his experi-ence is a genuine way of fusing both means and meaning in an authentically consecrated life. No one seeking inspiration in Scripture need read a line of St. Paul. The Law, the Prophets, and the rest of the Old Testament spread a lavish table. In the Synoptics, the sharp observation to be found in a saying of Christ or in a parable can open up much to me, as can pondering the weight of wonder of a phrase of Christ in John's Gospel. One needs only to experience them to feel their power, to bring means and meaning together. Whatever the form of prayer, wonder in the presence of Who is there is the underlying dynamic. Adoration There can be no one way or best way 'of being a religious. There are presumably as many ways to God as there are human beings called to him. But, as I have suggested, if we need to adore the gift of God in Christ from the core of our being, then we have found meaning. Taken out of myself by what I glimpse in faith, I respond in adoration as well as I can with all that is in me. Much in contemporary society obscures this glimpse, but Scripture can be a countervailing practical means to realize meaning. The church and monastic and religious life have for centuries found their deep-est reality through the Gospels. To adore, I need only to see in faith; then, following the rhythm of my breathing, I give myself to God giving himself to me. This is true, whatever the situation or however I feel. I always return to, though actually I never leave, that center. My being is engaged. The insight is increasingly more simple. Whatever the form of prayer (sacramental, liturgical, community, or individual), ~anuary-Februa~. 2001 Macdonald * Vocational Being wonder in the presence of Who is there is the underlying dynamic. Whatever is said, sung, or signed expresses this. Far from making me a maverick on the edge of a group, adoration invites me to be at one with the church in the worship of Christ. If habitual adoration underlies all I do, I can give myself faith-fully to whatever the present moment asks of me, yet not be taken over by it, since my identity does not depend on what I do or where I am. There is always, in faith, another dimension to real-ity not limited to the frame of circumstance. I function at a sim-ple level, trying t6 be at one with God's will, which, of course, is the purpose of monastic or religious life. In attempting this, I approximate the purity of line and color by which the painter real-izes his meaning. Whatever I am engaged in and whoever is with me, insofar as I adore I can recognize the gift of God and who it is speaking to me. Then, as John's Gospel promises, I can tap into a rich stream. On the other hand, pastoral plans, catechetical pro-grams, and personal apostolates are channels that may be awash by turns with limpid idealism or murky disillusion. If I invest in them, my "salvation" depends on,their success or failure; but, if I give myself to them in the light of adoration, I will receive both pru-dence and courage to persevere faithfully far from the criterion of "what's in it for me." Risen Lord I can summarize these reflections, perhaps, with a comment from M.R. Vincent's preface to his Commentary on St. Paul's Letter to the Philippians. More than one hundred years ago he indicated what might be found in a letter written from prison nineteen hun-dred years earlier. His words are relevant today: "While the char-acter of the epistle is ethical . . . it gives no countenance to resolving the gospel into a mere code of morals. The moral inspi-ration which it represents has its impelling center in a person and a life, not in a code. The personal Christ is its very heart. It exhibits Christ in Paul rather than before him. Christ is not a subject of controversy; he is not simply a pattern of conduct. He is the sum of Paul's life. Th~ view of the resurrection which this letter pre-sents is a standing rebuke to the superficial conception and loose grasp which the church too often brings to that truth. The resur-rection of the.Lord is to Paul a present informing energy and not only a recovery anda hope. He would know the power of the res- Review for Religious urrection now and here as well as hereafter. He not only lives according to Christ's life; he lives it I.n. Christ he is in the sphere of infinite possibilities.''6 Here surely is the fusion of means and meaning. As Paul keeps growing, by Christ's life, into Christ, he breaks out of prison in a letter of encouragement, alive with the light of his risen Lord. Not death itself, the ultimate in defeat and separation, can come between him and his risen Lord, who is for him "a present inform-ing energy and not only a recovery and a hope." The stance of adoration is not that of the self-made individual over against the universe, with a supporting cast of witless nobodies lost on the plains below. Life has "its impelling center in a person and a life" and therefore takes meaning from our once crucified and now risen Lord. In Christ I am lost in the wonder of it all, a new creation in view of whom I see and what I am given moment by moment from before time began. Literally, it beggars description. The silence of adoration, as it deepens, is eloquent though inadequate response. Held by the prese~nce of my risen Lord in every situation not excluding death, I too believe that in Christ I am in the sphere of infinite possibilities. He it is who gives meaning to life. Insofar as I allow him to make me his, I live to some purpose and try to express this in what I do. Assimilating Scripture is a superb means toward such maturity. Speechless adoration from the core of my being may become habitual, in view of the wondrousness of the One I am graced to see. I have not the means to ~:eplicate Botticelli's Adoring Virgin and Child on canvas, but from the per-spective of faith I am awash in that same wonder. Notes ~ National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh, 2000. 2 Gillian Reynolds, The Daily Telegraph, London, 9 May 2000. 3 Douglas Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Quest for Holiness in Early Christian Monasticism (Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 298-299. 4 John Paul II, Pastores dabo ~obis (On the Formation of Priests in the Circumstances of the Present Day), 25 March 1992, §47. s Walter M. Abbott SJ, ed., The Documents of Vatican H (Chapman, 1966), pp. 130-131. 6 M.R. Vincent, Critical and Exegetical CommentaTy on the Ep#tles to the Pbilippians and to Philemon (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1897). January-February 2001 MARY ANNE FOLEY Spirituality for Mission: Marguerite Bourgeoys and ¯the Ignatian Tradition spiritual legacy In the 16th century the Society of Jesus represented an innovation in consecrated life for men, differing in struc-ture and aim from both monastic and mendicant forms and supported by Ignatius's approach to contemplation and action. Ignatian spirituality appealed also to women seeking a life of service outside the cloister, and Jesuit influence is apparent in the formation of women's com-munities as varied as the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the Sisters of St. Joseph in the 17th century and the Religious of the Sacred Heart in the 19th. By contrast, when Marguerite Bourgeoys (1620- 1700) was founding the Congregation de Notre-Dame de Montreal in the latter part of the 17th century, her closest collaborators were not Jesuits; they were Sulpicians, other diocesan priests, and women like Madame de Miramion who were forming similar com'- munities. As a result the congregation is usually seen as a product of the so-called French school of spirituality? Mary Anne Foley CND, who discussed women's commu-nities in our July-August 2000 issue, wrote this article.for the 300th anniversary of the death of Marguerite Bourgeoys. After translation by E Richer, it first appeared as "Spiritualitfi pour la mission: Marguerite Bourgeoys et la tradition ignatienne" in Cahiers de spiritualit~ ignatienne (April-June 2000, pp. 79-91). Her address is University of Scranton; Scranton, Pennsylvania 18510. Review for Religious The congregation's spirituality, however, as seen in the writings of its foundress, reveals considerable affinity with Ignatian spiri-tuality. We shall ~xplore those parallels, but first a word about the congregation's origins is in order. From Marguerite Bourgeoys's perspective, the congregation began in her own experience of transformation at the age of twenty, occasioned by her gazing at a statue of Mary. As a result of this "conversion," as she calls it, she joined a group of laywomen asso-ciated with the cloistered Congregation de Notre-Dame in her native Troyes and chose Antoine Jendret, the local pastor, as her spiritual advisor. From Jendret she learned to see the "vie voyagkre" (missionary life) of the Blessed Virgin as a model for uncloistered religious life for women. At the same time, the congregation sis-ters trained her to teach children who could not attend their monastery school and shared with her their enthusiasm for estab-lishing a monastery in New France. Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, brother of the congregation's superior and governor of the new settlement ofVille-Marie (Montreal), recognized the impossibility of establishing a monastery there at that time. Instead, he requested a single lays. oman to serve as teacher, and Marguerite agreed to go in that capacity. When she arrived in 1653, Ville-Marie was a small settlement, precarious both geographically and financially. It had been estab-lished eleven years earlier by an association of pious men and women in France who hoped to incorporate French and native people into a Christian society, thus creating a spirited church in the New World. Among the associates was Jean-Jacques Olier, founder and first superior of the Sulpicians. Unable to go him-self, he sent four members of his society to Ville-Marie in 1657 to establish its first parish. As "filles de paroisse" (women of the parish) Marguerite and the women who would soon join her were thus greatly influenced by the Sulpicians of Ville-Marie. Moreover, from Paris the third superior of the Society, Louis Tronson, was actively involved in decisions concerning the congregation and proved one of their staunchest advocates) In 1659 four recruits came from France to share Marguerite's simple, mobile way of life and her educational commitment in imi-tation of Mary's vie voyag~re. Over the course of the century, more than fifty women--native, French, and native-born French--joined this new Congregation de Notre-Dame, extending its reach from Ville-Marie to Quebec and beyond. Marguerite served as supe- January-Febr~ary 2001 rior until 1693, providing spiritual as well as practical leadership. Among her relatively few extant writings are several prayers and numerous reflections on the nature of the congregation, most of which appear to be conference notes of varying lengths. Brief and fragmentary though these texts are, they provide interesting glimpses of the spirituality that informed the congregation she founded.3 Gathering Up the Drops of Christ's Blood A brief, isolated passage in Marguerite Bourgeoys's writings presents a forceful description of the source, characteristics, and aim of the sisters' missionary activity: Consider, dear, that when you go on mission you go to gather up the drops of the blood of Jesus Christ that are being lost. How happy a sister who is sent on mission will be if she considers that she goes there at God's command and in his company, if she considers that in this work she can and ought to show her gratitude to him from whom she has received all things. Oh, she will find nothing difficult or burdensome at all! She will, on the contrary, wish to be in want of every-thing, to be despised by everyone, to endure all sorts of suffering, and even to die in disgrace. (W'W!B, 78) This passage may well represent the words with which Marguerite Bourgeoys invited the sisters to go forth from the central house in Ville-Marie to missions all over New France. Her description of the congregation's aim as "gathering up the drops of the blood of Jesus Christ that are being lost" is strongly reminiscent of a phrase employed by Paul Le Jeune sJ, superior of the Jesuit mission in Canada. In a letter written to his superior in France in 1633 and later published and widely disseminated, he attempted to persuade wealthy women in France to support the creation of a school for native women in New France: If they applied part [of their income] to gather the drops of blood of the Son of God shed for so many souls that are lost every day for la~k of help, they would not blush with shame on the day they appear before God to render an account of the goods for which he has made them responsible.4 Two years later he renewed the request, exclaiming, "What glory in the sight of the angels, to have gathered the blood of the Son of God to apply it to these poor unbelievers! "s Review for Religious What is particularly striking is that for Le Jeune the "gather-ing" was to be accomplished by women who worked for the edu-cation of other women. Initially he suggested that the school be run by "some good courageous widow assisted by two brave young women."6 By 1635, however, numerous women in French monas-teries, "overcoming the fear natural to their sex," had offered to come to educate native women and girls. This led Le Jeune to alter his original plan and to ask that a French benefactor endow a monastery whose members would carry out the work of educa-tion: "Will not some brave lady be found to give these Amazons of the great God a passport, endow-ing them with a house in which to praise and serve His Divine Majesty in this other world?"7 Madame de la Peltrie responded to that request, and the Ursuline monastery was soon founded in Quebec as a result. Marguerite Bourgeoys's writ-ings never indicate that she read Paul Le Jeune's letters, but, given the sisters' interest in the Canadian missions, she very likely did so during her association with the Congregation de Notre-Dame in Troyes. Thus, his use of the image of gathering Christ's blood probably influenced her directly. Furthermore, although there were no Jesuits in Ville-Marie from 1657 until the end of the century, she may also have been influenced indirecdy by their approach to missionary activity through her continued con-tact with Jesuits in Quebec. Although Marguerite Bourgeoys may consciously or uncon-sciously have adopted Le Jeun~'s metaphor for mission, she mod-ified it in several ways. In the first place, she used the word ramasser, instead of recueillir, with respect to what was to be done with the drops of blood. There is a difference of nuance here. The former term suggests picking up scattered bits and pieces, and the latter suggests taking in a unified quantity (such as a harvest),s This difference in vocabulary may not be particularly significant in itself,9 but another passage from the Writings makes it clear that for her the mission of education did indeed involve gathering up the individual drops of Christ's blood: "When you go on mission you go to gather up the drops of the blood of Jesus Christ that are being lost." January-Febr~ary 2001 Fole~ ¯ Spirituali.ty_for Mission It is work suited to draw down the graces of God if it is done with purity of intention, without distinction between the poor and the rich, between relatives and friends and strangers, between the pretty and the plain, the easy-going and the grumblers, looking upon them all as drops of our Lord's blood. (W'MB, 201) Where Le Jeune had used the imagery of gathering the blood to describe specifically the education of the native women and chil-dren, here it seems to refer to all the individuals taught by the sis-ters. (By the time these lines were written, in the 1590s, they were probably teaching few native children.) If all these individuals are the drops of Christ's blood, they must be treated as sacred objects. Teaching, then, becomes a holy activity, since it brings the sisters in close contact with those sacred objects. Second, Marguerite underlined the urgency of the sisters' mis-sion by the way she extended the metaphor of the drops of blood. Le Jeune remarks that the souls of "these poor unbelievers" for whom Christ's blood has been shed are being lost; Marguerite Bourgeoys suggests that the drops of Christ's blood themselves are being lost. So important is this to her understanding that we may interpret her as going beyond mere metaphor in her reference to the drops of blood. Since the writing of the first Letter to the Corinthians, Christian theologians have often spoken of the bap-tized as constituting the body of Christ in a real, though mystical sense. For Marguerite Bourgeoys, those who needed to learn of Christ's teachings were his blood in that same mystical sense,l° Rather than allow even one drop of that blood to be wasted, a sis-ter would travel anyw.here she was sent and endure whatever was necessary for the mission. Indeed, the act of teaching was both sacred and urgent. A prayer for the congregation written on 4July 1693, at the end of her extended service as the community superior, reveals the con-nection she saw between the sisters' mission and the passion of Christ. Declaring that her trust was not in her own powers, she tells God: "I base my trust on the merits of the precious blood given for my ransom, and with your grace I would rather give up life itself than fail to uphold the truth of your words" (W-M!~, 163). Her willingness to lose her life in order to make Christ's teachings known recalls the desire "to endure all sorts of suffering and even to die in disgrace," which she claimed was characteristic of the sis-ter who traveled on mission in God's company. Her belief that the Review for Religious missionary congregation sisters would desire to suffer in the course of their mission echoes a passage from the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius Loyola describing "the most perfect kind of humility" pos-sible for one who has decided to follow Christ: Whenever the praise and glory of the Divine Majesty would be equally served, in order to imitate and be in real-ity more like Christ our Lord, I desire and choose poverty with Christ poor, rather than riches; insults with Christ loaded with them, rather than honors; I desire to be accounted as worthless and a fool for Christ, rather than to be esteemed as wise and prudent in this world. So Christ was treated before me.~ As was true for Ignatius, Marguerite Bourgeoys believed the source of missionary activity for the congregation sister to be a call from the God "from whom she has received all things." Her missionary work is thus a grateful response to God's initiative: "She goes there at God's command." If the sister's mission comes from a divine invitation, then her going will be "in his company." The implication is that going on mission is a way for her to be present to God, a way of participating in God's activity, and hence a way of becoming holy. This is why she should be able to view any deprivation that she suffers in the course of her mission as a pos-itive advantage. "To be in want of everything, to be despised by everyone, to endure all sorts of suffering, and even to die in dis-grace" is to enter more profoundly into the way of Christ, whose mission was characterized by the shedding of his blood. Imitating Mary's Vie Voyag~re While the desire to gather up the drops of Christ's blood pro-vided motivation for the sisters' mission of education, Marguerite turned elsewhere for a way to depict their way of exercising that mission: the life Mary led on earth. The 17th century was remarkable for widespread and intense devotion to Mary, notably among the members of what has been called the French school of spirituality. In order to emphasize the greatness of God's working in her, they tended to focus on Mary's humility, dwelling on both the poverty of her origins and her hum-ble willingness to serve as the future mother of God. Furthermore, their insistence on the paradoxical juxtaposition of the "grandeurs" of Jesus in the midst of his humiliations led Cardinal de B~rulle and January-February 2001 Foley ¯ SpiritnalityforMission For Marguerite Bourgeoys the primary form of devotion to Mary was to honor her vie voyag re, her missionary life. his followers to reflect at length on the life of Jesus in Mary's womb. This is apparent in Olier's prayer "O Jesu vivens in Maria" and in their reflections on the Word's action in Mary's visitafon to Elizabeth. The visitation became central to Marguerite Bourgeoys's spirituality, as shall be seen; she shared as well the French school's emphasis on Mary's "littleness" which enabled her to become the instrument of God's power. While her version of the life of Mary reflects many of the the-ological concerns of her day, some of her contemporaries might have been puzzled by its omissions and even more by its focus. She refers very briefly to what most consider the two central moments in Mary's life, Jesus' nativity and his cru-cifixion. She merely notes that the circumstances of Christ's birth reveal Mary's love of poverty and the poor and that her presence at Calvary reveals her faithfulness, her accep-tance of God's plan of redempfon. In writings no longer available to us, she may have said more, but, given the detail she provides about other events in Mary's life, Marguerite's lack of attention to the nativity and crucifixion is at least suggestive. In contrast to B4rulle, for example, the brevity of her comments and the absence of sentimentality are quite striking. Even more striking is her focus on Mary's activity, rather than her passivity. Certainly she portrays Mary as the recipient of divine favor: God chose her, preserved her from sin, and made her Mother Of God and then Queen of heaven. But Marguerite pays far more attention to what Mary did. She shows her teaching and serving the other girls in the temple and making a vow of virginity. At the time of the annunciation, we see Mary imploring, preparing her-self, consenting, and offering herself to God. After that event she visits Elizabeth, gives birth to Jesus, receives shepherds and kings, and loses and. finds her child. Having witnessed Christ's teachings and keeping them in her heart, she teaches and encourages people during his public life, and afterwards she forms and reforms the members of the Christian community, even after her death, up to the present time. Review for Religious This focus on Mary's activity is in keeping with the advice Marguerite Bourgeoys gave her sisters: "To imitate our dear Foundress, we ought to go through her life and stop at what our Lord inspires us to do" (WMB, 52). In this emphasis she differed somewhat from the French school, for whom devotion took the form of reflecting on the eternal--and internal--"states" of Christ's and Mary's lives in order to enter those states oneself. Thus, even though he considered Mary a model of priestly and apostolic activ-ity, Jean-Jacques Olier still advocated above all a devotion to the "interior life" of Mary. The French school has in this respect been contrasted with Ignatius Loyola, whose Spiritual Exercises involve meditating on the words and particularly the actions of God, Christ, and the saints in order to imitate them.~2 While Marguerite Bourgeoys's random reflections are far different from the highly structured meditations of the Exercises, her focus on Mary's activity is more Ignatian than Berullian. Her approach to the life of Mary, however, was not that of many early-17th-century Jesuit writers, who cul-tivated a highly imaginative form of popular devotion that focused on the details of Mary's life. They were accused, not always unfairly, of promoting an exaggerated devotion to Mary that at times superseded the need for fidelity to the commandments.'3 For Marguerite Bourgeoys and for the congregation sisters, the primary form of devotion to Mary was honoring her vie voyag~re, her missionary life: M. Jendret told me one day that our Lord had left three call-ings for women to follow him and serve the church: that of St. [Mary] Magdalen was taken up by the Carmelites and other recluses and that of Saint Martha, by cloistered reli-gious who serve their neighbor; but the calling to the jour-neying life of the Virgin Mary, which needed to be honored, had not yet been taken up." (WMB, 142) Elsewhere she explains that because Mary was a teacher she incorporated the lives of both Martha and Mary Magdalen into her own: "The blessed Virgin, who was a teacher, included every-thing in her own person to an eminent degree" (WMB, 77). This depiction of Mary's "mixed" active and contemplative life was not original to Jendret,14 but he may have been the first to apply that analogy to women's communities. Nor was it common to speak of her vie voyag?re. Ordinarily the phrase refers to Christians who are still living on earth, as opposed to those who ffanuary-Februa~y 2001 Fole~ ¯ Spirituali~forMission have passed on to glory or purification--and sometimes to the public life of Jesus.~s For many 17th-century spiritual writers, this earthly, transitory, active aspect of Christ's or Mary's life was less inspiring and worthy of attention than their enduring states. By their attention to Mary's vie voyag~re, then, Antoine Jendret and Marguerite Bourgeoys presented an alternative approach to one of the central symbols of holiness in the Christian tradition. That approach had very concrete implications for the little congregation in Ville-Marie. In order to fulfill their educative mis-sion throughout New France, the sisters had to remain free to move wherever there was need. However, because holiness was most often identified with separation from "the world," and because of women's supposed fragility, ecclesiastical legislation during much of Christian history sought to protect consecrated women by insisting that they remain behind cloister walls. Indeed, the two first bishops of New France attempted to impose cloister on the congregation by urging their union with the Ursulines of Quebec. Marguerite Bourgeoys's response was to point to Mary: "The Blessed Virgin was never cloistered. She did indeed retire into an interior solitude, but she never excused herself from any journey on which there was some good to be done or some work of charity to be performed. We wish to follow her in some way" (WMB, 50). Without calling into question the value of life within a clois-ter, this .passage suggests that for Mary, and for those who wish to live her missionary way of life, love of neighbor can constitute a higher value. Clearly Marguerite shared the traditional view that this sort of uncloistered vie voyagkre could be dangerous, but she believed that those who imitated Mary's way of life would be pro-tected by an "interior solitude" and by their union with God in prayer. Dangerous or not, if Mary's work of building up the church by educating its women was to continue, then it was not only pos-sible but necessary for some women to follow her way of life. The Visitation Traditionally the sisters of the congregation renew their vows on the Feast of the Visitation. This suggests that for them Mary's visit to her cousin Elizabeth (Lk 1:39-52) is paradigmatic of their desire to become holy by going forth as missionaries. During the 17th century, however, the visitation was not nec-essarily associated with women who remained free to move out in Review for Religious order to serve their neighbor. In a reflection first published in 1679, the Capuchin Louis-Francois d'Argentan interpreted Mary's going up into the hill country as a reference to her ascent to God through contemplation and her willingness to share in God's redemptive plan. In this presentation, Mary is essentially passive in the encounter with Elizabeth, simply allowing the Word within her to speak in her.voice. D'Argentan suggests that during the visit Mary manifests humility by helping with household tasks, ardent charity (which he does not discuss further), and the way to engage in holy conversation with the neighbor. For him the ulti-mate fruit of reflection on the visitation is making "powerful resolutions to love seclusion, silence, and solitude, scorning all the rest so as to be attentive only to what is necessary, that is to say, to God alone and to the great matter of our eternity.''6 Such an interpretation of the visitation was not foreign to Marguerite Bourgeoys's thought. She too was convinced that Mary loved and was a model of soli-tude- but also was a model of conversation with others--and that the most important aspect of her encounter with Elizabeth was God's action in sanctifying the unborn John the Baptist. Nonetheless, here as always, Marguerite Bourgeoys's attention remained focused on Mary's activity and its effects. Moreover, her interpretation of that activ-ity contrasts with that of d'Argentan and even Francis de Sales, cofou

Issue 59.2 of the Review for Religious, 2000. ; Celibate .Chastity: A Symposium Religious Life Questions Witnessing Hispanic Catholic Report MARCH APRIL 2000 VOLUME 59 NUMBER 2 Review for Religious helps people respond and be faithful to God's universal call to holiness by making available to them the spiritual legacies tbat flow from the charlsms of Catbollc consecrated life. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bimonthly at Saint Louis Univers!ty by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Telephone: 314-977-7363 ¯ Fax: 314-977-7362 E-Mail: foppema@slu.edu Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP P.O. Box 29260; "Washington, D.C. 20017. POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ° P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©2000 Review for Religious Permission is herewith gianted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library, clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, arid copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. ~ 0 ]LIVING OUR CATHOLIC LEGACIES Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Clare Boehmer ASC Philip C. Fischer SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Barbara J. Soete SSND James and Joan Felling Kathryn Richards FSP joel Rippinger OSB Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla SJ David Werthmann CSSR Patricia Wittberg SC MARCH APRIL 2000 VOLUME 59 NUMBER 2 con en s 118 131 139 c Oib te chastity: symposium Bowling Alone, Living Alone: Current Social Contexts for Living the Vows Mary Johnson SNDdeN couples the social context of community living with new possibilities for the meaning of the vows, particularly celibate chastity, so as to provide a radical gospel-based witness to countercultural values. Celibate Life Offers Insights Keith Clark OFMCap gives evidence that a celibate life well lived communicates to our culture a powerful message about the nature and meaning of sexuality, the unique nature of Christian marriage, and the motivation for the church's ministry. Discerning Our Celibate Way in Our Culture David L. Fleming SJ spells out some of the implications of discernment--making decisions with a lover's instinct--for living celibate chastity, which is defined as a way of loving. 148 156 What Is Religious Life's Purpose? Justin Taylor SM and Albert Dilanni SM question whether the basic purpose of religious life had been obscured long before Vatican II and still calls for clarity now. Must Hermits Work? Kenneth C. Russell provides insight into the place and value of work in the traditions of eremitical life in the Western church and draws some conclusions for today. Review for Religious 175 Mission: Not Do We Have One But Do I Live One? Rol~ert J. Murray OS~, emphasizes the need to live the valu'es reflected in mission statements for the health of the congregation. 180 188 The Easter Faith of Catherine of Siena Roland Calvert OSFS explains the paradox of Easter faith found not in Catherine's writings but in the activities of her life. Foucauld's Evolving Response tO God's Call Cathy Wright LSJ pictures the unfolding of the vocation of Charles de Foucauld and points to what it says to us about understanding our own vocations. 193 repor U.S. Hispanic Catholics: Trends and Works 1999 Kenneth G. Davis OFMConv, Eduardo C. Fernfindez SJ, and Ver6nica M~ndez RCD present a panoramic of the year's events within the U.S. Hispanic Catholic community. 116 Prisms 209 Canonical Counsel: Location of the Novitiate 214 Book Reviews March-April 2000 116 ~e sometimes put more into preparing for a special event than we put into the actual celebration. We have been preparing during these past years to celebrate the new millennium--our efforts inspired by Pope John Paul II's Tertio Millennio Adveniente. Now that we have entered into the year 2000 we may find ourselves forgetful of the reason for our preparations. The bishops' conferences in many countries have identified various ways that priests, lay people, and religious may enter together into special celebrations that grace our liturgical year. Personally we are faced with the more day-to- day question: What are we doing to celebrate this jubilee year? First we need to recall for ourselves the obvious. What is this jubilee about? The heart of the jubilee year is our cherishing and rejoicing in the fact that the Word was made flesh, God became man, Jesus, Son of God and Son of Mary, was born two thousand years ago. And our world has never been the same. Each of us is called anew to our following of Jesus. How well do we know him? Despite the frequency with which we are exposed to the acronym WWJD, do we feel confident in acting out our response to the question "What would Jesus do?" The very title we proudly bear--Christian--suggests that others can expect to see in us a face of Christ, his action, his love, and his forgiveness. Perhaps, first of all, we need a renewed effort in this jubilee year to foster our friendship with Christ. As we search out the ways helpful to us for growing in our knowledge and love of Jesus (for example, spiritual reading, Bible study, prayer, Eucharist, volunteer service projects), we may find that Jesus' reference to the jubilee text in Isaiah 61 as he proclaims his own mission in Luke 4:18-19 can become our entrance into a way of celebration: Review for Religious The spirit of the Lord is upon me; therefore he has anointed me. He has sent me to bring glad tidings to the poor, to proclaim liberty to captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and release to prisoners, to announce a year of favor from the Lord. The context for such a mission for Jesus and so for us is "to be anointed," "to be sent." The biblical concept of jubilee involves, above all, a call from God. As we make attempts to find ways that we can celebrate, more than rushing to take on pious devotions or vol-unteer ministries, we need to listen to the call of God in our life. A litde more reflection time--listening time--is a pervading essential of a jubilee year. Jubilee and sabbath are intimately connected since jubilee is God's expansion of the sabbath rest. But rest in relation to God is not defined as inactivity; rather, sabbath centers us on taking time for our relationship with God, for enhancing that relationship. In a jubilee time we respond to God's initiative in our way of cele-brating rather than assume the initiative ourselves. Our behavior, then, would be like Jesus'--who describes himself as sent. For Jesus, the initiative is always God's. Our celebrating jubilee begins with our taking the time to be a listener, our being available to God's initiative, our making the effort to enhance our relationship with God. Just as jubilee is related to sabbath, so jubilee is also related to Sunday, the day of Jesus' resurrection. Jubilee celebrates a new begin-ning: drawing on new reserves of resources (for those who feel empty and poor), seeking new visions (for those who are blind or in the dark), enjoying new freedom (for those who suffer from feeling lim-ited and bound). The jubilee ideal for the Israelite people was spelled out in such concrete actions as returning land to original settlers, setting free the slave or servant, and letting the land lie fallow. Every action looked to a newness of life, a renewed beginning. Jesus assumed this dimension of the jubilee ideal as his mission and gave it divine meaning in his resurrection. We, the followers of Jesus and the recipients of his Spirit, continue to follow his example as we cel-ebrate jubilee: we listen to God, we follow God's lead, we imitate Jesus, we act like Christians. Maybe a jubilee year !s a time for us to confound G.K. Chesterton's witty and yet poignant judgment: "Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has not been tried." Our celebration means that we determine to act like Christians, day in day out, all year long. Th~ world around us cer-tainly would be different. We would know a jubilee. David L. Fleming SJ 117 . March-April 2000 MARY JOHNSON Bowling Alone, Living Alone: Current Social Contexts for Living the Vows celibate chastity a symposium The meaning of the vows, sociologically speaking, is drawn from the human context in which they are lived. Sociologically speaking, their significance lies, not in interior inspiration and dedication, but in how they appear different from other ways of life and ways of liv-ing. Religious vows are liv~d in many social contexts. This discussion focuses on two of them, the societal and the communal. For the first, I shall turn to Robert D. Putnam's influential article "Bowling Alone: America's Declining Social Capital" (1995). For the second, I shall refer to the provocative talk given by Sister Doris Gottemoeller RSM at the Wernersville symposium in 1998 and later published in Review for Religious (March-April 1999) and to relevant data from my recent study of women's institutes in the United States. Mary Johnson SNDdeN, an associate professor of sociology at Emmanuel College in Boston, participated in the symposium titled "Celibate Chastity: God's Invitation to Love in a Sexually Confused Culture" held 22-24 October 1999 at the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth in Wernersville, Pennsylvania. This and the next two articles come from that symposium. In this written version Mary Johnson has refocused her original presentation, developing and broadening the topic in the light of the subse-quent papers and discussions. Her address is Sociology Department; Emmanuel College; 400 The Fenway; Boston, Massachusetts 02115. Review for Religious Bowling Alone Harvard Professo~ Robert Putnam, in "Bowling Alone," draws a riveting picture of the result of the loosening of communal bonds across U.S. society in the last thirty years. A commentary on his research in the Chronicle of Higher Education (Heller, 1996) notes that "scores of iournalists have picked up on the implica-tions." Policy makers and government officials, too, have listened to him. Putnam has twice been invited to the White House for brainstorming sessions on the breakdown of American communi-ties. Currently he is writing a book on the subject, doing cross-national research, and participating in workshops that seek solutions to widespread civic disengagement. Putnam notes that "American social scientists of a neo- Tocquevillean bent have unearthed a wide range of empirical evi-dence that the quality of public life and the performance of social institutions (and not only in America) are indeed powerfully influ-enced by norms and networks of civic engagement." He says that these norms and networks are elements of the "social connected-ness" that constitutes the social scientific concept of "social cap-ital." He defines the concept thus: "Social capital refers to features of social organization such as networks, norms, and social trust that facilitate coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit." He continues: "For some reason, life is easier in a commu-nity blessed with a substantial stock of social capital. In the first place, networks of civic engagement foster sturdy norms of gen-eralized reciprocity and encourage the emergence of social trust. Such networks facilitate coordination and communication, amplify reputations, and thus allow dilemmas of collective action to be resolved. When economic and political negotiation is embedded in dense networks of social interaction, incentives for opportunism are reduced. At the same time, networks of civic engagement embody past success at collaboration, which can serve as a cul-tural template for future collaboration. Finally, dense networks of interaction probably broaden the participants' sense of self, devel-oping the T into the 'we.'" Putnam then provides a sweeping overview of the "declined" in social capital in the United States since the 1960s. He begins with politics. Putnam points out that, from the early 1960s to 1990, voter turnout has declined by a quarter in national elec-tions. Since 1973, attendance at town meetings has declined by a third. He states that decline is evident in studies of the numbers March-April 2000 Johnson ¯ Bowling Alone, Living Alone "attending a political rally or speech, serving on a committee of some local organization, and working for a political party." He comments on the loosening of bonds in nuclear and extended families and in neighborhoods. He continues by citing evidence of decline in religious involvement, labor union mem-bership, parent-teacher association involvement, and volunteer-ing in civic, fraternal, and women's organizations like the Red Cross, the Boy Scouts, the Shriners, the Jaycees, and the League of Women Voters. He states that, "after expanding steadily throughout most of [the 20th] century, many major civic organi-zations have experienced a sudden, substantial, and nearly simul-taneous decline in membership over the last decade or two." Putnam concludes this section of his article by referring to the metaphor in his title, which has become a symbol of the dis-integration of communal bonds in the society. He says: "The most whimsical yet discomfiting bit of evidence of social disengage-ment in contemporary America that I have discovered is this: More Americans are bowling today than ever before, but bowling in organized leagues has plummeted in the last decade or so. Between 1980 and 1993 the total number of bowlers in America increased by ten percent, while league bowling decreased by forty percent. The broader social, significance, however, lies in the social inter-action and even occasionally civic conversations over beer and pizza that solo bowlers forg6. Bowling teams illustrate yet another vanishing form of social capital." Putnam gives evidence of some countertrends: the rapid and dramatic rise in membership in certain groups like the Sierra Club, the National Organization for Women, and the American Association of Retired Persons. However, while the political clout of these organizations is considerable, the nature of involvement is vastly different from the organizations discussed previously. Putnam says: "For the vast majority of their members (Sierra, NOW, AARP, and so forth), the only act of membership consists of writing a check for dues or perhaps occasionally reading a newslet-ter. Their ties, in short, are to common symbols, common leaders, and perhaps common ideals, but not to one another. From the point of view of social connectedness, the Environmental Defense Fund and a bowling league are just not in the same category." Putnam identifies two other countertrends: the growth in non-profit organizations, and in support groups. But he argues that these do not fill the role that civic organizations do. He cites soci- Review for Religious ologist Robert Wuthnow's national, study of support groups: "Small groups may not be fostering community as effectively as many of their proponents would like. Some small groups merely provide occasions for individuals to focus on themselves in the presence,of others. The social contract binding members together asserts only the weakest of obligations. Come if you have time. Talk if you feel like it. Respect everyone's opinion. Never criticize. Leave qui-etly if you become dissatisfied. We can imagine that [these small groups] really substitute for families, neigh-borhoods, and broader community attach-ments that may demand lifelong commitments, when, in fact, they do not." Putnam has reflected on causes of and solutions to the breakdown of American communal life. He calls for reinventing community life, but, as an interview arti-cle in the Chronicle of Higher Education says, "the Internet will not do the trick. Nor will nostalgia for a vanishing America. 'Some people have interpreted what I have said as a nostalgic call to return to the 50s. That is not what I say.'" He continues: "It is not just social capital, period. It is social capital that cuts across the existing cleavages in American society. That is, it is not enough that we all start bowling again. There have to be bowling leagues in which people of different races are connecting with one another." He concludes his interview by asserting: "This is the single most important problem facing America. If we can solve this one, if we can get more people engaged in community life in contexts that respect American pluralism, many of our other problems--to begin with, our politics--will be different." Bowling teams illustrate yet another vanishing form of social capital. Beginning the Conversation Putnam's portrait of a society bowling alone has struck a deep chord in the national psyche of Americans. It has caused many to reflect on the fact that our democracy is dependent on a vibrant civic life held together by strong communal bonds. I would argue that Sister Doris Gottemoeller's article "Community Living: Beginning the Conversation" has had a similar effect. Her article has struck a deep chord in the religious psyche of Catholic sis-ters, causing many to ponder what community means to the way March-April 2000 12I Johnson ¯ Bowling Alone, Living Alone of life and mission of apostolic religious in this country. The com-munal bonds that Putnam studies appear weak in a variety of local institutions--family, neighborhood, civic organization, and the like. Both articles point us to a consideration of the quality of communal bonds in local communities of religious. The intent of Sister Doris's article is to "break the silence" about living in community. She believes that "community living may be the 'Achilles' heel' of contemporary apostolic religious life." She says, "Often the mere mention of the topic brings about an awkward silence, embarrassed dismissals, or defensive equivo-cations." She cites a number of reasons for the present silence about the discussion of community life and then raises six questions to begin the conversation: What are we talking about when we talk about community living? What is its theological basis? What can we say about a spirituality for community? What is the role of leadership in creating and sustaining community? What are some special challenges to living community life today? What can we do to renew our community life? I want to focus on the first question here since I believe that it is foundational to .further discussion. Without clear terminology, discussion can lose its way. Sister Doris offers this definition: "Community living is what happens when two or more people relate to one another in a significant, mutually beneficial, and ongoing way." She elaborates on what she means by each of these elements and then concludes that "we are tal~ng about good-faith efforts to live a principal value of religious life. With few excep-tions, it will include a common residence." Building the Structures I begin with Sister Doris's first question bechuse, while much of our rhetbric about ourselves refers to our life in community, I am not convinced that we have a commonly accepted definition. And our inability to arrive at such a definition has implications for ourselves and those who want to join us as sisters. A case in point: A front-page article in the Sunday New York Times (16 January 2000) discusses the efforts of the Sisters of Mercy of New York, New Jersey, and Brooklyn in using modern media tools (a Web site and an advertising campaign) to recruit a new generation of sisters. The article is illustrated with a graphic (recently sent to college campuses in poster form) that includes a catchy picture Revlew for Religious and caption. At the bottom are the words "Sisters of Mercy-- women religious who respond to God's call each day through ser-vice, prayer, and community life." This descriptive is similar to dozens of others used by con-gregations throughout the United States in recruitment efforts. My question now is: What do we mean when we promise new sis-ters community life, and what do they expect to receive when they come? Numbers of women interested in entering, and numbers of newer and not-so-new sisters as well, express a desire to live and pray and share household tasks and support for ministry with sis-ters under the same roof. That is their definition of "community." These women are neither statistically nor substantively insignifi-cant to the present and future of religious life. But it is clear that nowadays the definition of community is often being adapted to mean province life, congregational life, parish life, a circle of inti-mate friends, family members, prayer partners, support and prayer groups within congregations, coworkers, and national and inter-national groups. These broader (or narrower) definitions of com-munity are shared by other numbers of religious. This is a serious issue that has to be addressed. It is one more example of Putnam's finding that communal bonds that have united people to one another on the local level are disintegrating, even while new kinds of linkages are being established. This is not to say that people do not still espouse ideals. But, as Putnam found, they often do so in the abstract or at a distance, through periodic meet-ings, newsletters, or the Internet. But, we have to ask, is this level of engagement adequate to sustain a way of life and mission and to socialize the newer sisters, the majority of whom desire com-munal bonds within communities? This is also not to imply that the relationships with other groups are not important to and essen-tial for life and mission. But, as Putnam said about social con-nectedness, "the Environmental Defense Fund and a bowling league are just not in the same category." Similarly, a group of friends that meets quarterly, a prayer group that meets monthly, and a support group that meets weekly are just not in the same category as a community that lives under the same roof and inter-acts daily. Another question, whether the daily interaction of the community is life-giving, or death-dealing, is an important one, but a different one. Often the two questions are conflated, thus bringing conversation about community to a dead halt. ~larch-April 2000 Johnson * Bowling Alone, Living Alone The work of sharply defining and rebuilding community is essential to the mission and future of apostolic religious life in the United States and other nations where religious life struggles to free itself from the hegemonic hold of middle-class values. This effort is as radical as previous clear and unequivocal claims that the preferential option for the poor means the materially poor. Because many people were willing to work to prevent the word poor from being stretched to meaninglessness and the resultant loss of its prophetic power, we now have a new generation of young Catholics in the United States who claim, in a survey our research team recently conducted, that concern for the poor and the belief that God is present in a special way in the poor are essential dimensions of the Catholic faith (Dinges et al., p. 13). That work, of almost three decades ago, toward a clear and unequivocal def-inition of "the poor" has galvanized energy and commitment to the poor today, especially on the part of the young. In sociology there are dozens of uses for the term community. M1 members of the church, whether single or married, clergy or religious, find themselves embedded in all kinds of groups-fami-lies and parishes and prayer, work, neighborhood, ethnic, national, and international or global groups--which they sometimes describe as their "community." Those social networks will only increase and multiply in the years ahead as technology becomes even more sophisticated. The time seems to be right, especially in the midst of conversations about new forms of religious life, for a case to be made by those who believe that local community life with strong communal bonds is fundamental, not incidental, to apostolic religious life and its mission. This need becomes more acute in light of data given below, data I collected recently in my national study (funded by Lilly Endowment) of women's institutes in the United States. (The .publication of the data from the entire study is forthcoming.) Gathering data from apostolic, monastic, and evangelical orders, the survey was responded to by 70 percent of the women's institutes, institutes that represent 84 percent of the sisters in the United State~. The survey indicates that there are 18,052 com-munities (local houses). The vast majority are apostolic commu-nities. The unit of analysis here is the community, the local house. The table reads as follows: 49 percent of the religious houses in the United States have one sister residing in them, 20 percent of the houses have two sisters, and 9 percent have three sisters; 2 percent Review for Religious of the houses have more than 20 sisters residing in them. Community Size Percentage of houses Number of sisters 49 One 20 Two 9 Three 7 Four 4 Five 6 6-10 2 11-15 1 16-20 2 Over 20 Do these data surprise you? What explains them? How does your congregation compare? What has been lost and gained in this new configuration of houses? Surveying the sisters who entered religious life from 1966 to 1998--the post-Vatican II entrants, not a statistically or substan-tively insignificant generation--I asked the following questions. If you had your preference right now, with whom would you prefer to live? No one 8.8 percent An ecumenical group 0.7 percent An interfaith group 0.4 percent Married couple(s) 0.1 percent Single lay person(s) 0.9 percent Men and women religious 3.8 percent Sisters of my own institute 64.1 percent Children 0.2 percent Teens/young adults 0.1 percent Family members 0.3 percent Intercongregationally - 5.3 percent Combination of my sisters and one of the above 15.2 percent If you bad your preference right now, with how many sisters would you prefer to live? With none 11 percent With one other sister 14 percent With two other sisters 12 percent In a group of 4-7 sisters 45 percent In a group of 8-10 sisters 6 percent In a group of 11-15 sisters 2 percent In a group of 16-20 sisters 4 percent In a group of more than 20 sisters : 6 percent March-April 2000 ~obnson ¯ Bowling Alone, Living Alone Which of these data surprise you? What might explain these data? What further discussions do we need to have in light of these data? How do these issues of community relate to mission? What place does community hold in the life of apostolic congregations? Living in Community In light of Putnam's data, it seems that the creation of com-munal bonds is truly countercultural; that is, it goes against the prevailing value of social disconnectedness and weak, superficial, or nonexistent bonds among people and groups on the local level in the wider society. Countercultural living is one of the hallmarks of religious life. Can these issues be addressed in this light? One challenge to the conversation has to do with the social and communal contexts in which we live. The vows are not only lived within a wider society, marked by looser communal bonds and a religious life characterized by primarily monadic, dyadic, and triadic configurations. The vows are also lived against a hege-monic middle-class culture in which individualism, privatism, and materialism are cornerstones. Another challenge is the personal. Some sisters have had to move into various communal arrangements over the years because of ministry. But sometimes ministry concerns can serve to eclipse .any conversation about community. Some sisters have not been community builders or sustainers in the past. Can these issues be revisited again at this new moment? The challenge is compounded by the fact that many sisters holding key positions in the min-istries of leadership, formation work, vocation work, academia, pastoral work and counseling, national conference work, parish and diocesan work, congregational service, and so forth live alone. Can we be certain to include them in this conversation, even if we have sometimes avoided this issue altogether because they are our friends? Sometimes, when people do live with others, there seems to be a sense that, because of their work, the fewer persons living in the house, the better. Greater numbers of people are seen as deen-ergizing people for mission rather than energizing them. One hears gasps, even groans, when someone says that she lives with several sisters. Memories of the past rise up and seem to choke any attempt to talk about living with more than two other people, an arr.angement that might better accommodate needs of miriistry Review for Religious and hospitality, congregational responsibilities, household tasks, and the maintaining of "breathing room." Can we get to this level in the conversation? The inability to discuss some of these issues is all the more .troubling given the fact that the Catholic Church in the United States continues to grow. It now stands at 62 million people, the largest religious body in the nation, with 20 million of its members in their 20s and 30s. It is paradoxical that, as the church grows, the size of religious houses shrinks. At the same time, vocation and formation personnel continue to plead for more space for possible aspirants and newer sisters. Celibacy in Culture It is against the backdrop of these social and communal con-siderations that I present a brief overview of recent studies in human sexuality. The intended and unintended consequences of uncoupling the vows from community living (a phenomenon now several decades old) need, I' am convinced, to be analyzed regard-ing the mutual relationship each of the three vows has with com-munity. That is, how does celibacy shape community and community shape celibacy? How does poverty shape community and community shape poverty? And so forth. For the purposes of this symposium, we shall focus on celibacy. The studies in human sexuality point to new possibilities for the meaning of this vow: that, together with community, it can provide a radical gospel-based witness to countercultural values. Groups who live this vow well, sharing together the depth of a nongenitally expressed intimacy, give witness to one of the deep-est yearnings of this culture. The celibacy of a group gives proof to the whole society that its yearnings for intimacy can be ful-filled, that it is possible to love deeply and celibately and to do so together, without harsh lonliness. Celibate groups witness to the fact that the journey does not have to be made in isolation, that even this seemingly lonely vow is to be shared. Communities with strong communal bonds and deep celibate love witness also to a love that can cross the seemingly uncrossable social lines of gen-eration, race, and social class, to name just three. It is especially to the young that we must go with this news since they are the objects of so much manipulation about whom to love and how to love. Some of them say that because of this they are afraid to love. We, March-April 2000 127 - Johnson ¯ Bowling Alone, Living Alone whose public identities are so clearly tied to a unique way of liv-ing love, have a corporate responsibility to speak about what we have learned about love to a society paradoxically satiated by sex-ual excess and starved for intimacy. While no studies of human sexuality are perfect because of people's tendencies to overreport or underreport sexual practice, we can glean, from data collected in the following studies, some insights as to how to share the gift that has been given us. The first attempt at a systematic look at issues of human sex-uality was conducted by Alfred Kinsey. Considered a pioneer, Kinsey began his research in the 1930s, and his assertions stood for almost four decades. His work, however, was not without problems. He did not use a sample; he relied upon volunteers to serve as respondents, and so their responses were not representative of the population as a whole. In later years Masters and Johnson, too, used volunteers, involving their work in the same difficulty of being nongeneralizable. Nongeneralizable work can, however, provide important insights on other levels. Sociologist Lillian Rubin, in the United States in the late 1980s, interviewed a thou-sand people between the ages of thirteen and forty-eight about their sexual practices. One significant finding was that sexual activ-ity begins early among today's teens and that teen sexual practices are similar to those of adults. The National Health and Social Life Survey (NHSLS) of the 1990s was the first national scientific study of sexual practices. Rather than enlisting volunteers, it used probability sampling to find its respondents. A thumbnail sketch of some of the findings follows. First, there has been and increase in the level of pre-marital sex, especially among women. Over 95 percent of U.S. men and women getting married ~oday have been sexually active before marriage. One in five women have reported being forced to perform sexual acts against their will. The perpetrator was often known by the women; sometimes it was someone they loved, including their own husbands. On the other hand, only 3 percent of men reported that they had forced women to perform sexual acts. The researchers, struck by the gender gap, hypothesized' that the gap was due not only to underreporting by the men but also to their failure to recognize their behavior as coercive. The survey also found that 2.8 percent of men and 1.4 percent of women identified themselves as gay, lesbian, or bisexual. This Review for Religious stands in contradiction to the Kinsey report of 1948, wherein 10 percent of the population was estimated to be homosexual. Groups challenged the NHSLS findings, arguing that the percentages are too small. The research team responded by saying that, although larger percentages of gays, lesbians, and bisexuals are found in urban areas and in other enclaves in the United States, the survey findings reflect national, not local or regional, reality. The researchers analyzed their data according to religion and level of education. The Catholic data here indicate that the median number of sex partners since age eighteen was three. Thirteen percent of the Catholics had no sex part-ners in the previous year, 72 percent had one sex partner, 13 percent had 2 to 4 sex partners, and 3 percent had 5 or more sex partners. Which of the above findings surprise you? Which do not? How can discus-sions about sexuality improve our rela-tionship with and commitment to all of the people of God? Beyond these questions, it seems to me that further discussion on living the vows in community might be helped by the following questions: ¯ In light of the studies on human sexu-ality, how do we talk about celibacy and how do we support celibacy? ¯ What kind of norms and structures are in place in those communities which exhibit strong communal bonds? ¯ In those communities, how are the following values manifest: personal and communal prayer? celebration and mealtimes? ecological sensi-tivity? hospitality? concern for social justice and the poor? a sim-ple lifestyle? loving support? trust and joy? concern for the ministry and apostolic call of each sister~ fidelity to the call of the wider congregation and to the people of God? ¯ What are the forces, besides ministry or mission, that have pushed some people to live alone or live with their best friend? ¯ How can we resolve issues about community of the past so that we can move toward envision.ing community for the present and future? ¯ How can we unite our efforts to build strong commu-nities and to learn how to live together with the efforts of other groups, especially couples and families, who are also trying to How can discussions about sexuality improve our relationship with and commitment to all of the people of God? 129 March-April 2000 Johnson ¯ Bowling Alone, Living Alone r learn how to live together, to resolve conflicts peacefully, and to enjoy life together? ¯ How can we unite our efforts to balance ministry and community with the efforts of so many in the soci-ety who yearn for a healthier balance of work and family life? These conversations may not be easy becatise they will require crossing a major, though subtle, divide between those who see liv-ing in community as essential and those who see it as incidental. By not engaging in these conversations, however, we uninten-tionally contribute to negative effects on recruitment, retention, and mission. In the midst of wide-ranging and sometimes obfus-cating discussions on new forms of religious life, the voices of those who are committed to the radical gospel-values contained in the vowed apostolic life as it is lived in community have been eerily silent. Perhaps the time has come for many more sisters to break the taboo. References Dinges, William, Dean R. Hoge, Mary Johnson, and Juan L. Gonzalez Jr. "A Faith Loosely Held: The Institutional Allegiance of Young Catholics." Commonweal, 17 July 1998, 13-18. Gotternoeller, Doris, RSM. "Community Living: Beginning the Conversation." Review for Religious 58, no. 2 (March-April 1999): 137-149. Heller, Scott. "Harvard Professor Examines America's Fading Sense of Community." Chronicle of Higher Education, 1 March 1996, A10. Putnam, Robert D. "Bowling Alone: America's Declining Social Capital." Journal of Democracy 6, no. 1 (January 1995): 65-78. Many foreign missionaries depend upon people like you who donate subscriptions for them to Review for Religious. To start a subscription for a deserving missionary, please send $24 to: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Blvd. ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108 To pay by credit card, phone: 314-977-7363. Review for Religious KEITH CLARK Celibate Life Offers Insights poerhaps the most countercultural statement that will come ut of this conference is its title. This may be the only gath-ering that states boldly that we live in a "sexually confused cul-ture." My experience of the past twenty years suggests that an ever increasing number of people with backgrounds in an ever widen-ing array of disciplines have attempted to pronounce the last word in just about all areas of human sexuality. We sit here and suggest that our culture is sexually confused. Audacious! I have no "last word" to offer on the topic. The most recent word I have spoken to myself is this: I want to write to the Holy Father and ask him to change the discipline of mandatory celibacy as a prerequisite for presbyteral ordination in the Roman Church. My reason is this: The witness of a celibate life well lived is thor-oughly obscured in our society, in our church, by the assumption on the part of most that those who are committed to a celibate life have made the commitment reluctantly in order to achieve the status of ordination. Since ordination does not have that much status in the eyes of most people, there is little impetus to con-sider seriously either a celibate lifestyle or ordination. The thou-sands of women and men religious who are committed to a celibate life are somehow lumped with those who are assumed to be reluc-tant celibates for the sake of some other pursuit. Keith Clark OFMCap presented this paper at a symposium titled "Celibate Chastity: God's Invitation to Love in a Sexually Confused Culture," held in October 1999 at the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth in Wernersville, Pennsylvania. His address is St. Lawrence Friary; 301 Church Street; Mount Calvary, Wisconsin 53057. March-April 2000 Clark ¯ Celibate Life Offers Insights I would make my request of the Holy Father not because I think celibacy has no relevance to our culture, but rather so that the celibate life well lived will better communicate to our culture what our culture so desperately needs to understand. A celibate life well lived can communicate to our culture a powerful message about the nature and meaning of human sexu-ality, the unique nature of Christian marriage, and the motivation for the church's ministry. In order to live a celibate life well, a priest or religious must engage in prayer and ministry in a way that fosters that life. These are the points I intend to develop. The Nature and Meaning of Human Sexuality To understand the nature of human sexuality, we have to go beyond exclusive concentration on the study of genetic markers, synapses in the brain, and the other fascinations of scientific explo-ration in order to understand how human beings are moved to come together in a sexual encounter and commitment. My experience suggests that I am sexual on three levels. First, I know myself to be sexual on the biological level. I have a biolog-ical sexual apparatus which works. It is entirely instinctual. And ir works no matter how I understand or misunderstand it. My bio-logical sexual apparatus is clearly designed to bring me together with a female member of my species for the purpose of making other human beings. (See the Nova series program The Miracle of Life.) The impetus I receive from my biological level to come together with another human being is pleasure. Genital sexual activity is pleasurable. I identify this impetus as my biological sex-ual urge. It can be, and is, the subject of scientific inquiry. I know myself to be sexual on the biopsychological level. In most instances, this is experienced as being sexual in an emotional way. It is that amazing level of the human being which allows one's body to affect one's psyche, and one's psyche to affect one's body. The blush in the cheeks in response to embarrassment in one's psyche is possible because of our biopsychological makeup: In terms of my sexuality, the biopsychological level is that in me which allows some things to have sexual significance for me and which, therefore, stir my biological sexual apparatus. This is the seat of romantic interest. This level of sexuality is both instinc-tual and learned. I am born with the capacity to recognize some things as having sexual significance, and I learn some things that Review for Religious have sexual significance for me. I learn these things, not because somebody sits me down and talks to me, but because of the "minute displays of emotion" (Erik Erikson) which I pick up from my sur-roundings. What has sexual significance varies from one culture to another. (See the movie Walkabout.) The impetus I receive from my biopsychological level to come together with other human beings is emotional fascination. Romantic sexual activity is exciting. I iden-tify this impetus as my biopsychological sexual drive. It can be, and is, the subject of scientific inquiry, especially today, since this level includes one's sexual orientation. Most discussions of human sexuality stop after genital sexual urges and romantic sexual drives have been spoken about. These are the levels we humans share with the higher forms of animal life. Whatever else is said about human sexuality is frequently thought to be the in the realm of religionists and ethicists, taking the form of advice and instruction on how to ride the beast which has been described in considering the biological and biopsychological levels. But, even in the higher forms of animal life, there is another level: the level of sexual need. In the animal world, the sexual need is that the species continue. This sexual need instinctually regulates or moderates the activity of the urges and drives. The biological urges and the biopsychological drives of male dogs are activated only when the need of the species can be met, when there is in the vicinity a female dog in heat. It is filling this sexual need that gives meaning to all the sexual activity. At the level of sexual need, we human beings differ from the higher forms of animal life in two ways. First, we are spiritual beings, and our personal needs are not entirely subjugated to the needs of the species. We have also a personal sexual need, that is, our need for intimacy with other human beings. Second, in human beings the sexual need for the species and the personal sexual need for intimacy do not instinctually moderate our sexual urges and drives. Because we are persons (spiritual), we have an intellect and will. We must moderate our sexual urges and drives by insight and freedom, or they will not be moderated. Because the activity of our biological urges and our biopsy-chological drives is not instinctually moderated, human beings can engage in genital and romantic pursuits without any reference to the personal need for intimacy or the need of the species to con-tinue. Thus, people have invented contraception and abortion, which divorce sexual activity from the need of the species, and March-April 2000 Clark ¯ Celibate Life Offers Insights have invented free love and sexual promiscuity as well, which divorce sexual activity from the personal need for intimacy. The gratification of people's sexual urges and drives is accepted as ade-quate meaning for sexuality. "If it feels good, do it." Urges and drives impel people to behave in ways that will fill their sense of need. If the gratification of their sexual urges and drives alone brought sexual fulfillment, ours would be the most sexually fulfilled culture in the world. In fact, human sexual activ-ity can find its meaning only in the filling of the human sexual need for intimacy. Intimacy is the "simultaneous fusing and coun-terpointing of personalities" (Erikson). It is spirit touching spirit. It is allowed to arise in human life through the dynamics of self-awareness, self-disclosure, and listening in prayer. Among the ways those dynamics can be expressed are genital and romantic pur-suits. But, among married, single, and celibate people, intimacy can arise without genital and romantic pursuits. A celibate life well lived reveals this meaning of human sexu-ality. Celibacy is not merely abstinence from genital and romantic pursuits; that by itself will not lead to personal sexual fulfillment in intimacy. A celibate life well lived is the pursuit of intimacy, sex-ual fulfillment, in ways which do not include romantic and geni-tal pursuits. It is a way of loving people, not because I am urged or driven to do so because they have sexual significance to me, but because they are deserving of love whether they appeal to me or not. The celibate man or woman stands as a support to spouses in their pursuit of intimacy, whether at the moment the spouses are romantically driven or genitally urged or not. The celibate woman or man stands as a support to all people in their pursuit of con-nectedness with other human beings for reasons quite distinct from their attractiveness to us. The Unique Nature of Christian Marriage Although a celibate commitment is most often spoken of as a distinct contrast to married life, the two states of life are intimately related within the believing Christian community. The marriage of Christians is different from the way other people marry. Christian marriage is a sacrament because it is a vis-ible sign of what cannot be seen. Christian marriage is not merely a response to the genital and romantic feelings the spouses have for each other. The commitment of spouses to each other is a com- Review for Religious mitment to be there for each other for life, no matter what. It is a sign of how fully Christ has taken us all to himself. A celibate commitment is not a sacrament: it points to some-thing that can be seen, but might not be recognized for what it is. The celibate commitment points to what is unique in the com-mitment of Christian married couples. The committed celibate within the believing community asks all people to recognize the unique basis for Christian marriage. The Motivation of the Church's Ministry in the World A committed celibate life is a lifestyle, not a ministry. That lifestyle, however, points to that which is the basis of all church ministry. The church's ministry is caring for one another within the community and taking care of our world. It is based on the min-istry of Jesus, who said, "I have come, not to be served, but to serve." Church ministry to its members and to the rest of the world is not based on the driven components of human love, nor is it merely philanthropy called for by the needs people have. It is based on Jesus' commandment to love one another as he loved us. Again, the committed celibate life points to something that can be seen (the ministry), but might not be recognized for what it is. There is, accordingly, an argument from "fittingness" to be made for a celibate commitment in the ordained ministers who preside at our Eucharists and who order the church's ministry. A church might well want to select those who will lead and order our ministry from the ranks of those who say by their lifestyle, and not just their words and actions, that ministry is about loving people for reasons other than their attractiveness to us. Prayer and Ministry, the Sources of Strength for Celibate Living The great fear ] hear from young people is that a committed celibate life would be a lonely life, while marriage is a life filled with intimacy. I think that, in general, human lives are neither lonely nor intimate. Life has lonely moments and intimate moments. Married people stand ready to enter fully and vulnera-bly life's intimate moments, and to find God there concretely. Celibate people stand ready to enter fully and vulnerably life's lonely moments, and to find God there concretely. March-April 2000 . !36- ! Clark * Celibate Life Offers Insights Let me share with you my entering a lonely moment and find-ing God concretely. I was sitting in my office in Milwaukee, prepar-ing a continuing-education report for the provincial council. I began to daydream: I was before that council, not to give a report, but to receive a new assignment. I was being congratulated on my performance in the job I was leaving, and then the provincial asked me what job I would like to do next. I said, "I really don't care. But please, gentlemen, give me a job I can do well that will have some significance in your eyes." The daydream faded, and I sat at my desk pondering what I had heard myself say to the provinci.al council. I was not pleased with what I recognized. What I had said seemed rather mean and cheap. I wondered if the approval of others might be what moti-vated much of my behavior, or all of it! I could feel myself blush at this bit of self-awareness. I was surprised at myself, and I was having a difficult time accepting myself as I now knew myself to be. I felt very fragile. But I stayed with this line of thought and emo-tion, and seemed to reach an even greater depth, where I inwardly smiled sheepishly while disclosing to God who and how I was. At that depth I realized that God was not surprised at my motiva-tion. God had known it all along. It was news only to me! And I realized that God was not having a difficult time accepting me. God had for years accepted me as I was. There was a knock at my office door. I said, "Come in." It was Jeannie, supposedly my secretary, but really the one who runs the office. She was incredibly efficient and competent. I looked at her and, for the first time, wondered whether she sometimes felt as fragile as I did. If she did, I was much more open to accept-ing her that way. I was able to connect with her more intimately than I could have before. It was as if, with the mask of my own self-sufficiency stripped away, I could see beyond the efficiency (and self-sufficiency?) of another and get a glimpse of the perhaps fragile human being who lived there. It is not only this kind of self-awareness, self-disclosure, and listening in prayer that can bring a person to a moment of intimacy with God; so can ministry. Committed celibate persons can have as many moments of intimacy in their life as any married or single people can. There remains, however, a crack in the sidewalk that celibate people might trip on. I learned about this while visiting a couple to give them a chance to talk about a Capuchin they knew and loved who Review for Religious had suddenlY left the community with the intention to marry a young woman from town. As we were preparing to have a drink at their kitchen table, Don said, "I think you and my wife ought to go sit on the porch swing and talk for a while." So we did. Mary and I had talked for a short while about Ralph's departure when she said suddenly, "You don't belong to anybody, Keith Clark, and you never should! Ralph used to belong to all of us, but now he belongs to Jennifer." I thought often about Mary's observation, and I realized that the human desire to belong uniquely to another human being is a desire which will not be fulfilled in my life. About me no one will ever say "my husband" or "my father." And even if they say "my priest" or "my Capuchin," it does not ring true. I will never belong uniquely to any human being. And this is a void where I might fall. I need to fill ~hat void by developing my sense of belong-ing uniquely to God. I find I do this most readily in ministry. I learned a lesson from the full-sized red Hawthorne bicycle that my father gave me right after World War II ended. The bicycle was too large for me. My legs were too short for my feet to reach the pedals. My father put wooden blocks on both sides of the pedals, which allowed me to reach them. Even at the young age of six or seven, I knew that to have a new bicycle was very exceptional. The "war effort" had taken most of the steel available in the nation, and production of peacetime products like bicycles was just getting underway. I knew, too, that I was uniquely the object of my father's love. He did not buy other people a bicycle; other fathers in the neigh-borhood were not buying bicycles for their children. This gift from my father was unique. It took a few lessons from my father to get me up and pedal-ing. He would run alongside me, holding on to the back of the bicycle seat until I had gotten up enough speed to keep the bicy-cle from falling over. Eventually I mastered it. The bicycle stood up well to my use and occasional abuse of it. It lasted well into my newspaper-carrier days, when we added a large basket over the front wheel. I have thought of that red bike often. It taught me a lesson about gifts and how they are to be used and enjoyed. If I had let A committed celibate life is a lifestyle, not a ministry. 137 March-April 2000 Clark ¯ Celibate Life Offers Imigbts I used to think that God gave me gifts so I could do things for other people. that bicycle stand on the front porch to be admired but not used, I do not think I would have made my father very happy. If I had waited until I had a paper route before I used it, I think my father would have been disappointed. Even telling him over and over how much I loved the bicycle and how grateful I was would, I am sure, not have been enough to please him. He gave me the bicy-cle to use and to enjoy. It was a long time before I understood that the gifts I receive from God are much like the bicycle I received from my father. I used to think that God gave me gifts so I could do things for other people. I missed the fact that my gifts are unique and that they are a sign of God's unique love for me. For a long time I was afraid to enjoy using them. Now I allow myself to enjoy using my gifts. I can listen to people and can understand a lot of what they tell me. Sometimes I can even say the needed word, the right word, in response to them. It is a gift from God. Sometimes a seminary student coming to me for spiritual direction feels much better after we have talked. When he leaves my office, I realize that I was able to hear and understand him because of the skills and talents God has given me through my life's experiences. I know that no one else could have done for that student exactly what I did. Some people could have done more than I did; oth-ers could have done something different but equally helpful. But no one could have done just what I did. I sit back and enjoy what I have just done. Then I tell God, "Thank you," knowing I am loved uniquely. Culture and Counterculture These things could be more easily understood and more inte-grally and effectively practiced if we lived in a world of real mean-ing. Until such time as our culture moves into that real world, we continue to live our lives of celibate commitment as a "value radi-ation center" (Van Kaam) so that the values of the real world do not become completely obscured by the understandings and practices of the less-than-real world in which we and others unavoidably continue to live. Review for Religious DAVID L. FLEMING Discerning Our Celibate Way in Our Culture In this third presentation of the 1999 Wernersville symposium, want to gather together the themes of the two previous pre-sentations and then point out the work ahead of us. The topic I have been given has three clear parts, from the words contempo-rary culture, celibates, and discern. Our two previous presentations have clarified our understanding of the first two terms, culture and celibates. Let me highlight several points. Mary Johnson SNDdeN has given us a snapshot picture of our culture and its attitude toward chastity. She began by pointing out difficulties in making an assessment. We, along with other peo-ple, may be overly impressed by flurries of sound-bite judgments proffered by the media or by generalizations stated by pulpit ora-tors. "All college-age students do . " "In our country everyone. ¯." Trying to go beyond impressions towards what we call factual information, we find some security in statistics and in popular polls. But, even with a carefully constructed statistical study, there remains the difficulty of overreporting or underreporting, espe-cially if the issue is a delicate one, such as sexuality and sexual behavior. For example, when reporting sexual mores, it seems that men tend to exaggerate their sexual knowledge or activity because of a macho stance, and that women tend to be reticent about sex-ual activity because of fear, shame, or a sense of propriety. Johnson stressed that there have been three significant statis-tical studies Of sexuality and sexual behavior in the United States: David L. Fleming SJ is editor of this journal. March-dlrri12000 . Fleming ¯ Discerning Our Celibate Way the Kinsey studies in the 1950s, a much smaller but somewhat more sophisticated study at the beginning of the 1990s, and the apparently best-balanced report from the mid 1990s. From these reports we learn something about behavior patterns in our times. When certain reported behaviors surprise or shock our own sense of morality and that of our church, we must be careful that our first response is not to deny the evidence. Once we take note of that caution, what might we observe about the value and living of celibate chastity as reported in our contemporary culture? In the current U.S. culture, we have widespread evidence that sexual activity is no longer considered to be restricted to marriage. Because of the easy avail~ibility of contraceptive pills and condoms, sexual activity is no longer tied to the possibility of pregnancy; rather, it is considered just one more among desirable and plea-surable human activities. A more frightening result of this atti-tude equating sexual activity with recreational pleasure is the easy and frequent acceptance of abortion. We are not surprised that in the reporting of behaviors we note a true gender gap. Men readily report that the woman is a consensual partner, whereas women indicate that they feel pres-sured or coerced by the male. Statistics, then, provide evidence of a gender gap, especially in reading the other sex's behavior signals. In our culture there is a great deal of confusion around the terms intimacy and sexuality. Often the two are identified. But sex-uality can be acted out with little sense of intimacy. Intimacy, on the other hand, does not need to be expressed sexually. Young peo-ple, especially, are looking for intimacy and use sexuality as its mistaken route. Studies give evidence of this behavior pattern. What does celibacy or celibate chastity mean to people in our U.S. culture? It is evident that the celibate vocation is not esteemed or looked upon as a kind of ideal. Rather, in our times, it more readily signifies, especially for large numbers of young adults, sexual dysfunction or pedophiliac tendencies or stunted personality growth. We must be aware, then, that our contem-porary culture has little regard for chastity or celibacy. Its sign value has to be significantly rethought and expressed anew in order to be seen and understood for what it is and what we who live it want it to be. In his turn, Keith Clark OFMCap presented a contemporary picture of the meaning and living of chastity and celibacy. Chastity is the pursuit of consistent behaviors--for marriage, one set of Review for Religious behaviors, and for those professing celibate chastity, another set of behaviors. We need to look at the sexual makeup of the animal species, acknowledge the commonalities we have as human beings, and then carefully pay attention to how we humans go beyond the reproductive drive and mating seasons common to the animal species. We realize our human need for insight into sexual behav-ior and for our exercise of freedom in regard to it. Once again we note that there is the human need for intimacy and that this is not identical with genital activity. Clark stated clearly his notion of celibacy. "A celibate life well lived is the pursuit of intimacy, sexual fulfillment, in ways which do not include romantic and genital pur-suits." Celibacy as a Christian vocation means that we pursue a way of loving people, not because we are so urged or driven, but because people are deserv-ing of love. They are children of God. Both presentations stressed the importance of "norms" for appropriate behaviors in living celibate chastity in a community or group lifestyle. Cultures as large as an ethnic group and as small as a particular religious congregation have developed their own parameters for acceptable behaviors in connection with the affectio~is. These cultures get expressed in norms that guide the consistent behavior of group members. Members of a group have a responsibility to observe the norms expected of participants. We who live celibate lives as members of a priestly order or as members of a religious congregation need to have norms that are agreed as guides for the behavior expected of the whole group. After looking at our contemporary culture with the help of Johnson and getting, with Clark's guidance, a sense of a con-temporary expression of lived celibate chastity, we focus now on the word discern, which is meant to be the connective between the two terms. How do we discern the living of celibate chastity in our culture? What is it to discern? I believe that celibacy, properly under-stood, has a necessary connection with the ability to discern. Celibacy or celibate chastity understood in a Christian manner is a way of loving, a way of relating to others. It is not enough to Members of a group have a responsibility to observe the norms expected of participants. March~April 2000 Fleming ¯ Discerning Our Celibate Way say that celibacy means not being married or that to be chaste means just not engaging in or enjoying sexual activity. It is not enough to equate celibacy with a certain ritual purity. To limit our chastity ideal to these kinds of description fixes us in a pagan or pre-Christian understanding. Sad to say, many older explanations about the vow of chastity, and some contemporary ones too, could well have been written by a good pagan. Celibacy cannot be ade-quately defined in terms of what it is not or what it lacks. Celibacy is understood and lived in terms of what it is and does. Celibate chastity describes a way of loving, loving the way that Jesus loved. Because celibacy is a way of loving, there is a true sense that we are always growing in our life of loving celibately. We cannot lose our chastity; we never "had" it so that we could lose it. We are always growing into being a chaste lover, a lover like Christ. We grow in our loving chastely, or we find ourself becoming less of a chaste lover. We make choices of behaviors that enhance our life-direction (which is meant to be a growing more and more to love as Jesus loves), or we find ourself slipping (all too humanly, through selfishness or focus on self) into more and more limited ways of loving. We do not need to be a loving person to make a decision. Individualism rampant in U.S. culture is the seedbed of a lot of decision making. Even in religious life we sometimes hear glowing reports about the new growth in our understanding of the vow of obedience based on human decision making. We say that we have moved from a kind of infantile dependence to a relationship where authority's only role is to support the individual's decision. Yet, if we understood how obedience and chastity are intertwined, and that discernment is not possible where love is not involved, then we might not be so self-satisfied with our own share in the indi-vidualistic decision making often observable in religious life. Evaluated from a religious point of view, personal decision making is not deserving of praise if love of God has had no play in it. Discernment and obedience can be understood and practiced only by one who loves. Perhaps questions about authority/obedience are more about the love quality of religious life than about respon-sible decision making. When people make decisions about sexual activity, they can decide to use this person for their pleasure. They can decide that treating someone in this sex-object way is what pleases them. What they want to do and what feels good decides their choices in this Review for Religious typical American individualistic stance. People live as though they are the center of their world, and this stance acts as the foundation of their choices. In order to discern, however, we need to be a loving person, one who lives in an expansive (always open to other people's inter-ests) world. People who are caught up in an individualistic way of thinking and acting are incapable of making a discernment. Why? Because discernment is a sensitive listening to God speaking to us through interior movements, that is, feelings and inspirations. Discernment is a lover's instinct. Probably most of us have had the expe-rience of this kind of interior commu-nication between ourself and a close friend. No words are spoken, but a lot gets communicated. When persons are dear to us, we know what pleases them and what annoys them. We listen, not to any externally spoken words, but to the person, and we can respond instinctively--if we are people who love. ls this kind of sensitivity, so familiar to us in our human loves, possible between God and ourself?. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, it has always been recog-nized that discernment is a gifting of God. St. Paul identifies dis-cernment as a special gift to members of the Christian community through Christ's sending of the Spirit. A number of holy men and women have shared their insights into the gift of discernment, how to pray for it, how to grow as a discerning person, and how to make a decision-making process a true discernment. St. Ignatius Loyola especially is renowned for the practical application of dis-cernment procedures for an understanding of What spirit is mov-ing us and for a method of coming to a decision through such a discernment of spirits. Discernment is about making practical life-dealing decisions not just with prayerful prudence, but with our will attuned to the will of God our Father. We are trying to love the way Jesus loved. Jesus prayed a lot; he prayed in order to deepen his relationship with God and so to express his love. The dialogue of prayer is a dialogue of love. Prayer is not discernment, but without prayer there is no discernment. Why? Because discernment is a grace given to a lover. VCe see it clearly in Jesus. Discernment marks Jesus' choices. In the crisis moment in Gethsemane, Jesus in agony Discernment remains always a gift, a growing in a lover's sensitivity. 143- Marcia-April 2000 Fleming ¯ Discerning Our Celibate Way pours out his prayer and in love can say, "Not my will, but yours be done." One who loves has a sense of, a feel for, what pleases the one who is loved. To be a discerning person means that we must be a free person: free of self-will, free of prejudice, free of being locked into doing what is expected (to be accepted, to save face, and so on). We see this freedom in Jesus. Discernment remains always a gift, a growing in a lover's sensitivity, just as Jesus grew in his sen-sitivity to his Father's will up to the end: "Into your hands, I com-mend my spirit." In other words, we never just "have" discernment, as it were, as our possession. We need always to acknowledge dis-cernment as a dynamic grace or gift. As Jesus' special gifting of the Spirit to us, his followers, discernment is always to be rever-enced, esteemed, and lived in our choices. Discernment affects our living of celibate chastity on three levels: (1) the body or the physical, being at home with our sexual makeup; (2) the soul or the psychological, being at home with our affections; and (3) the spirit or the spiritual, being at home with God. Let me develop each of these levels. 1. As people who are trying to love as Jesus loves, we need to love our own incarnation, that is, we must love our own bodili-ness. Acceptance of our sexuality helps us to be like Jesus. For Jesus was sexual and celibate and a man who loved. Jesus is so much at home with his body that he keeps it with him forever. And that is his promise of resurrection for us. To be at home with our body, then, is a Christian attitude to grow in and to deepen. We make the choice to love the body that God gave us. In our culture we know how much we try to run from or deny the failings connected with bodiliness, for example, the whole process of aging. With a cul-ture that wallows in sexuality, especially its genital aspects, we may think that our countercultural stance should be to run from or deny our own sexuality in order to bd the good celibate. But our Christian viewpoint sees sexuality and the way it shapes our relat-ing and our loving, all our life long, as a gift of God to us. Living in gratitude for God's gift, we find that being at home with our own body is the only way for us to love as Jesus loves. 2. We celibates must also be at home with our affectivity. There is no such thing as loving in the abstract; we love the flesh-and- blood people that come into our lives. To love in general is not to love at all. Yet, when we try to love the people that God brings into our life, we find difficulties with the way they dress, the way they talk, even the way they sexually attract us or not. I have always Review for Religious admired the healthy quality of the bawdiness found in Chaucer or in Shakespeare as representative of the peoples of their times. We--especially people vowed to chastity--need to laugh at our affective responses sometimes so embarrassing to us and so little under our control. We may even be surprised at a sexual response we feel in prayer or even at communion time. This is the moment to recall that we are God's creation, enfleshed, with all its humor, distress, and bedazzlement. We thank him for being the ones in whom he delights. We need to give over anew the whole of our life to God and so not let our discerning focus get distracted on self. Always we as celibates--a unit of body, soul, and spirit--need to own and not to deny our affections. We must be in touch with how affective or not we are naturally, from family upbringing, community customs, and ethnic culture. Whatever the limits of what we have inherited, we--growing by the grace of our celibate calling as sensitive lovers--gradually learn how to make various appropriate adaptations. Does Jesus ever seem frozen in the face of others' affective love, whether expressed by Mary Magdalen or by the beloved disciple? Think of John lean-ing on Jesus' chest at the Last Supper or of Mary Magdalen's fierce bearhug in the resurrection garden scene. Growing always in a lover's sensitivity is especially to be valued by a vowed celibate who desires to relate affectively to all. Married couples teach each other how to make love all their lives long. We as celibates must keep our eyes on Jesus in order to keep growing in our way of loving. Our prayer should lead us deeply into the Gospels so that Jesus keeps teaching us how to love. Our being affective people, or not, affects our ministry. In fact, there is little exaggeration in saying that ministry without. affectivity is useless in terms of evangelization. We may be able to do "good things," but for what.purpose if we do not touch peo-ple with love from a God who is Love? 3. We Catholics are fortunate because we understand that God loves us in affective ways. Our Scriptures, our sacraments, our prayers speak out God's way of loving us in the most tender of human expressions. Even more, God loves us in intimate ways. This good news we bear in our very persons as loving celibates: We as celibates must keep our eyes on Jesus in order to keep growing in our way of loving. March-April 2000 Fleming * Discerning Our Celibate Way God wants to be intimate with us. Our spiritual life is a life of love, intimate love with God. Two examples from Scripture bring this fact home to us. I am indebted to the late Father Carroll Stuhmueller CP for his long-time insistence on the meaning of the Hebrew word rahamin. In the Old Testament, especially in the prophetic writings, God is often described in English translation as merciful, tender-hearted, or compassionate. These words attempt to signify the meaning of rabamin. The Hebrew word seems best understood in this way: the feeling that a mother has for the child in, and of, her womb. God wants us to know that the relationship he has to each of us is like the feeling a mother has for the child of her womb. What is this feeling? Is it pity or mercy? No, it is one of pride and 10ve for the child of the womb. That is how God feels towards us. God loves us and takes pride in us. We cannot deny the intimacy of this Hebrew word. That kind of intimacy God claims towards us. We celibates are meant to find a home in this love. In a more theological way I would like to reflect upon the word covenant. Perhaps we are familiar with the covenants of Middle Eastern people of whom the Israelites were a part. A covenant is an agreement between two parties (usually unequal), and the expectation involves certain ways of acting toward each. Covenant is a central theme of the relationship between God and his chosen people. The biblical covenant that God established was marked according to the Semitic cultural tradition by the ritual of killing an animal and sprinkling its blood upon the altar (rep-resenting God) and upon the Israelite p.eople. The blood was a symbol of life, not death; the sprinkling of blood on the altar and on the people signified the familial union. The action said: We share the same blood. When Jesus on the night before he died wanted to establish a new covenant, he retained the same symbol: blood. But it is his own blood that Jesus gives, his flesh for our food and his blood for our drink. This blood is life-giving and makes us who feed on his Body and his Blood belong to the same bloodline as God. Jesus could not make it any clearer that we truly are brothers and sisters to one another; we share the same blood, Jesus' blood, the blood of the Son of God. We call upon Jesus truly as our brother, and together with him we call God Abba-Father. The reality of this new covenant is an intimacy of unity, Jesus God bringing us into the very life of the Trinity. As celibates, day after day in our Review for Religious Eucharist we come forward with hands stretched our to receive and to be taken in by the most intimate love of God, a God embracing us into the divine life of love. What distinguishes us who are called to a life of celibate chastity? We are called to a special way of loving. When we celi-bates are truly at home with our bodies (with our sexuality), with our affections (with our soul), and with our spirit (God's Spirit, now ours), we are free to be the discerning people who, in a sex-ually confused culture, live God's invitation to celibate chastity peacefully, happily, and apostolically. The Silence That Is Not Silence at All Unobtrusive as dawn, the lake balances perfectly between East and West. An early hiker rounds the corner, headset clamped on. Juncoes tsk tsk and give way. Starlings catcall. Merganser, all white hood, skims a straight arrow line, alights with a velvet swoosh pursues prey through clear water soundless. Lichen stained alders circle the shore, haloed with smudges of alizarin catkins. Aments upon aments. A Lent retreatant, I come for the annual fast from stimulation, rededicate to silence or at least to the diminishment of stimulants. Make way for tumult. Here are the Big Ego geese. Indignant honking, they want to be noticed. Chest beating, a squall of identity. Hannah J. Main-van der Karnp March-April 2000 147 --- JUSTIN TAYLOR AND ALBERT DIIANNI What Is Religious Life's Purpose? For thirty-five years since Vatican Council II, we have constantly ?asked questions about identity: What does it mean to be a religious, a monk, a Dominican, a Jesuit, a Marist? It might then seem superfluous to ask about the purpose of religious life. But it is our conviction that pre-cisely this question must receive a more adequate answer before we can come to proper conclusions about how to structure our religious life and truly renew its spirit. The main goal of religious life is to place God at the center of our lives. That is the meaning of religious consecration, and it is best symbolized in the vow of chastity, in which we make a gift of our very hearts to God. Religious consecration is all about the service and worship of God, about affective and effective love of God for God's sake. Religious life is a way of being with ¯ God that takes the form of a gift and an act of worship. It evokes the image of St. Francis lying prostrate on the ground throughout the night calling out repeatedly, "My God and my all,." In other words, religious life needs to Justin Taylor SM, a Marist priest from New Zealand who resides at the Ecole Biblique in Jerusalem, does teaching and writing on biblical topics and on spirituality. Albert DiIanni SM wrote for us in 1993 and 1996; his address is Marist Vocation Office; 27 Isabella Street; Boston, Massachusetts 02116. Review for Religious be religious, and this means that it must be theocentric. Religion can be about many things, but first and foremost, as Hegel said, "religion is about God." This may seem to go without saying. But we are saying it and stressing it because we all tend to substitute something else for the love of God. Nothing else will do, not even love of neighbor. The question we ask is: Have we not, long before Vatican II and after it as well, tended to substitute--for a focus on the glory and love of God--either a personal ascetical spirituality or a social morality? We grant, of course, that both morality and asceticism find their place in religion, but we maintain, too, that religion cannot be totally or even primarily reduced to them. Could it be that this tendency to substitute something for religion--whether it be self-improvement or the improvement of other individuals, society, and the world--is what underlies the malaise we currently perceive in religious life? We stress that this problem does not arise out of Vatican II. It already existed before Vatican II and may have caused what the council had to say about religious life to be misunderstood. It is a problem that lies deeper than the distinction between traditional-ists and so-called "change-oriented" religious. Both of these groups, as we shall see, may have given way to the very same error. In her recent book The Fire in These Ashes, Joan Chittister insists that the sole purpose of religious life is "only to seek God" (p. 45). She writes: "We have too often been seduced., by other explanations for religious life, all of them valuable and all of them true to a certain degree. We have sought to be 'relevant.' We have set out to be 'incarnational.' . We have given ourselves untiringly to the 'option for the poor.' We have devoted our-selves to 'the transformation of social structures.' We have evan-gelized and renewed and revised and reformed until we dropped from exhaustion. And all of those commitments are good and necessary and worthy of attention. But, through it all, one thing and one thing only can sustain religious life, can nourish reli-gious life, can justify religious life: The religious must be the person who first and foremost, always and forever, in whatever circumstance, seeks God and God alone, seeks God and God alone in all of this confusion, in all of this uncertainty and, what-ever the situation, seeks God--and God alone." She concludes: "Otherwise, religious life is just one more social institution to be succeeded by social institutions after it, rather than centers March-April 2000 149 Taylor and Dilanni ¯ Reli~ous Life's Purpose of contemplation where, we can hope, the mind of God can touch the mind of humanity" (p. 47). "A center of contemplation where the mind of God can touch the mind of humanity"--is this not a beautiful definition of reli-gious life? For Joan Chittister, contemplation of God is the pri-mary center and focus of religious life. But she is not thinking of a selfish, isolated sort of contemplation cut off from society or the world. Rather, for her, contemplation of God has an effect upon the mind of humanity, changes it and urges it to become engaged in the task of approximating the kingdom of God on earth in works of peace and justice, especially in favor of the poor and the marginalized. This call to contemplation, which is now being stressed by many authors, indicates that the crisis of religious life is deeper than people think. It is rooted in a crisis of faith. By this we mean that there has been a change not only in the depth and intensity of our faith, but also in its actual content. And this is hardly new. It has been present in the church for a long time, as attested by Henri Bremond in his Histoire litteraire du sentiment religieux en France, a magisterial eleven-volume study of mysticism in France in the 17th century. Bremond did not write with a view to commenting on religious life in the 20th century, but his volumes are full of relevant insights. Bremond (an ex-Jesuit turned diocesan) keeps coming back to one particular issue: Why, throughout the period of which he writes, was the Jesuit mainstream in France especially, antimystical? Why, with the notable exception of Louis Lallemant and his school, did the Jesuits begin to focus their spirituality more and more away from God and more and more toward the human? In the course of his writing, Bremond suggests some more or less peripheral reasons, but in the end he expresses a suspicion that the Jesuits, even in the 17th century, were intuitively sensing a crisis of faith. They were sniffing the presence of an incipient atheism in their contemporaries and perhaps in their own hearts. They were beginning to fear, at least subconsciously, that the pure love of God as the chief reason for a devout life was not going to motivate people of their time and place much longer. This, suggests Bremond, is the reason why they felt the need to recommend prayer not so much as adoration and thanksgiving before God, but especially as a means of growth in virtue, a means to inoral and ascetical self-improvement, a way to ensure one's personal eternal salvation. Review for Religious It is clear that this crisis of faith is not restricted to the Society of Jesus in the time of which Bremond writes. The same crisis has continued in a perhaps even stronger fashion in the 20th century. Both before and after Vatican II, religious have tended to recom-mend religious life to the world--and perhaps to themselves--in terms of what it could "do for" themselves or for others. Religious life was considered legitimate and desirable because it was useful, however that usefulness might be conceived, whether in terms of a surer way for the individual to attain tleaven or in terms of a service to society. Both of these stances, however, place religion and religious life on a less-than- full theocentric plane. Viewed in this way, the crisis of faith did not begin in the post-Vatican II era. It was in full swing well before the 1960s, but at that time social and ecclesial structures and a gen-eral feeling of success (at something) kept people going. Once those supports were taken away or seri-ously weakened, its real proportions were revealed. It has been said that, before Vatican II, religious used to "skip the world" and focus too heavily on our individual other-worldly salvation. This is a legitimate criticism if properly understood. To the extent that there was overemphasis on our individ-ual otherworldly salvation, religious life was already ¯ anthropocentric or egocentric, and not theocentric. For a program of self-improvement, even in view of obtaining eternal life, is not specifically Christian, but broadly Stoic. The concentration on obtaining eternal life even became obsessive for a number of people, and priests in confessionals encountered peo-ple so absorbed in themselves and their salvation that they became paralyzed by scrupulosity. For this and for other reasons, an under-standable dissatisfaction set in with regard to a form of devout life whose focal point was one's own perfection. Unfortunately, however, the remedy that was often prescribed compounded the ailment. In line with the self-improvement ten-dencies, the constitutions of many religious congregations before Vatican II propounded a twofold goal for religious life: saving one's own soul and saving the souls of others. After Vatican II, the notion of salvation was expanded beyond an eschatological salvation to include also, and at times almost exclusively, the liberation of peo-ples or the social betterment of humankind. Neither of these This call to contemplation indicates that the crisis of religious life is deeper than people think. I51-- March-April 2000 Taylor and Dilanni ¯ Religious Life's Purpose focuses, however, whether on personal improvement and salva-tion or on social liberation, is properly religious in the sense of having to with the worship and love of God. Neither of them makes God the pivotal center of our lives. If this is true, where should we seek the remedy? If there has been a shift in our faith in this century and before, what then should be the content of our faith? We believe that the religious hunger is ultimately the hunger for transcendence or, more con-cretely, the hunger for God. It is a hunger which, in fact, is often felt most keenly by the poor. The world points to something beyond the world: its Author. Our first response to the world must be gratitude toward the author of that world--paying homage to God. Religious are called to be involved totally with God, to be bridges to others to enable them, not to negate this world, but to transcend it and reach God. The world is extremely important-- the Word became incarnate for the sake of the world--but in itself it is still not enough for us, us of the restless heart. In whatever manner we decide to refashion religious life, we must not lose this central insight, which is at the heart of the religious quest. The "kingdom of God" promoted by the Jesus of the synoptic Gospels certainly demands an effort on our part to improve the world, but it also involves a transcending of the world, and this transcen-dence will consist, as always, in union with God. In fact, without such a reference to the Transcendent, it is questionable whether an urgency to improve the world has sufficient meaning. Again, with Joan Chittister, "The religious must be the person who., seeks God, and God alone" and--we could add, with Vita consecrata (§3, §20)--helps other members of the church in their search for God. It is in this latter task of spurring others on to transcendence that some form of identifying religious garb has its importance. St. Thomas Aquinas asks why religious congregations are called "religious." Our reflections thus far have perhaps prepared us to understand and receive his answer: "Religion is the virtue by which we perform the service and worship of God. Hence, reli-gious are so called because they dedicate themselves totally to the service of God, as if offering God a whole-burnt sacrifice" (Summa theologiae, 2a-2ae, q. 186, a. 1). Here Thomas speaks of a "virtue of religion," a kind of habit. This habit of mind, heart, and action has to be part and parcel of every genuine approach to God, for it is basically about awe in the presence of the "tremendous and fas-cinating mystery." "This tremendous lover" is what Francis Review for Religious Thompson called Christ, and the adjective is striking. It refers to a lover who fills us not with fear but with awe. Our response to God is one of wonder, adoration, and gratitude in the face of a Love that bends down to us, a love that is gratuitous and that we did not merit. What makes religious life distinct from other forms of Christian life (granted that there is no complete cut-off, but many a gradation) is that it is a way of life which is organized and centered on the.service and worship and love of God and which would make no sense on any other terms. From a worldly point of view, it might even be called a useless life; it is worthless except to the eyes of faith. We believe, with Vita consecrata, that chastity is at the heart of the matter. Chastity is the baseline of religious consecration, not primarily a way of being freed for ministry, although it is also that. Through it we consecrate to God our hearts and our sexual-ity, our capacity to love and be loved, and our capacity for repro-ducing ourselves and so assuring a sort of afterlife. It is therefore the point at which the service and the love of God meet in the center of the consecrated person. Religion, as a virtue, is not the same as charity, so that serving and worshiping God are not specifically the same as loving God. But the two are very close, and both are needed. Without love, religion quickly becomes fanaticism; without awe before God, love can be too facile and presumptuous. In the golden age of French spirituality in the first half of the 17th century, the great masters differ a little on where they place the emphasis, St. Francis de Sales placing it on love and Pierre de B~rulle on religion. In any case, they agree that religious life is essentially theocentric. St. Thomas's "whole-burnt sacrifice" strikes the note of throwing all of oneself into a life given to God in a fire of generosity. Abandoning calculation and self-service, a person stakes all on the single-hearted quest of God, and God alone. That is a goal in the pursuit of which a life is well lived and the world well lost. The above remarks raise at least two questions about love of God which require some discussion. We are speaking of a "pure love of God." But is it possible to love God selflessly, for God alone, and not for ourselves? Not in the sense that I could leave myself totally out of any act of the will: whatever I will, I will also as my own good. But it is possible in the sense that there can be a degree of selfless love in an act of the will, and that this selfless love can grow in future acts. In praying I make all sorts of different March~April 2000 Taylor and Dilanni ¯ Religtous'ous L~Life's Purpose "acts," including petition for myself and others. But what makes prayer (any prayer) true prayer, and love of God true love, is that overriding everything else is the love of God for God's sake, the willing of God's good, and the ultimate submission of my will to God's. And that is "pure love." Note that this is not something rare and extraordinary. Selfless love is part of every authentic human love. It is part of the Lord's Prayer, where we say: "Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done." In any genuine human love, I will love the beloved without thinking of my own good and even, at times, to my apparent detriment. M1 lovers would deny the name of "love" to a mere desire to get their own satisfaction. In every true love there is selfless devotion toward the beloved, that is, "pure love," some-where. And selfless devotion, it seems, has always been the touch-stone of a religious life properly lived. The second question concerns the relation between the two commandments of love of God and love of neighbor. Above we wrote that not even love of the neighbor can be substituted for love of God. Love of the neighbor does not replace love of God; it does not even, strictly speaking, express love of God. God is to be loved for God's sake. On the other hand, love of the neighbor is the acid test of the genuineness of our love of God. St. John's for-mulation could not be bettered: "Those who say, 'I love God,' and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen cannot love God whom they have not seen" (1 Jn 4:20 NRSV). To remove all excuse for illusion on this topic, the Letter of James (2:15-16 NRSV) affirms th~it a mere sentiment of goodwill is not enough: "If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, keep warm, and eat your fill,' and yet you do not supply them their bodily needs, what is the good of that?" If love of the neighbor is not a substitute for love of God, the reverse is also true. Loving God does not give us an excuse for not loving our brothers and sisters, really and concretely. Christians are called to live for the glory of God and not pri-marily for their own good, not even for their own salvation here or in eternity. The emphasis has to be on the primacy of the love of God. The truth is, however, that the more genuinely we love God, the deeper and more effective will be our love of neighbor, especially the poor and the unloved. The great lovers of God--that is to say, the saints--have been those who have done. most in the Review for Religious way of love and service of their brothers and sisters. There is no risk that following the call to love God with all our heart, soul, and mind will distract us from serving others or from working for justice in the world. Rather, when we go to God, we find One who loves justice and who is on the side of the poor and the weak. This God demands that we too pursue justice and come to the aid of the needy. In loving God we go outside of ourselves in a radical way. We encounter the transcendent Being who loves the created world and invites us to become active within it. There is no competition between the two commandments of love, but rather reciprocity. If love of the neigh-bor is the acid test of love of God, love of God overflows into love of neigh-bor and makes it truly love. For jus-tice without love may quickly become tyranny, while mere "humanitarian-ism" may become bureaucratic, offi-cious, and quite unloving. On the other hand, love of God makes love of neighbor tenderhearted, generous, and selfless. For, in our living communion with God, we discover that God loves us all and that for this reason we must love others and strive to bring peace and justice into the world. What is.the upshot of all this? What does it mean in practical terms? If all this is true, it may mean that the ongoing renewal of religious life needs to be reviewed. It may mean that we must go back to the drawing board and ask ourselves whether we have made changes on the basis of an inadequate notion of the purpose of religious life. It may mean that, while many good things have occurred in terms of a structural renewal of our lives, the spiri-tual renewal is yet to begin--one that may cause us to take a sec-ond look at those structures. Our structures of prayer, our living of the vows, and our community life must be fashioned so that, primarily, they foster our love for God. To achieve this we must grapple with this question: .Are we perhaps in need of a shift in our faith, one that moves away from the many forms of anthro-pocentrism of the last few centuries, and centers religious life more directly on the pure love of God? Chastity is the point at which the service and the love of God meet in the center of the consecrated person. March-April 2000 KENNETH C. RUSSELL Must Hermits Work? Maust hermits work to earn their living? Must they leave side their regime of silence and prayer to earn money, even though this is a Catch-22 situation, with solitude calling them away from society and work drawing them back into it? By taking a job, manufacturing a product, or providing a service, they trou-ble themselves with any number of people so as to have enough income to get away from people and indulge their own hermit's desire to be alone and untroubled. Are they not then better off depending on some form of fixed income, on the largess of the religious congregations to which they may belong, or on the charity of the faithful? It would seem so. But is this kind of dependence legitimate? What does the his-tory of the eremitical life in the Western church say about this? How do the principal texts on the solitary life deal with the eco-nomic, psychological, and spiritual aspects of work? What features remain constant in the tradition? What shifts take place? In this brief overview, which makes no claim to be complete, we begin with the teachings of the pioneers in the Egyptian desert as these are recorded in the alphabetical collection of Sayings of the Desert Fathers and in John Cassian's Institutions and Conferences. We then turn our attention to a few representative medieval texts, primarily from the 12th century, a period marked by a widespread revival of the eremitical life. Kenneth C. Russell last wrote for us in November-December 1998. His address remains 40 Landry Street, Apt. 1505; Vanier, Ontario; t~6~ K1L 8K4 Canada. Review for Religious The Sayings of the Desert Fathers Although the classical picture of the hermits in the Egyptian desert as hardscrabble peasants used to a tough life has been chal-lenged of late, it seems clear that, whatever the truth about their social status and educational background, they earned their keep by the work of their hands. The Sayings tell us that the solitaries plaited ropes (Sayings 184, 39), made baskets (105, 1) and hired themselves out as laborers to bring in the harvest (82, 47; 191, 2).' At least one monk strung necklaces of small dried peas to pay for his food. We are told that Abba Serinus spent his time harvest-ing, sewing, and weaving (191, 2). The monks worked because they had to. They did not share the conviction of the excessively spiritual groups of the time that considered work to be below the dignity of those called to per-petual prayer. Several stories seem to satirize the "angelic" atti-tude of these Messalians, as they were called. One concerns Abba John the Dwarf, a prominent desert figure, who in his youth announced to his brother his intention of living a carefree life of ceaseless prayer like the angels who do no work. After a week he was back knocking on his brother's door, hungry and begging to be let in. When this brother, in no hurry to admit him, got around to answering the door, he told young John: "You are a man and you must once again work in order to eat" (73, 2). The same point is driven home in the story of a monk who, while visiting a small eremitical community, sees the brothers working hard and cautions their leader, Abba Silvanus, not to seek "the food which perishes" (John 6:27). Silvanus allows him to spend the day reading, but does not summon him to dinner. When the hungry monk asks why he was not called, the elder answers: "Because you are a spiritual man and do not need that kind of food. We, being carnal, want to eat, and that is why we work" (187, 5). In these words of practical economy, it is obvious that work not only feeds the monk but keeps him grounded in the real-ity of the world and human nature. The Egyptian hermits lived apart from society, but they were not disconnected from the larger world. A brother was advised by Abba Poemen to do some manual labor "so as to be able to give alms" (148, 69). This readiness "to work for charity's sake" (87, 4) also set the Egyptian monks apart from the Messalians or Euchites, who regarded themselves as the most fitting recipients of any handouts. March-April 2000, Russell * Must Hermits In one story some Euchite monks answer Abba Lucius's query about what kind of work they do by announcing, rather smugly it seems, that they do not touch manuhl labor, but obey Paul's instruc-tion to pray without ceasing. Lucius asks how perpetual their prayer can really be if they must interrupt it to eat or sleep. For his part he demonstrates that work and prayer are not incompatible and shows how his charity toward the poor fills the gaps in his own prayer schedule. "When I have spent the whole day working and praying, making thirteen pieces of money more or less, I put two pieces of money outside the door and I pay for my food with the rest of the money. He who takes the two pieces of money prays for me when I am eating and when I am sleeping" (102, 1).2 But work that enables a monk to support himself and make a contribution to the well-being of others can also prove a distraction. What is supposed to support the spiritual life can become an end in itself (64, 10). It can assume an importance it does not deserve (44, 1 I). This is surely why Abba Silvanus threatens to leave his little community when his disciples and some other brothers move the fence to enlarge the garden (188, 8). This story also implies that at some point work becomes a guarantee of security, which challenges the hermit's dependence on divine providence. Abba Serinus, who worked at a number of tasks, avoided this trap by insisting that "in all these employments, if the hand of God had not sustained me, I should not have been fed" (191, 2). In the same vein, Silvanus is confident that as long as he does his part God will provide (188, 9). Given the tendency of work to become a goal in itself, it is not surprising that when a monk asks Abba Biare what he must do to be saved, the elder advises him to reduce his appetite, dwell in his cell, and reduce his quota of manual work (37, 1). Any kind of work can upset a hermit's life if it assumes too great a place in it. But certain kinds of work were regarded as essentially distracting. Agriculture per se was considered an exte-riorizing activity that draws a monk's attention away from God. Even the gardening that is mentioned in the Sayings was suspect. It was, at best, on the borderline of the acceptable. When Abba Silvanus had to water the garden his disciple usually cared for, he hid his face lest the sight of the trees should distract him (187, 4). Underlying what we have seen so far concerning the eremit-ical understanding of work is the conviction that a monk should pay his own way and contribute to some extent to the welfare of oth-ers. But neither of these obligations demands that all monks must Review for Relig4ous work. Some monks, surely, had the means to sustain their life with-out daily labor. A number of these could probably count on the support of their relatives and friends. Would this modest support not give them more time to pray and meditate? Is there not a mod-icum of good sense even in the extremist position of the Messalians? Why is work itself so important? We must note, first of all, that living on any form of income other than daily labor is explicitly rejected in the Sayings. A monk who is disturbed by the haggling involved in selling his wares asks one of the senior monks whether he may give up work if he finds another means to survive. The elder replies: "Even if you do have what you need by other means, do not give up your manual work" (168, 1). The monk is instructed, in fact, to work as hard as he can. The "word" given here is exemplified in the story of Abba Achilles, who edifies his visitors when they discover that he has been working and meditating all night. "From yesterday evening till now, I have woven twenty mea-sures, although I do not need it; but it is for fear God should be angry and accuse me, saying, 'Why did you not work when you could have done so?' That is why I give myself to this labor and do as much as I can" (25, 5). The Sayings generally do not emphasize the noneconomic value of manual labor. They do, however, present work as a basic element of a hermit's life. When Abba Poemen holds up one of the elders as an example, he observes that "in Abba Pambo we see three bodily activities: abstinence from food until the evening every day, silence, and much manual work" (158, 150). When Poemen lays out the basics of the eremitical life for an inquirer, he begins by saying that "living in your cell clearly means manual work" (160, 168). We know then that, according to the Sayings, work is an asceti-cal activity linked with meditation which should not be set aside even if other means of support are available. It seems clear, how-ever, that manual labor was so tightly tied to economic survival in the experience of most Egyptian solitaries that they felt no need to reflect in depth on the role it played in their lives. It was simply a fundamental but unobtrusive activity of their uncomplicated regime. To get a deeper insight into the role that work plays in Any kind of work can upset a hermit's life if it assumes too great a place in it. 159 March-April 2000 R~ssell * Must Her~nits Work? the eremitical life, we must turn to the elaborations on life in the desert which John Cassian offers us in his Institutions and Conferences. --- 160 Cassian's Institutions and Conferences The presence of Messalians (Syriac for "those who pray" but do not work) is more strongly felt in John Cassian's writings than in the Sayings. The need for daily work seems, therefore, to be less the plain, indisputable fact of life it is in the Sayings and more a deliberate option. Cassian takes Paul the Apostle as the exemplar of work. If Paul, who had the right to live off his mission, worked, how can monks refrain from doing so? Paul worked, Cassian notes, not for the sake of introducing some healthy variety into his life, but to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow even though he might have lived off his savings or from offerings received from others (Institutions 10.8; p. 270).3 Since Cassian uses Paul's injunction to the Thessalonians to work with their hands and to be at peace (1 Th 4:11), it is clear that he sees manual labor as an antidote to distraction (10.7; p. 269). Work concentrates the mind and shuts out external noise. It lifts the individual above the turmoil of the emotions. This is so important to John Cassian that he connects a story illustrating this point to St. Anthony himself. Anthony, we are told, was challenge'd by a brother who argued that his own life was superior to the discipline of the desert. He lived near his rel-atives, benefited from their support, and so was able to give all his time to prayer and reading. Anthony countered his claim to be free of care by showing that he was, in fact, emotionally tied to the economic ups and downs of his supporters. Anthony goes on to say that "this most lukewarm condition [is] depriving you of the fruit of your own hands and the just reward of your labor" (Conferences 24.11.3; p. 833).4 Once again Paul's example is put forward as the ideal. It is his example, Anthony maintains, which compels monks to work. Indeed, were it not for Paul's example, Anthony argues, he and his fellow monks would take the easy route and live off the alms of their relatives. Anthony goes on to chide the healthy monk for living off alms that should by right go to the weak. He then makes an astounding statement which radically opposes the notion that, while others must work, monks are exempt from labor because Review for Religious they pray. He insists, on the contrary, that everyone else in the world relies on the compassion of others, "with the sole exception of the race of monks which, in accordance with the Apostle' s precept, lives by the daily toil of its hands" (Conf24.12.3; p. 834). Anthony reminds us that, according to tradition, the monk gives alms, he does not receive them. In Anthony's opinion, authentic solitaries do not live off their relatives or near them. On the contrary, they flee society and live outside civilization's jurisdiction in the wastelands beyond the fer-tile Nile valley. This withdrawal not only shelters them from the hubbub of village life, but makes farming--the kind of work with which most Egyptian monks were probably familiar--impractical. Cassian regards farming as an unsuitable activity for a monk for several reasons. First, it draws the mind away from the focus on God which should be the monk's principal concern. Second, the fatigue brought on by hard work in the fields drains away the energy a monk needs for his spiritual pursuits (Conf 24.12.4; p. 835).s The third reason, however, is the most important. Not only is farm labor hard, it is also periodic; as a con-sequence, a monk who does this work is at loose ends for long periods of time. Cassian makes this last point evident in the story of some farming monks who grew restless whenever they visited the hermit colony of Skete. They literally could not sit still. Cassian says that they had not learned how to quiet their inner being because they worked outdoors and their thoughts were scattered everywhere by their bodily activity (Conf24.4; p. 828). For John Cassian, therefore; work is primarily associated with the spiritual goal of the monk. The hermit works because work provides the best conditions for prayer. The monk does certain kinds of work because certain tasks can be done day and night, day in and day out, without undue fatigue and without requiring a great deal of attention. The uncomplicated procedures associated with rope making and the like help him to pray. They keep the monk alert and centered so that he is able to resist both sleep and the listlessness and distractedness typical of acedia (Inst 2.12; p. 210). The example of Abba Paul, who had no economic reason to do handwork, shows just how essential Cassian thought manual labor actually was. Abba Paul's basic needs were met by the garden he Authentic solitaries do not live off their relatives or near them. March-April 2000 R~ssell ¯ M~t Hermits Work? tended and the palm trees near by. It seems, in fact, that his idyl-lic little oasis was so far out in the desert that the hermit had no way of getting his wares to market. Nevertheless, he collected palm branches and set himself a daily quota of weaving. At the end of the year he gathered the baskets he had made into a great pile and burned them. Then he started all over again. Abba Paul did not work to feed himself or to provide for the poor. So what was the point of his manual labor? Cassian says that his example proves that a monk can neither stay put nor achieve perfection without manual labor. Abba Paul worked solely to purify his heart, to keep his thoughts on course, to persevere in his cell, and thus to overcome acedia (Inst 10.24; pp. 274-275). In other words, he worked because it steadied and grounded him. The handwork with which he occupied himself night and day while praying centered him in a way that the gardening he did to support his life could not. Work serves prayer as long as it remains a subordinate ele-ment in the monastic regime. But, once a monk begins to think of himself as a "hard worker," he is in danger of feeding his human ambition by measuring his own worth in terms of the profit he makes or the tasks he performs. The monk, in effect, imports the world's notion of success into the desert. Once work itself becomes the goal, it usurps the priority that belongs properly to prayer. This is vividly illustrated in Cassian's tale of an elder who comes upon one of these superachievers wearing himself out try-ing to break up a stubborn boulder. The exhausted hermit thinks he is doing "good work," but the senior monk sees that a demon is urging him on (Confg.6.1-3; pp. 333-334). The point is clear: work that does not serve prayer can turn even the sorry resources of the desert into vehicles of human ambition. Jerome's Letter to Rusticus Before we leave the earliest teaching on the place of work in the eremitical life, we should take note of the list of possible tasks St. Jerome lays out in his letter to Rusticus,a young man on the brink of a monastic vocation.6 Although he counsels Rusticus not to live with his mother, and does mention at one point that by working he will be able to pay for his food, practical necessity is not the principal reason Jerome gives for working. It is primarily a matter of keeping busy and thereby holding the devil at bay. Review for Religious Some of the jobs which Jerome recommends are the familiar crafts of the Egyptian desert: weaving baskets and tending a small garden plot. To these Jerome adds the cultivation and grafting of fruit trees, beekeeping, the weaving of fishing nets, and, signifi-cantly, bookcopying. The copying of manuscripts was, to a great extent, a physical task like the other jobs mentioned. The parchment had to be pre-pared, inks mixed, pens cut, the pages lined, the text written out, and, finally, the manuscript bound. But there was an intellectual dimension to this activity. Jerome mentions that copying texts feeds the mind. He then goes on to remember his own brief stay in the desert when he fought off temptation by working hard to learn Hebrew. We have here, I think, the seeds of a conception of "work" quite different from that of the tradition of the Egyptian desert. We have moved out of the world of small peasant farmers into the cul- ¯ tivated world of the Roman gentleman. Although, while in the desert, Jerome may have earned his keep by some simple hand-work, it is clear that his real work was studying and writing. The same may be said, to some extent, of Cassian. From this time on we see a certain tension between the idea of work as a physical, money-earning activity and work as an intellectual activity for the betterment of the individual. Should someone who can do the higher work lay it aside to do a less spiritual and less humane task for the sake of earning money? Must a hermit work? Are the eremitical life and work in the sweat and blood, money-earning sense of the word compatible? The old question subtly reemerges between the lines, as it were, when Jerome, a man of scholarly inclination, lists the kinds of work suitable for a solitary. Grimlaic's Rule for Solitaries The 9th-10th-century Regula Solitariorum, by Grimlaic, rep-resents a literary dividing line between the Egyptian tradition's insistence that hermits must work to earn their living and the belief that solitaries have the right to turn to others for support.7 After noting the spiritual value of work as a means to. avoid idleness, Grimlaic summons up the example of St. Paul and the Fathers to insist that solitaries must work to support themselves and to help those in need. Indeed, he says that the greater part of the day should March-April 2000 Russell * Must Hermits Work? A hermit's food, drink, and clothing are paid for either by his personal labor or by the offerings of the faithful. be given to "holy work." He has in mind some task which can be performed mechanically while reading or praying.(Regula 39; 629). Grimlaic retells Cassian's story ofAbba Paul, who lived too far out in the desert to make the manufacture of baskets and ropes practical, but who nevertheless set himself a quota of manual work every day. He also borrows from the same source the story of the superspiritual nonworldng monk who was brought down to earth by Abba Silvanus's failure to call him to dinner (39; 630). He further emphasizes the importance of manual labor by laying out the Benedictine schedule of work and accept-ing the principle that, if poverty demands it, more time should be given to labor (40; 631).8 Obviously, there had always been elderly or infirm hermits who were unable to imitate the example of St. Paul "and the holy fathers" which Grimlaic so strongly emphasizes. Nonetheless, it seems to me significant that Grimlaic should undermine his argument by noting that Augustine maintains that the occasions on which Paul himself depended on alms demon-strate that those who are unable to do manual labor may receive their sustenance from others (39; 630). Grimlaic states this principle and then backs away from its implications. He insists that solitaries should work with their own hands even if they have some other means of support (39; 630). The idea that it might be legitimate for solitaries to rely on oth-ers for their keep recurs, however, immediately after Grimlaic defends the importance of work in passages borrowed ~rom Cassian and Benedict. It is no longer an exception to an almost inviolate rule. He simply states that a hermit's food, drink, and clothing are paid for either by his personal labor or by the offerings of the faith-ful (41; 631). He notes that he has demonstrated that it is legiti-mate for solitaries to live off alms. The argument isbased on more than Christian charity toward the needy. Hermits are compared to the priests and levites of the Old Testament, who received tithes so that they might be free to minister to the Lord without the distraction of earthly preoccu-pations (41; 631-632). The Christian clergy, like the ministers of Review for Religious the Old Testament, have nothing of their own, but merely admin-istrate and distribute what they receive from the people. The assimilation of solitaries to the clergy, which was becom-ing more a reality as monasteries were clericalized, is complete in Grimlaic's quotation from a rule for canons in which monks and hermits are said to rightly receive material support from the church because they have followed the evangelical counsel to renounce wealth (41; 632). Without this support they would have to shift their focus from God to the business of securing the necessities of life. But what of the traditional obligation of hermits to help the poor? The Regula Solitariorum deals with this issue by comparing hermits to the apostles in the Jerusalem church. The apostles them-selves owned nothing, but acted as channels through which each of the faithful received what he or she needed. Solitaries are to have the same detachment toward material things and to see to it that the poor share in the offerings which come their way (41; 632). What has happened to the concept of work in this transition from a reference to the fact that the fathers earned their living by the work of their hands to the declaration that hermits have the right to live off alms? The Regula Solitariorum is not saying that hermits need not work, but rather that they need not earn their living by the work they do. The profitability of work is not the sine qua non of the eremitical life. When the Egyptian abbas talked about work, they were refer-ring to an activity by which they avoided idleness and earned money. In the works which follow the Regula Solitariorum, the financial benefits of work will fade into the background. There will be a strong tendency to value work solely as a means to escape the boredom idleness brings on. A Camaldolese Rule for Hermits The shift in what is meant by "work" is evident in a 12th- 13th-century rule for hermits which plays a part in the history of the Camaldolese.9 It is interesting that, when the customary warn-ing against idleness is given and the hermit is told to combat this by "doing some work," the works suggested are actually spiritual and penitential practices (34; 297). When the rule does refer to manualia exercitia, the emphasis is on when manual labor may not be done (35; 298). March-April 2000 155 Russell ¯ Must Hermits Work? The kinds of work mentioned--gathering wood, gardening, collecting straw--are to be done in groups of three or more (36; 298). What the rule seems to have in mind when it talks of work (the noise of which must not disturb the quiet of the hermitage) is the maintenance necessary to keep the hermit colony functioning. There seems to be no notion of profitability whatsoever. Indeed, the emphasis on the recitation of the Psalter indicates the influence of Cluny (37; 298). Liturgical prayer has become the monk's real work. A hermit is simply too busy and too often weak-ened by fasting to work. During Lent, for example, some work (aliquid; manualia quaedam) is scheduled for only two afternoons a week (35; 298). Guigo I's Carthusian Customary The "customary" (or custom book) of what Would later be called the Grande Chartreuse, written by Guigo I, shows that bookcopying was to the Carthusians what weaving and braiding had been to the Egyptian solitaries, that is, the perfect activity for the hermit's cell. Guigo I notes, therefore, that anyone who is capable is taught to do this work (222)'.~° The production of manuscripts seemed particularly apt to these priest-hermits because it was a way for them to preach the word silently (224). The profit motive is not mentioned, but surely the produc-tion of a commodity that was in demand supplemented the support the inner circle of monks received from the outer ring of conversi, who did the manual labor that today we call blue-collar work. Guigo's complaints about the cost of running the place suggest that the community was on a tight budget (210). However, if there was anything left over after expenses had been met, it was Jaot given to the poor directly but sent to the neighboring village for distribution. In this way the Carthusians made it unprofitable for the poor to trek to their door (210). .I.t/k/ Peter the Venerable's Letter to Gislebertus Not all hermits and recluses shared the Carthusians' deter-mination to keep people at a distance. Some of them surrendered to the inclination to escape the monotony of their life by turning outward. Their effort to lighten the burden of their solitary rou-tine by a bit of pastoral counseling may seem prudent to us, but in Review for Religious fact it made the return to solitude all the harder. It had another damaging consequence: it brought them more money than they needed. The extra, of course, was said to be for the poor, but watching the coins pile up could easily lead to avarice or turn the hermit into a local benefactor. It is not surprising, there.fore, that Peter the Venerable, the great abbot of Cluny, advises Gislebertus, a monk of his who has recently become a recluse, to make sure that there is no extra cash in his cell. He insists that Gislebertus not become a distribution center of offerings to the poor. If someone in authority tells him that he must perform this function, the abbot uses his authority to veto the plan. It makes no sense to Peter that someone who has been freed from the worry of meeting his own needs should be entangled in concerns about the needs of others (35).~ Since we are told that his monastery provided Gislebertus with food, clothing, and his hermitage, it is clear that he did not have to earn his living (35). When Peter, therefore, proposes some sort of manual labor, he is suggesting a means of refreshing the'mind and exercising the body. He is recommending manual labor as a relief from the hard work of reading, prayer, and meditation (38). ¯ For Peter, as for Guigo I, the best work for a hei'mit is book-copying. He too is enthusiastic about its pastoral benefits (39). But, if a hermit cannot do this work because his eyes are bad or because it gives him a headache, or if he simply wants to have something more than just bookcopying to do, Peter recommends that he make coinbs, needle cases, small wine flasks, and the like. He even mentions that, if a swamp is nearby, the recluse may imi-tate the ancient monks and make baskets (39). At this point, it seems to me, the text veers toward the romantic. Work has become a hobby, purely a means of avoiding idleness. The task which Cassian said the Egyptian

Issue 58.5 of the Review for Religious, September/October 1999. ; f'o r reli i , C~stian Heritages and Contempora~ Living SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER1999 ¯ VOLUME58 ~°~NUMBER5 Review for Religious is a forum for shared r(flection on the lived experience of all who find that the church's rich heritages of spirituality support their personal and apostolic Christian lives. Tbe articles in tbe journal are meant to be informative, practical, historical, or inspirational, written from a theological or spiritual or ~ometimes canonical point of view. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published hi-monthly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Telephone: 314-977-7363 ¯ Fax: 314-977-7362 E-Mail: foppema@slu.edu Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ° 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP P.O. Box 29260; Washington, D.C. 20017 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ° P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back c~)ver for information on subscription rates. ©1999 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. for religious Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Clare Boehmer ASC Philip C. Fischer SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm James and Joan Felling Kathryn Richards FSP Joel Rippinger OSB Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla SJ David Werthmann CSSR Patricia Wittberg SC Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER'1999 ¯ VOLUME58 ¯ NUMBER5 contents 454 perspectives The Self in Postmodern Thought: A Carmelite Response Vilma Seelaus OCD places the biblical God-related understanding of the. self, on which the Carmelite tradition rests, in conversation with the postmodern self. 470 The "World" from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican II Frederick E. Crowe SJ examines some major transitions in the Christian attitude toward the world, especially as a new context for the meaning of consecrated life. 490 brothers "Come Closer. I Am Your Brother": Being and Doing Brotherhood Joel Giallanza CSC reflects on the very identity of the religious vocation of "brother" as providing both brothers themselves and the church with a rich and prophetic spirituality. Religious Brothers: One Vocation Director's Perspective Paul Bednarczyk CSC shares his reflections on why fewer people are choosing to be brothers and on some possible countermeasures. Review for Religious 5OO journeying On Promise Making, Leave-Taking, and Becoming Avis Clendenen brings together personal experience and psychological and theological insight in addressing the reality of making and breaking commitments. 515 Charism and Membership: Surpassing the Institutional Limits of Religious Life Deborah M. Cerullo SSND proposes that emphasis on becoming grounded in the charism through a common novitiate experience would create a better synthesis of diverse ways of being members. 524 associates Identity, Purpose, Organization: Ongoing Associate Programs Rose McDermott SSJ presents a brief historical overview of associates and associations joined to religious institutes, reviews church legislation, and then raises issues about sound future development. 537 Similarity and Uniqueness in the Association Experience: Theological Reflection Roberta Archibald SSJ, Joanne Bauer SBS, Mary Mester RSM, and Jean Ustasiewski OSF share their experience of using theological reflection in a regional gathering of associates and sisters. departments 452 Prisms 546 Canonical Counsel: Impediments to Admission 552 Book Reviews September-October 1999 prisms Thy kingdom come The words kingdom and reign sound off-putting to most Americans. We have little tra-dition of kings and queens. What we have of it stems from a relatively brief past of early colonizers looking back to European roots. But when we Christians pray the Lord's prayer, we find ourselves begging God--the one we address by Jesus' word Father--that "your king-dom will come." By Jesus' teaching us a way to pray as he prays, we seem to be using language that pictures God as ruler or king and God's area of influence as a kingdom. What do we mean when we pray "Thy kingdom come"? Perhaps we can gain some cl,arity by identifying first what we do not mean. Kingdom is not to be identi-fied with any political entity. Even the age-old notion of Christendom was not tl~e same as this kingdom, and so the breakup of Christendom was not a dissolution of the kingdom. Kingdom is not a certain physical locale. The Roman Catholic Church as an institutional structure is not identified with the kingdom. The church has an important role to play in the kingdom, but it is not the kingdom itself. The church continues the mission of Jesus in proclaiming the kingdom. The church is at the service of the kingdom; it is meant to be a sign, a sacrament of its presence. The kingdom is not something that we human beings fashion or build. We may sing some songs about Review for Religious our "building the kingdom of God," but there is no reality to be done corresponding to our words. According to the gospel imper-ative, we seek first the kingdom of God. We want what God wants. We desire to be totally available to God, ready to serve, eager to do God's will. Doing the will of God involves discipleship--hear-ing the call of Jesus and responding with the total gift of self. Doing the will of God makes the kingdom present, because we are busy about what God is busy about, and so we are where God is. Above all, as our petition teaches us, we pray for the coming of the kingdom since it is God's doing, it is God's work. Jesus himself never gives a definition of kingdom, and we may be surprised that no one seems to question him. In the synoptic Gospels, he never claims the kingdom as his; it always is identified with the one he calls Abba. Only through parables do we find Jesus giving some description of the kingdom. Our Christian Eucharist anticipates the frequent parable allusions to the eating and drink-ing at the Lord's table in the kingdom. For in every Eucharist we place ourselves with Jesus in his total availability to God as he prays "not my will, but yours be done." So what are we to say about the kingdom? How are we to make this petition our own every time we pray the Our Father? The kingdom is the inbreaking presence of God to our human world and our responsive relating to God's being with us. God continues to pour out divine life--what we name as grace--and, when human cooperation is present, then the kingdom is right at hand. Just as the disciples experienced the transfiguration of Jesus, so too the kingdom is often experienced by our touching into this transfiguration kind of moment of a deeper-down reality shining out through our ordinary world. As we enter into this jubilee year, not through the alarms of some millenarians, but rather through the gospel introduction of Jesus, we hear anew Jesus' call to conversion and repentance, his admonition of obedience and watchfulness, and his appeal to be ready and waiting. We are like members of a wedding party--joy-ful, expectant. But it is no bride or groom whom we serve and cel-ebrate. It is our triune God--shining out as the redemptive presence of the Father in Jesus through the power of their Spirit of love. What do we want for ourselves and for our world? "Thy Kingdom come." David L. Fleming sJ September-October 1999 perspectives VILMA SEELAUS The Self in Postmodern Thought: A Carmelite Response This article was conceived at the end of the Carmelite Seminar of 1997 at St. Mary's College in South Bend. I had an opportunity to browse in the Notre Dame book-store, and two titles in different sections waved for my attention. The first was The Thought of the Heart and the Soul of the World, in which Jungian author James Hillman takes archetypal psychology in a new direction. He claims that, with the soul of the world sick as evidenced by violence and corruption, individuals become sick at heart and suffer heart attacks. To restore the heart's courage and its imaginative power, therefore, the soul of the world needs the same attention that we have been giving to the soul of individual persons. Situating the individual self within the heart of the world challenges the rugged individualism of the modern self.1 The other book that caught my attention was Anthony Thiselton's Interpreting God and the Postmodern Self, in which he offers a hermeneutic of selfhood. Thiselton compares and assesses both modern and post-modern interpretations of the self in relation to Christian Vilma Seelaus OCD made this presentation in June 1998 at the Carmelite Seminar at St. Mary's College in South Bend, Indiana. It is being published also on audio- and videocas-sette by ICS Publications and the Carmelite Institute. Her address is Carmelite Monastery; Barrington, Rhode Island 02806. Review for Religious theology. Postmodern interpretations, he acknowledges, perceive the self as trapped within a network of role performances imposed on it by the power interests of others, but he argues for a deeper understanding of the self and its destiny. Postmodernism de-cen-ters the self; it denies any permanent, integrated reality to the self. It claims that identity is socially constructed and that people in different kinds of societies have quite different identity-forming experiences. Thiselton accepts the force of this, but argues for a deeper understanding of the self in relation to the biblical vision of reality and Christian theology.2 Reading Hillman and Thiselton enticed me into further study of postmodern thought in relation to the self. Before long, the complexity of the topic had my head spinning) Furthermore, post-modern debates about the very nature of reality challenged beliefs that shape my life as a Carmelite. And yet, the more perplexed I became, the more firmly did an inner conviction stand its ground: that our Carmelite mystical tradition has perennial values and insights for our postmodern world and perhaps for many worlds yet to come. In these reflections, therefore, I place the biblical God-related understanding of the self, on which the Carmelite tradition rests, in conversation with the postmodern self. I do this in two parts. Part One brings together important insights from both the mod-ern and the postmodern movements, showing a shift in under-standing the self. Part Two looks into the writings of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross for what they offer by way of chal-lenge, expansion, or depth in regard to the self and in regard to our own spiritual journey.as we enter the new millennium. Part One Walter Truett Anderson's insightful and witty book titled: Reality Isn't What It Used to Be helped me to realize that the self in particular is not what it used to be. What did the self use to be that it no longer is? What are the shifts in self-understanding, which, for better or for worse, postmodernism names for us? How might we as Christians respond appropriately to the challenge of post-modernism? First, what do we mean by postmodern? Postmoderns claim to have superseded, to have gone beyond, previous ways of thinking, feeling, and behaving which developed in the so-called modern September-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought period. It deconstructs them, to use the "in" term. At the same time, postmodernism is far from a developed, coherent social theory. Scholars dispute whether or not it is a form of radical modernism or something distinctive after modernism, or some of each. According to Philip Endean in his foreword to an issue of The Way dedicated to postmodernism and spirituality: As the structure of the word implies, the postmodern cannot be understood for what it is in itself, but only in terms of what has preceded it: the postmodern is a gamut of reac-tions to the modern, swinging between two moods: a mood of disillusionment, as previously unquestioned assumptions and standards are found wanting, and a mood of exhilara-tion, as new and better alternatives are explored, develop&d, and advocated. Postmodern thinking draws on a wide range of sources: from cybernetics to feminism, from literary the-ory to the new physics, from cultural history to psychoanal-ysis and linguistics. Perhaps for this reason its expression can be, notoriously, opaque.4 Although the philosopher Kant back in the 18th century.paved the way, the 1960s are considered the true beginning of the post-modern era. At that time everything came into question, and all belief systems, with their traditional values, came under attack. People in the '60s began to question what they called the myth of objective consciousness: that, when you looked at things, what you saw and described was what was actually there. (At the scene of an accident, eyewitnesses often give conflicting accounts of what happened.) Today constructivists hold that the "real world" is an ever changing social creation. In the 1960s, thoughts about the self were also changing. As Anderson points out: In the '60s, people assumed that, if you developed enough contempt for your old socially adapted self, a new True Self, unsullied by any conformity, would magically appear, that a True Culture and a True Politics likewise stood in the wings--and that when they appeared they would not have to coexist with old selves, old cultures, old politics. Things didn't work that way!6 Though the '60s were the time of eruption, postmodernism con-tinues and radicalizes trends that actually began during the Enlightenment, at the dawn of what philosophers call the "mod-ern period." Descartes (1596-1650), the classical modern philoso-pher of clear and distinct ideas, attempted to provide clear and Revieva for Religious certain criteria against which our knowledge can be tested for truth. He was also intensely preoccupied with the subject who knows these ideas: the knowing person. For today's radical deconstructionists, like Derrida, such Cartesian objectivity is anathema. Derrida holds all reality to be socially constructed. Reality is simply the interpretation of the perceiving subject. Derrida insists that we cannot grasp reality because it slips by before we can catch hold of it. Everything, then, is interpreta-tion. Nevertheless, Derrida and the other decon-structionists are in a way Descartes's descendants. Descartes understands the self as an active agent, whereas for Derrida the self shifts from active agent to passive situatedness. Instead of a core something (called selJ) determining how it will respond to different situations, the situation cre-ates the self. Different situations call forth a dif-ferent self to be expressed.7 On the whole, postmoderns recognize the importance, for its time, of the modern move-ment. It brought new values to the fore. We ben-efit from the knowledge that scientific objectivity makes possible. From it come the many techno-logical wonders that are integral to our everyday life. In the moral and political spheres, modernity made room for personal autonomy and liberty and for the development of a liberal society wherein diversity is possible. Religion, too, has been enriched by modernity. Most Jewish and Christian believers, for example, no longer subscribe to a literal understanding of the Bible's story of creation in six days.8 But the improvements of modernity have a dark side: the exploitation of nature and its resources, the emergence of indi-vidualism and the consequent collapse of the sense of community, the divorce of technology from moral values, and denials of the worth of ethnic, tribal, and religious traditions. While the modern period gave us universal abstract systems and scientific "metanar-ratives," accounts of the origins and development of the universe, these often denied the existence of God or denied that God could ¯ be discovered by the conscious self. As a result, in today's world many lives are governed by efficiency, profit, success, and the will Modernity made room for personal autonomy and liberty and for the development of a liberal society wherein diversity is possible. September-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought to power without regard for ultimate human values. Talk of love, truthfulness, belief, loyalty, and so forth has little meaning. Further, advanced technology, the offspring of the modern period, has introduced a world of ceaseless change. New models quickly replace the old. Things are made not to endure, but to be consumed and replaced. Think of how quickly appliances need replacement or upgrading. Indeed, today we struggle with both the benefits and the dark side of the modern period. As science enabled the modern self more and more to carve out and control its own destiny, the self tended to be assured and opti-mistic. But today, as postmodern thinkers become increasingly aware of the self's arrogant, power-hungry dark side, the self appears to be, in fact, de-centered--no longer an active agent, but instead taking its identity from the variable roles imposed upon it by society and by its own inner drives and conflicts, conflicts which the communications media keep in constant motion. The media, especially the advertising world, tell it who it should be, how it should look, what it should own, and where it needs to travel in order to feel good about itself. Postmoderns see our opinions formed for us by the collective perceptions of the media. Under such conditions, notions of a true self give way to the self as wear-ing different masks to suit the occasion, with little sense of a solid identity underneath. We tend to become who we think others want us to be. In theory, the will of the individual is still supreme, but often it has no strong center, no belief system to serve as anchor. When everything is up for grabs, the self lacks the support of collective meaning. There is too much to choose from; this can leave indi-viduals feeling alone in a sea of options. Many people today feel estranged from others and even from themselves. When people see no value to their lives other than the imperatives of efficiency, success, or serving the power interests of others, when their "real-ity" depends on what the TV screen says is real, no wonder there are high r~ites of suicide and physician-assisted death. Veronica Brady, in an article in The Way, describes it well: "Caught in this ceaseless flow of images, the self almost ceases to exist, breaking into fragments, identifying only with the flow. Right and wrong become a matter of personal taste, depending not so much on what is done but who does it. The center does not hold because there is no center.''9 A character in Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses says: "Information got abolished sometime in the Review for Religious twentieth century, can't say just when, stands to reason, that's part of the information that got., abolished. Since then we've been living in a fairy-story . Everything happens by magic. [We] haven't a. notion what's going on. So how do we know if it's right or wrong? We don't even know what it is.'''° Rushdie's world of illusion hangs within the "actual" world of extremes of rich and poor, with millions dying of starvation as nations invest billions of dollars in developing new and deadlier weapons that are then sold to warring ethnic and tribal groups intent on destroying each other. In this context the theories of deconstructionists like Derrida and Lyotard begin to make sense. The absurdity of human confidence in its power to rule the world is becoming more and more apparent as the products of the human mind threaten to destroy us. At the same time, on the positive side, the modern period highlighted one of the deepest urges of the human heart: to be someone. The drift of cultural change is in the direction of human rights, of wanting everyone to be free to create personal identity and experience, even though, for many in our world, resources are not available. No wonder people become dishonest--seeking to have and be and do what the TV ads say they should have and be and do. The struggle to be someone is now a global struggle. Some years ago I had occasion to live in Israel for three months. The incongruities of the struggle became vivid for me when I saw, above Bedouin tents in the desert, TV antennas con-necting them with the modern/postmodern world. As Walter Truett Anderson puts it: "Every morning billions of pairs of eyes open, and billions of societies of mind set forth on the adventures of selfhood. For many the adventure only rarely rises above the level of a struggle to keep the body alive, but even the most mis-erable among us also hear the aspirations of the self---the 'me' craving reassurance that it exists and is good and the modern me that pursues happiness and believes that, whatever happiness it finds, will be what it has taken or created and not what has been handed down by fate.''~ To add a further dimension, the global struggle to be someone is seen with fresh and deep insight by postmodern psychologists who have been influenced by Buddhism. Psychologists Robert Rosenbaum and John Dyckman hold with Buddhism that self/oth-ers are empty. This does not mean that they are void; it means they have no existence other than in relationships that are con- Septentber-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought World and self mutually influence and create one another. stantly arising in the immediate experience of the moment. To say that the self is empty means that the self is not a thing and there-fore has no unchanging core characteristics or essence. It is a way of indicating that self is always completely connected to its imme-diate experience, that in the immediacy of the moment, uncon-strained by past residue or future expectations, self is always free. As the Buddhist Diamond Sutra notes, the past is gone, the future is not here, and the present cannot be grasped. This is perfect freedom.12 As the authors point out, freedom here is not to be confused with a pseudofreedom that seeks to abandon all constraints. Instead, to understand emptiness as being connected to immedi-ate experience can lead to greater generosity and compassion toward the self and others. Past experience no longer has the last word. The empty self, actualized in immediate expe-rience, binds together apparent opposites: the dynamic interchange of oneness and separate-ness. These are not mutually exclusive. The empty self is the connected self which is actu-alized in context and in relationships. Observation reveals self-identity to be fluid and constantly changing according to context and relationships. As the Rosenbaum-Dyckman article puts it, "At work we may be decisive and authoritative; when out to dinner with our spouse, we may be hesitant and deferent about what to order for dinner. Yet we believe ourselves to be the same person.°13 Postmodern psychologists repeatedly make the point that our person is not encapsulated by our skin, but exists in relation. The self is always self in relation, in action, and as such is always con-textual. They hold that emotions are always a reliving in the pre-sent rather than a recall from the dead past. If we do not need to be attached to an unchanging self, and can see change as the only constant, it becomes somewhat easier to image change in prob-lem behaviors24 Although the self may be fluid and constantly changing, it must nevertheless have a boundary, but, according to Rosenbaum and Dyckman, a boundary with infinite length enclosing a finite, definable area, different from the rigid boundaries of lines on a map. Human boundaries are not abstract, conceptual schemas, but are always embodied in constant interaction with a world from Review for Religious which they are not separate. World and self mutually influence and create one another. Such mutual influencing has the potential to stretch present definable boundaries and give glimpses into the infinite. Here the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican comes to mind. If our attitude is one of self-righteousness that places us over against the rest of the world, we will be unable to hear the challenges that postmodern psychologists offer us for continued growth in our postmodern world. Our boundaries become sealed in finitude, and the infinite capacity that is ours becomes rigid, like the lines of a map. Psychologists in increasing numbers address the postmodern shift in regard to the self, and they offer valuable insights for living healthily in today's changing world. At the same time, postmodern philosophers and psychologists do not have the last word, and so now we turn to the mystics for their insights into the self. Part Two Since human boundaries are not abstract, but are embodied and are in constant interaction with the world from which they are not separate, precisely here does the biblically based Carmelite tradition offer timeless help. Back in 16th-century Spain, Teresa of Avila wrote a book to help her daughters of the reformed Carmel relate to one another and to the world, from which they were not separate even in their cloister. In her Way of Perfection, she gives her daughters some advice that flows with meaning into our post-modern age: "I shall enlarge on only three things., for it is very important that we understand how much the practice of these three things helps us to possess inwardly and outwardly the peace our Lord recommended so highly to us. The first of these is love for one another; the second is detachment from all created things; the third is true humility, which, even though I speak of it last, is the main practice and embraces all the others.''~s Many centuries separate us from Teresa and the particularity of her issues, but the interrelated dynamic of love, detachment, and humility are integral to spiritual growth in today's confusing world. Postmodernity challenges much of what we cling to by way of values and beliefs and, in particular, our self-understanding. To understand the self as fluid and constantly changing invites a deeper penetration into the Christian, Carmelite Understanding of Septentber-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought detachment. It would have us be attached to nothing, not even the most innocent of things, for in time of need they fail us com-pletely. John of the Cross insists: "To come to the knowledge you have not, you must go by a way in which you know not. To come to the possession you' have not, you must go by a way in which you possess not. To come to be what you are not, you must go by a way in which you are not . This places us in our center of humility.''16 Detachment and humility go hand in hand. They cre-ate an openness to new ideas, a willingness to let go of the past an, d let the context of the present create us anew. The contextual pre-sent is the place of encounter with God. The past, while it may continue to influence present behavior, is in fact nonexistent, and the future evolves out of each passing moment. Detachment opens up roads less traveled; but, if we feel attached to our current road, we may all too readily say, "This is me; this is my self." We have heard people say, "I'm a one on the enneagram or an INFP on the Myers-Briggs, so you have to take me as I am." With such a self-fixated attitude, we will less likely hear God's invitation into the infinite realms of potential self-realization. If we conceive of the self as determined by the pathways already taken, a composite of past experiences, it will be hard to let go when unknown paths beckon us onward. As Rosenbaum and Dyckman put it, "The self, as an accumulation of experience, is a prison; the self as empty, as shimmering potentiality, is a prism that, depending on its positioning, gives forth many different colors."17 In his Spiritual Canticle, John of the Cross reminds us that the woods and thicket in which we find ourselves today have been planted by the hand of the Beloved.18 God's self revelation con-tinues right within the human story. The density and darkness of postmodernity--which holds that there is a multiplicity of per-spectives in the search for truth, which denies a stable foundation of self and of knowledge--can generate extremes of uncertainty. But the de-centered self of postmodernity has its own gift to offer. It invites us, beyond the limits of what can be known and con-trolled, into a self that is mystery, into God as ultimate Mystery. The temptation is either to stay blinded in self-righteous cling-ing to the limitations of human knowledge, or to despair before the uncertainties of life. Detachment itself can be the void of despair, unless it is grounded in faith and in the experience of God. The Dutch theologian Frans Jozef van Beeck, in his contem-porary. Catholic systematic-theology series titled God Encountered, Review for Religious reminds us that "the human subject., is naturally and radically 'de-centered': the mature person's true center does not repose in the person. Authentic persons live on the strength of unfulfillable desire . Grace graciously enables human persons, along with their world, to that most natural, yet most divine of all things: freely to move toward God in total faith and abandon."'gIn the midst of alternative versions of reality, and many different ways of being in the world, with the postmodern tolerance for a plethora of possibilities, choosing to believe in something is vital. We can be respectful of others with differing beliefs and still stand firm in the faith that is ours, a faith that centers the self in God. According to the philosopher Kierkegaard, faith is the pas-sionate embrace of objective uncertainty.2° Faith bypasses the postmodern self that interprets, even cre-ates, its own reality. It bypasses human reason to plunge us into mystical depths where being and nonbeing are held in cre-ative tension by God's abiding presence to human life. At this level Rahner rightly speaks of the experience of God and the experience of self as one.2' In his insis-tence upon the possibility open to all of an immediate experience of God, Rahner writes: "I am convinced that such an immediacy between God and the human person., is of greater significance today than ever before. All the societal supports of religion are collapsing and dying out in this secularized and pluralistic society. If, nonetheless, there is to be real Christian spirituality, .it cannot be kept alive and healthy by external helps, not even those which the church offers., but only through an ulti-mate, immediate encounter ofthe individual with God.''22 The Harvard psychologist Charles Verge names this place of encounter "the divine self.''23 Here the self and God mirror each other.24 The longing of the human heart to be someone issues from God, in whose image we are made and whose love holds us in being. "Beloved of God" defines the self. The Spiritual Canticle of John of the Cross is a text that writes the self of each one of us. In the Canticle, God's passionate love for the soul, enfleshed in Christ, The longing of the human heart to be someone issues from God, in whose image we are made and whose love holds us in being. Septentber-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought stirs a passionate response and gives meaning and direction to life right within the extremes of uncertainty that surround us. To be transformed into the image of Christ, to become like Christ, con-stitutes the heart of the divine promise. Faith enables us to embrace, with passion, the ultimate objec-tive uncertainty that the mystery of God revealed in Christ is. Christ lifts the self out of its predefined situatedness with its self-interest, into love for God and love for others. God's love trans-forms the will to power, to possession, to lust, into will to love. The detachment that faith calls forth issues in genuine love even for those who differ from us. Postmodernism stretches our capacity to love. Life today beckons toward a global embrace of love; love for those who may look different from us, love for those who may think differently from us, and love for those whose values may be different, even opposed to ours. Today, in the face of our differences, love holds the special challenge of intense, respectful listening, which can only happen if the heart is humble. A humble heart is a heart detached from pre-conceived ideas and personal prejudice. According to Teresa, humil-ity is truth, and our truth is that we are all, without exception, finite, fragile creatures capable of sin and that as such we always stand on the threshold of ongoing conversion. At the same time, integral to truth is that each one of us is always infinitely loved and possessed by God. Insofar as we fall short, God invites us to continued conversion and, even more, to divine transformation. Our challenge is to live Christ's gospel of love. Such love dissolves the disharmony of suspicion and distrust, it detaches us from self-interest, and it opens us to others in humility and genuine con-cern. As Rahner sagely asks, "Why should there be any need for deception, which serves to protect the self, if the self is loved, wel-comed, accepted, and reconciled-as-one with the Other?''2s Receiving the self from God in Christ, giving the self to others in love, and serving the other's interests as one's own are mirrorings of God, the divine self-giving Trinity, in whose image we are. In trinitarian theology, love constitutes the ground of selfhood. The gospel account of Jesus at table, encircled by the outcasts of his time, symbolizes the self today cast out from itself and in need of re-centering in Christ. From the horizon of Christ, we see the incompleteness of all that is human in relation to our total commitment to Christ, but in Christ we also see ourselves con-nected with the heart of all that is. Revie~v for Religious The archetypal psychology of James Hillman invites us to this from a psychological perspective. He would have us see ourselves and others as intimately connected with what he calls the soul of the world. Today conversion extends to claiming our part in what Hillman rightly names the sickness of the soul of the world. He claims that the world, because of its breakdown, is entering a new moment of consciousness by having its attention drawn to itself by means of its symptoms. It is becoming aware of itself as a psychic reality. We now encounter pathology in the psyche of politics and medicine, of language and design, of the food we eat. Sickness, says Hillman, is now "out there" as well as "in here.''26 To situate our individual self within the heart of the world not only challenges the rugged individualism of the modern self; it also invites a deeper awareness of our connectedness with others and with planet Earth, whose beauty and balance are today oppressed by our violent consumer world. The world itself is now a patient in need of hea~ling. Postmodernism offers a broader understanding of the redeeming mission of Christ. The entire cos-mos becomes the locus of redemption. Like us, our church and civilization and even planet are all in need of Christ's redeeming, healing, transforming love. Postmodernism is globalism; as such it is the half-discovered truth of the one unity that transcends all our differences. The language of postmodernism would be alien to Teresa, and yet, as she increasingly experienced herself as centered in God, her self became increasingly fluid. She seems astonished as the boundaries of the self continue to expand. There are many exam-pies, but in her Autobiography, her Vida (chap. 15, para. 7), Teresa, experiencing herself infused with the light of God, comments: "And I, though being what I am, seem to be another person." In 23.1, recalling how God freed her from herself, she writes that "here begins another new life." In 27.1, having placed herself com-pletely in the hands of God, she says, "l saw that I was a com-pletely different person." In 27.9 she says, "One of these graces is enough to change a soul completely.''27 In the context of these remarks, Teresa specifically mentions that she is growing in either love, detachment, or humility. At the height of her mystical life, Teresa has a profound expe-rience that, on the level of the divine self, reflects the empty, de-centered, but relational, contextual self of postmodernity. In 40.5 of her Vida, she writes: Septentber-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought Once, while I was reciting with all the sisters the hours of the divine office, my soul suddenly became recollected; and it seemed to me to be like a brightly polished mirror, without any part on the back or sides or top or bottom that wasn't totally clear. In its center Christ our Lord was shown to me, in the way I usually see him. It seemed to me I saw him clearly in every part of my soul, as though in a mirror¯ And this mirror also--I don't know how to explain it--was com-pletely engraved upon the Lord Himself by means of a very loving communication I wouldn't know how to describe. ¯ I was given understanding of what it is for a soul to be in mortal sin. It amounts to clouding this mirror with mist and leaving it black; and thus this Lord cannot be revealed or seen, even though he is always present giving us being. In God, Teresa is connected with the world's sin, even as she affirms the ever present graciousness of God always giving us being within the darkness of sin. God is present in Teresa, not with power and might, but in love and with an invitation to self-transcendence that is as pertinent and penetrating for us today as it was for Teresa. In 3 7.11 of her l/ida, Teresa sounds as though she is living in our present age. After lamenting the foibles of her honor-bound society, with its elaborate system of etiquette, she says, "I don't know how it's all going to end up; even though I'm not y.et fifty, I've already seen so many changes I don't even know how to live anymore. What will they do who are now being born and will live for many years?" What will we do, we who have been born in this postmodern era, this era in which we live for many years, often into our nineties? Like Teresa, we do not know where it is all going to end up. Many would say that dark night engulfs our entire world and the times in which we live. The Carmelite tradition, however, assures us that God is in the night. John of the Cross eloquently describes the meaning of the soul's journey into the night of God. In this night of faith, we discover that love is the eye of God and we in turn are to see and interpret all things through the eyes of God. From this perspective we see that we are all one in God's love and that we bear one another's burdens. By the quality of our lives, Christ would have us be bearers of hope for all who suffer the travails of poverty, violence, injustice, and oppression. Right within the many forms of death that surround us is the seed of resurrec-tion impatient for new life. As we work with our differences in families, in our civic and Review for Religious church communities, we can dare to hope that our graced strug-gle will energize efforts toward understanding, toward finding common ground within the extremes of diversity that ctiaracterize our postmodern world. What we see in Teresa's writings is a devel-opment in her understanding of herself and of Christ, who com-panions her journey. Today,. as we find the self anew, we also find new ways of seeing Christ and the Christian mysteries right within our postmodern world, without getting caught in nostalgia for the past. Again, like Teresa, we do not know where it will all end up. What we do know is that the future is present, like a seed, in today's disconcerting moment. Our challenge is to live now, to live fully (but with humility, detachment, and love) what we say we believe. The sufferings of our time are not meaningless, as sec-ular postmodernity might see them. They are integral to the groan-ing of creation in labor until it brings forth redemption, the final triumph of God's love. At its deepest level the self is caught up in the incomprehensible mystery of Love we call God. Notes I James Hillman, The Thought of the Heart and the Soul of the World (Woodstock, Connecticut: Spring Publications, 1995). 2 Anthony C. Thiselton, Interpreting God and the Postmodern Self'. On Meaning, Manipulation, and Promise (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1998). 3 It also leaves me with a little anxiety that the many authors that I read be given due credit. As I prepare this paper for publication, I real-ize that much of what I read merged in my thinking as I internalized the material. 4 See The Way 36, no. 3 (July 1996): 175. s According to Anderson, Kant's work in the 18th century began with a problem that was as divisive in its time as the objectivist-con-structivist one is in ours--in this case a conflict between the British empiricists such as Locke and Hume, who saw thought as merely an instrument for understanding or using "real world experience," and the Continental philosophers such as Descartes and Leibniz, who saw the mind as the supreme organizer and discoverer of all reality. This was not a postmodern debate. All parties assumed that people could appre-hend unchanging and universal truth. Kant's attempt to resolve the con-flict was his own contribution to the search for "foundational" knowledge or reality--beyond historical and cultural relativism--but it pointed toward a view of the mind as a creator of reality. Kant describes the mind as an active organ that orders and forms the raw data of experience, 1-467-- September-October 1999 Seela~s ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought imposing upon them its own structure; we do not experience things in themselves but rather representations of them. See Walter Truett Anderson, Reality Isn't What It Used to Be (San Francisco: Harper, 1990), pp. 59-60. 6 Anderson, Reality, p. 48. 7 See Robert Rosenbaum and John Dyckman, "Integrating Self and System: An Empty Intersection?" Family Process 34 (March 1995): 26- 27, and Kenneth J. Gergen, "The Social Construction of Self- Knowledge," in Daniel Kolak and Raymond Martin, Self and Identity: Contemporary Philosophical Issues (New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1991), pp. 372-403. 8 See Max Charlesworth, "Postmodernism and Theology," The Way 36, no. 3 (July 1996): 188-202, for an interesting summary of the devel-opment of modern to postmodern thought. 9 Veronica Brady, "Postmodernism and the Spiritual Life," in The Way 36, no. 3 (July 1996): 181. 10 Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses (London: Viking, 1988), p. 313, quoted in Brady, "Postmodernism." 11 Walter Truett Anderson, Reality, p. 132. 12 Rosenbaum and Dyckman, "Integrating," pp. 28-33. 13 Rosenbaum and Dyckman, "Integrating," p. 26. 14 According to Rosenbaum and Dyckman, "Integrating," pp. 35-37, acknowledging memory as constructive, as a present contextual experi-ence, rather than as retrieval of the past, helps to avoid difficulties such as the controversies over recovered memories of trauma and abuse, which are a sensitive contemporary issue. ~s Teresa of Avila, Way of Perfection (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1980), chap. 4, para. 4, p. 54. 16 The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh OCD and Otilio Rodriguez OCD (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1991), p. 150. 17 Rosenbaum and Dyckman, "Integrating," p. 37. is See his Spiritual Canticle, stanza 4, in Collected Works, p. 494. 19 Frans Jozef van Beeck, God Encountered: A Contemporary Catholic Systematic Theology, Vol. 2/1 (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1993), p. 238. 20 Soren Kierkegaard, "Truth Is Subjectivity," in Concluding Unscientific Postscript, ed. and trans. Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), pp. 169ff. "Truth is precisely the con° tradiction between the infinite passion of the individual's inwardness and the objective uncertainty. If I am capable of grasping God objectively, I do not believe, but precisely because I cannot do this I must believe. If I wish to preserve myself in faith, I must constantly be intent upon hold-ing fast the objective uncertainty, so as to remain out upon the deep, over seventy thousand fathoms of water, still preserving my faith . " Review for Religious 2~ See Karl Rahner, "Experience of Self and Experience of God," in Theological Investigations, vol. 13 (New York: Crossroad, 1983), pp. 122- 132. 22 See "The Immediate Experience of God in the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius of Loyola," in Karl Rahner in Dialogue, ed. Paul Imhof and Hubert Biallowons, trans. Harvey D. Egan (New York: Crossroad, 1986), p. 176. 20 See Charles Verge, "Foundations for a Spiritually Based Psychotherapy," in Religion and Family, ed. L. Burton (Hayworth Press, 1992), pp. 41-59. 24 See also her Autobiography in Collected Works of Teresa of Avila, Vol. 1, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh OCD and Otilio Rodriguez OCD (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1976), chap. 40, paras. 5 ~nd 10. Teresa here recounts two visions in which God and the soul mirror each other. See also Spiritual Canticle, stanza 12, in Collected Works of John of the Cross, pp. 515-519. 2s Quoted in Thiselton, Interpreting God, p. 160. z6 Hillman, Thought of the Heart, pp. 96-99. 27 With only a quick glance, I found chap. 20, paras. 23, 25, and 26- 28; chap. 21, paras. 8-9; and chap. 25, paras. 18-19--all referring to Teresa experiencing herself as a different person. The Salvation Cup I raise my fragile, broken cup. Accept it empty. Nothing I own can f!ll it. This is the cup of my truth, my faith in the promise, my salvation cup. Fill it with the wine of the Spirit, the river that makes fertile my barren ground, the ocean of never ending mystery. This is my cup. With it I offer my fragileness, my sinfulness and my broken promises. Heal me, Spirit of God, with theelixir of salvation. Virginia Skrdlant SHCJ September-October 1999 FREDERICK E. CROWE The "World" from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican II An old proverb, once thought to be scriptural, warns us that where there is no understanding the people perish. Scriptural or not, the proverb itself is sound enough, and I would apply it to the institution of religious life. On all sides the question is heard: Is religious life dying? I refuse to believe that the God who gave us Anthony of Egypt, Benedict, Francis, Dominic, Ignatius, and so many others down to Mother Teresa is a God who intends religious life to perish. But I do believe in the need for under-standing, so that through our input God's operative grace may become cooperative. The Pattern of Human Thinking This essay is, then, an essay in understanding, but much more modest in scope than the preceding paragraph would suggest. It does not attempt td study religious life in its essence, its proper-ties, its various manifestations. It goes back rather to a prelimi-nary question and takes one small point for study: the Christian attitude toward what we call the "world." It is my hope that, if we gain some understanding on this background question, we will have a context for an eventual rethinking of religious life itself. Frederick E. Crowe SJ wrote "The Ignatian Exercises and Jesuit Spirituality" for our July-August 1994 issue. His address remains Lonergan Research Institute; 10 St. Mary Street, Suite 500; Toronto, Ontario; M4Y 1P9 Canada. Review for Religious My approach is historical rather than analytic. It examines the major transitions in the Christian attitude toward the world. It finds a dialectic running through history, a dialectic of to and fro that is not a mere alternation, but a progressively unfolding pat-tern in which each alternation is a step forward. It concludes with the way the church is finding new meaning for its role in the world, and proposes this as a new context in which religious too might find today the meaning of their consecrated life. The advantage of approaching history as a dialectic in the sense described is twofold. First, it may lift us out of our "crisis" mood, in which we think of our present situation as a spiritual fever, as a low point from which the patient may either die or recover and resume life as it was before the crisis. In a dialectical understanding, that is not the case. The low point is an opening on a new high. Second, a dialectic follows an intelligible pattern, with each step part of a natural, though not necessarily logical, sequence. This means that, if we can plot the sequence up to the present, we may be able to establish the direction of movement and discern the path we should take into the developing and unknown future. That "natural sequence" is the pattern of human thinking in time, the way the human mind naturally works as it progresses toward fuller and fuller understanding. In itself the pattern is sim-ple enough. Faced with a problem area of any complexity, the human mind will first find some specific factor of explanation, will tend to make that the whole explanation, but will eventually see that it is insufficient as a total view. It will then discover a generic factor and will in turn make that the full explanation, only to dis-cover that this too is insufficient as a total view. Eventually, in the dialectical oscillation of specific and generic, the mind will arrive at a higher viewpoint and hold the specific and the generic in the unity of a full understanding. The Pattern Illustrated That is terribly abstract. So, before applying it to the history of Christian thinking on the world, let me offer two concrete illus-trations that show the pattern as realized in actual history. First, the natural priority of the specific is easily illustrated in human lan-guage. "So in Homer there were words for such specific activities as glancing, peering, staring, but no generic word for seeing.''1 This is "both the strength and the weakness of'early language";~ it Septentber-October 1999 Crowe ¯ The "WorM"from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican ll The term vocation was appropriated to the religious life (as it commonly still is). has the power of the concrete, but is unable to reason in abstract or generic terms. And so in learning to write English we are told to search for the specific, for the concrete descriptive word, but in the strict reasoning of, say, a legal question we may have to resort to technical and abstract language. What is true of human language is true also of human think-ing, and so my second illustration is taken from the theology of our need for divine grace. Here there was first the discovery of a specific explana-tion, namely, the fall of our first parents. This was largely the focus of St. Augustine's thinking, which centered on the difference between their state before the fall and ours after it. This idea ran its course for about seven centuries, cul-minating in the position of Peter Lombard, namely, that there are in the grace-history of our human race "four states of human liberty: the earthly paradise, fallen man, man redeemed, and heaven.''3 Our need for divine grace is understood in relation to those states. Meanwhile, however, the insufficiency of this specific step was gradually becoming apparent. There was difficulty in defining lib-erty; the doctrine of merit tended to hang in mid air; even grace itself lacked a clear definition, for what is there that is not a free gift of God and therefore grace?4 The dialectic of ideas was prepar-ing theologians for the next step, the discovery of the generic the-orem of two orders with quite distinct status in the universe of being, the supernatural order and the natural: "not only was there the familiar series of grace, faith, charity, and merit, but also nature, reason, and the natural love of God.''5 This was largely the work of Philip the Chancellor in Paris in the early 1200s. It was an epoch-making discovery, and it put the question of our need for divine grace on an entirely new basis, releasing a whole series of developments. But so intoxicating was Philip's idea that theologians made a mistake exactly parallel to the one their predecessors made in the use of Augustine: the view that this was a complete and adequate explanation. Thomas Aquinas himself, in his early writings, shows hints of this one-sidedness, not giving sufficient attention to the moral impotence that is the result of Adam's fall. Nevertheless, it was Thomas who finally Review for Religious brought, the two factors, the specific and the generic, into unity. Peter Lombard's four states remain in the Thomist synthesis, but as applying to a specific question within the genus of the total divine plan.6 The Pattern Verified in the Specific Idea of "World" I have illustrated the way the human mind naturally works in time as it advances in understanding: first, a specific idea; then, exaggeration of this idea; next, a generic idea; exaggeration of this in its turn; eventually a synthesis. I believe the pattern is discernible also in the history of Christian thinking on the idea of the world. There too I find a specific and a generic factor, with the specific the first to be discovered and exploited beyond its potentiality, and the generic the next to be discovered and in its turn exploited beyond due measure. Again let us turn from the abstract to the concrete. Concretely the first step may be located in, or at least represented by, Anthony of Egypt. Toward the end of the 3rd century, "Anthony gave away his possessions, and devoted himself to a life of asceticism, and c. 285 retired completely into the desert . Towards the end of his life, the numbers of those who turned to the solitary life of the desert increased as the result of the secularization of the church.''7 It is possible to see this development in too simplistic a fash-ion, but at least one characteristic feature is clear: flight from the world. So it produced works with titles like De contemptu mundi (On contempt of the world). It filled Europe with hermitages, con-vents, and monasteries. For twelve centuries the idea ran its course with enormous impact on Christian v.alues, Christian living, Christian institutions.8 But it suffered the handicap of being a specific idea attempt-ing to provide a total view. For one example, the term vocation was appropriated to the religious life (as it commonly still is). In this respect the laity of the church and even the diocesan clergy were deemed to belong to a lower class: they did not have a "voca-tion." A reaction was inevitable, but it was centuries taking shape. Many diverse influences were at work promoting it. Its history is a complex interweaving of those influences. There were subver-sive along with legitimate movements. But what was positive and valid in the reaction, and quite natural and basic in the unfolding Septentber-October 1999 Crowe ¯ The "WorM"from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican II dialectic, was the emergence of the generic factor in the concept of the world. The Pattern Verified in the Generic Idea of "World" The quite basic event, then, in the. emergence of the generic concept of the world was the discovery by Philip the Chancellor of the two orders: natural and supernatural. I used this earlier to illustrate the pattern of human thinking as it is found in theology (not only was there the familiar series of grace, faith, charity, and merit, but also nature, reason, an'd the natural love of God). I use it now as a basic explanatory factor for the new stage of our dialec-tic. That is no accident. It is an idea so fundamental that it is bound to appear in the history of any theological idea. It underpins all that I have to say in this section and the following. Every discovery makes its way against opposition from an estab-lishment. The recognition of the natural order had to be followed by a recognition of its rightful autonomy, and that could not fail to be a traumatic experience for the church. The history of this strug-gle need not detain us here. In essence the point is that the human race was not only created divine; it was also created human, with a need for hunting, fishing, farming, for song and dance, for math-ematics, science, philosophy, whatever lies within its potency for development. Without grace we are able, Thomas Aquinas would say, using his favorite example, to cultivate our fields and build our houses. But the full extent of that principle means that without grace we can marry and be given in marriage, form guilds among artisans, establish universities, function as nations, join in a world union of peoples, explore the boundaries of space. Further, the natural has its own laws. Natures operate uni-formly: we do not gather grapes from thorns or figs from thistles (Mr 7:17). And those natural laws can be isolated in thought and allowed to develop and flourish according to their own potential. For to be human is to learn: to learn that there are human tech-niques for producing good crops, human means for controlling nature, human means of self-government, human means for gain-ing wisdom and educating upcoming generations, and so on through the list. If, then, we take a broad view of the forest, not stopping to study individual trees, we can discern here the generic factor in Review for Religious the concept of the world, the needed complement to the specific factor provided by Anthony. This generic factor is the recogni-tion of the world as good in its own right. God did not create an evil universe, but made all things that they might have being and life (Ws 1:13-14; 1 Tm 4:4). That means that we can no longer be satisfied with the negative connotation of "flight from the world." There is a positive side to Anthony's strategy: its focus on the transcen-dent. The negative side is not repudiated, but it has to be seen in relation to that focus and has to be complemented by a generic view of the goodness of all creation. But the pattern of the dialectic suggests that this step too will be exaggerated, and that is exactly what happened. In the intoxication of this new idea, there was a widespread repudia-tion of the age-old flight from the world. Convents and monasteries were emptied; instead of contemptus mundi, there was a glorification of the secular.9 And so secularism arose: what was legitimate in the discovery of the natural, what was legitimate in the declaration of its auton-omy was magnified to an ism. What was a genetic idea that should have been brought into union with the specific paraded as the full explanation of the universe. A movement for the liberation of the secular became a secularism. The secular and the sacred have to do with human thought and feeling and the human use of creation. Uniting the Specific and the Generic: New Categories Christian thinking on th~ world has gone through the two phases inherent in the dialectic of human learning: the discovery and undue exploitation of a specific factor, followed by a reaction, and the discovery and undue exploitation of a generic factor, fol-lowed in its turn by a reaction. The current need is for the inte-gration of the two factors, and the categories that offer hope of that are the sacred and the secular. This pair of terms has crept into our discussion as related to, but not identical with, the supernatural and the natural. They need more careful definition. The natural and the supernatural provide the framework of creation; they are what philosophers would call Septentber-October 1999 Crowe ¯ The "WorM"from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican 11 the ontological constituents of the universe. But the secular and the sacred have to do with human thought and feeling and the human use of creation; they pertain to the cultural sphere rather than the ontological. The natural cannot be made supernatural: as Isaiah reports the word of the Lord, "my thoughts are not your thoughts, and your ways are not my ways" (Is 55:8, NEB). God is the wholly other. Grace perfects nature but does not destroy it. The natural, then, maintains its identity within the unity of God's creative plan. Catholic schools do not use a different mathematics to add and subtract, to divide and multiply. But while the natural remains what it was created to be, it can be invested with the aura of the supernatural, and in this sense the natural can be sacralized, become sacred. Bernard Lonergan provides a context in which to locate this cultural transformation: "The whole world of sense is to be. a token, a mystery, of God"; and again: "the world of sense is. a mystery that signifies God as we know him and symbolizes the fur-ther depths that lie beyond our comprehension.''~° This means that the secular, not only as a world but also in its various aspects, can in human thought and feeling be given the character of the sacred. So in primitive peoples there was a religious ritual for plant-ing and harvesting, for coming to puberty and marrying, for rev-erent remembering of the dead, and so on. All these activities are given a sacred aspect, though their natural basis allows for their secular use. But they are only potentially secular; they are not at first recognized to have that aspect. For the human race is funda-mentally religious, in the sense of being created with a religious consciousness, and has remained religious despite all the protests of unbelievers. One may say: In the beginning was the sacred. That is, what later became distinguished as the two zones of the sacred and the secular was at first all one zone, and it was sacred. Now, just as in the ontological sphere the natural component of the universe had to be recognized for what it was, the natural, so too in the sphere of the cultural the legitimately secular aspect had to escape from the domination of the sacred and assume its independent role in the plan of creation. In the course of this development, there was inevitably a conflict with the representa-tives of the sacred; inevitably too the secular won its rightful inde-pendence. "For this sacralized construct of man and his universe was impugned and impugned successfully by Copernicus, Galileo, Review for Relig4ous and Newton, by Darwin and Freud, and by the swarm of philoso-phies" at least since Descartes.~l So the struggle between natural and supernatural was repeated here, with the same exaggerations. The extremists were not con-tent to liberate the secular; they were driven also to desecrate the sacred. Concretely we might think of the relation between a sec-ular day of rest and the Lord's Day. There has been a strong ten-dency in this matter for the sacral to dictate to the secular, imposing a religious observance so strict as to frustrate the secu-lar purpose of a day of rest. But on the other side there is the des-ecration of the Lord's Day represented in past history by the extremists in the French Revolution and, some would say, by the present Sunday shopping. Uniting the Specific and the Generic: New Strategy Perhaps it is possible now to sketch the lines we might follow to achieve the desired integration of our specific and generic fac-tors. Our question is: How is the church to achieve the unity of Anthony and Aristotle, of Jerusalem and Athens, of the transcen-dent and the this-worldly, and now in particular of the sacred and the secular? Our suggestion is that what had been at first unwit-tingly sacralized was then wittingly secularized. Bur what was wit-tingly secularized can be wittingly resacralized for Christian purposes as the need arises. The pagans of Rome sacralized their meat by offering it to their gods, but the Christians could, in effect, desacralize these meats with a good conscience and, if they wished, resacralize them to their own purpose: "he who eats meat has the Lord in mind when he eats" (Rm 14:6). Again, a game of golf may be just what workers need on their day of secular rest, and present discipline in the church allows them to keep holy the Sabbath and still go golfing. But the new sacralization will be different. There will be a new understanding and a new humility. The sacred will not dictate to the secular in the latter's own sphere. It will be a sacralization through the intention of believers, using the natural end of a nat-ural entity to their religious purpose. They who eat meat have the Lord in mind when they eat; they who golf give thanks alike in the weekly Eucharist and in their outdoor exercise. A final point brings us back to larger issues: sacralization will not be merely extrinsic to the natural world. On this question Septentber-October 1999 Crowe ¯ The "WorM"from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican II Marie Dominique Chenu Op has some helpful remarks. He sees a purer presence of the church in the world creating a new kind of Christians in the world: missionaries of the gospel, and not the protectors of a civilization that they themselves have organized. The real vocation of lay people will be to show that Christianity does not despise the world, but lifts it up, consecrates it, and ful-fills it. And this new presence will unite intrinsically with the world, will make it a true partner, for the believers will read the signs of the times and through them discern the elements in the world and human history that are, as it were, naturally open to the sacred, offering the possibility of a new praeparatio evangelica. They now look for a spirituality that will integrate their life in a world that has become the main field where they must seek their sanctifica-tion. 12 Religious Life in the Ongoing Dialectic The focus of my attention has been the new path for the church in the world today, along the lines of the Vatican Council II document Gaudium et spes. We must be clear on the church in the new age before venturing to discuss religious life in the new age, for religious are Christian before they are religious; that is the order of the council in its document on the church, Lumen gen-tium.~ 3 But of course that means that the dialectic we have dis-cerned in history will apply also to the features of Christian living that religious have in common with all Christians. In that context we may anticipate the direction that applying the dialectic to religious life should take. We will understand how the religious state began as a "flight" from the "world," and we will realize that, as our conception and knowledge of that world has changed enormously, so also must our notion of flight from it. We have come a long way from St. Anthony of Egypt. I trust, never-theless, that we have not left him behind. With all reverence we may conceive an analogy with a hymn of Thomas Aquinas that the church uses in Holy Week: "The word of God, proceeding forth / Yet leaving not his Father's side." Our task is not to aban-don Anthony, but "proceeding forth" to retain his insight and transpose it into a realization of Vatican II's "church in the mod-ern world" and of religious life as it is to be lived in the coming millennium. Our task is to achieve in our own way the unity of the specific and ~he generic concepts of the world. Review for Religious Religious, then, will retain their vows, and the vows will have the meaning they had for Aquinas, a revocatio ab affectu temporalium, a withdrawal from affection for this world.14 They will have the meaning also that Anthony's flight from the world had for him in his time of secularization. And that meaning will remain even in the most sacred of times. A focus on the transcendent and the escha-tological state will necessarily involve the reevaluation of the world that the saints have always shown: not a contempt for the good of creation, but a love for the better to which the good is open. Correspondingly, there will be far more attention to the positive aspects of the vows. This movement has already begun, but it should undergo an extensive development. Similarly for the pos-itive counterpart of the "flight": contemplation of the divine. The cloistered will redouble attention to their contemplative role, and the active will redouble attention to their role as contemplatives in action. As we follow the dialectic in its future course, we would do well to consider our starting point. The first word in the gospel message is "repent" (Mt 4:17; and see the same in Mk 1:15, but with a preface, "The time has come . . ."). Our examination of conscience in this respect might ask in what degree, if any, we transferred to ourselves as perfection what belongs rather to the realm of the sacred. Medieval theologians argued at length about holiness and the more perfect state. Should the operative word be, not "holy" in the sense of personal virtue, but rather "sacred" in the sense of "consecrated to God"? Notes 1 Bernard Lonergan, Method in Theology (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994 reprint), p. 87. 2 Lonergan, Method, p. 87. 3 Grace and Freedom: Operative Grace in the Thought of St. Thomas Aquinas (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1971), p. I0. 4 Grace and Freedom, pp. 14-15. s Grace and Freedom, pp. 15-16. 6 Bernard Lonergan, "Gratia Operans: A Study of Speculative Development in the Writings of St. Thomas Aquinas," doctoral disser-tation, Gregorian University, Rome, 1940, pp. 36-37. The preface and introduction, from which the dialectical pattern is taken, were published in Method: Journal of Lonergan Studies 3, no. 2 (October 1985): 9-46. The whole dissertation will he published in volume 1 of the Collected September-October 1999 Crowe ¯ The "World"from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican 11 Works of Bernard Lonergan, soon to appear from University of Toronto Press. This section of my article simply paraphrases Lonergan's position as set forth in that dissertation. 7 The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, ed. EL. Cross (London: Oxford University Press, 1958), article, "Antony, St., of Egypt." s See, for an example, G.J. Engelhardt, "The De contemptu mundi of Bernardus Morevalensis," Mediaeval Studies 22 (1960): 108-135; 26 (1964): 109-142; 29 (1967): 243-272. On the same topic Robert Bultot published widely in books and periodicals of the 1960s under the title La doctrine du m~pris du monde. 9 The turnaround had an interesting development in the Lutheran idea. Lutheranism "does not consider the call of the pastor any more sacred than the call of each Christian to witness to the lordship of Christ in his life and work. The universal priesthood of believers., makes the vocation of every man a holy calling"; see "Lutheranism" in A Handbook of Christian Theology (Cleveland and New York: World Publishing Company, 1958). Here too there is a valuable insight, namely, the vocation of every Christian, but it is not integrated into the dialectical development on the "world." 10 Bernard Lonergan, Insight: A Study of Human Understanding (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992), pp. 689, 692. '~ Bernard Lonergan, "Sacralization and Secularization," unpublished MS of a 1974 lecture (originally given 1973), p. 23. My whole article relies heavily on this lecture. ~2 Spirituality in the Secular City (Concilium 19), pp. 114-115. I have paraphrased, with frequent verbatim quotations, two pages of "Desacralization and the Spiritual Life" by Claude J. Geffr~ op. ~3 See chap. 6, §§43-47, on religious, in Lumen gentium, the coun-cil's Dogmatic Constitution on the Church. 14 On "revocatio ab affectu temporalium," see Thomas Aquinas, De perfectione vitae spiritual#, chap. 6. Review for Religious JOEL GIALLANZA "Come Closer. I Am Your Brother": Being and Doing Brotherhood In Genesis, chapter 45, Joseph, one of Jacob's sons, has the delicate task of revealing his identity to his brothers. Having sold him into slavery several years before, they do not recognize him now in this powerful Egyptian official, second only to Pharaoh. In his self-revelation Joseph tells his brothers, "Come closer to me. I am your brother" (Gn 45:4). To be convincing, Joseph has to do more than tell his brothers who he is; he must demonstrate this through his attitudes and actions toward them. If he was truly to be their brother, then he had to do what brothers do. Only then was he gen-uinely recognizable to them. This story has a valuable reminder for religious brothers today. The name by which we identify our-selves in life and in the church reflects a rich and prophetic spirituality. "Brother" is not only a title, it is what we are. Even more, it is what we are called and committed to do among ourselves, among the people, and for the church. Also, it is ever a reality we must become: it cannot be fully and finally accompJished at the time of our religious profession. In my experience of the church and sodety today, several forces outside lay religious life often contribute Joel Giallanza csc wrote for us as recently as our May-June issue. His formation work continues at Charles Andersen Residence; 320 Brahan Boulevard; San Antonio, Texas 78215. Septe~nber-October 1999 brothers Giallanza ¯ "Come Closer. I Am Your Brotber" We need one another to be who we say we are and to do what we say we do by our very vocation. to making brothers unrecognizable, unknown, or unappreciated. One of them is that the church's administration emphasizes-- implicitly and explicitly--the clerical state as normative for min-istry and governance within the church, while brotherhood tends to become invisible or at least peripheral. Another is that in a vari-ety of cultures the term brother is used to designate seminarians and other candidates for presbyteral ordination. From this perspective brotherhood tends to be inter-preted as a transitional stage. These outside forces, how-ever, are not alone in influencing the public perception of brothers. Two internal forces come to mind. Sometimes we define our-selves or allow ourselves to be defined in negative terms, that is, by what we are not: unordained or nonclerical men religious. To go through life with "un" or "non" as the beginning of our self-iden-tity is not a good basis for explaining our vocation. It is even a less good basis for promoting vocations. And sometimes we do not reflect upon sufflciendy and articulate clearly our own identity, including the challenges we face simply because we dare to call ourselves brothers. Being Brother Immediately striking about the term brother is its relational character. It expresses both a specific relationship and a way of being in relationship. For us it assumes that we are willing to enter into relationships with others. It assumes we choose to be involved, not isolated. Though Vita consecrata does not speak extensively about the vocation of brothers in the church, it recognizes four relationships that are to characterize our way of life. These religious are called to be brothers of Christ, deeply united with him, "the firstborn among many brothers" (Rm 8:29); brothers to one another in mutual love and working together in the church in the same service of what is good; brothers to everyone in their witness to Christ's love for all, especially the lowliest, the neediest; brothers for a greater brotherhood in the church (Vita consecrata, §60). Review for Religious I would like to comment on these four relationships and on their prophetic implications. Brothers of the Lord Whatever else we may do, whatever our ministry, the rela-tionship that defines and shapes religious life is our relationship with the Lord. This must be the first and deepest of all our rela-tionships. Jesus says to the disciples, "You are my friends, if you do what I command you . I call you friends because I have made known to you everything I have learned from my Father" On 15:14-15). Our relationship with the Lord, our friendship with God, is rooted in knowing and doing what we have learned from the Lord. To be brothers of the Lord is to know the ways of God and to do what the Lord asks of us. To be brothers of the Lord, we must be people of discernment and people of fidelity. We must probe God's will ever deeper and then faithfully put into action all that we discover. We must be skilled in seeing God in all and in seeing all in God. We thereby proclaim and live the intimate closeness of God to this world, even when global events or personal experi-ences provide no evidence or apparently contrary evidence of such intimacy. Brothers with One Another Everything we say about ourselves and about our life together will not be authentic if we do not live in such a way that our com-mon life is marked by love, mutual care and concern, courtesy, hospitality, and a genuine interdependence. Jesus tells us that we will be recognized as his followers if we love one another (see Jn 13:3 5). Note that Jesus does not say what we would be recognized as, if we did not love one another. Could we become completely invisible, thereby rendering impossible any kind of recognition? To be brothers with one another in a religious community is much more than merely getting along; it must go beyond friendly tolerance. There are two important elements here. First, to be brothers with one anothdr is to recognize and accept that we do not live this way of life alone. We need one another to be who we say we are and to do what we say we do by our very vocation. There must be a mutuality and an interdependence among us by which we September-October 1999 Giallanza ¯ "Come Closer. I Am Your Brother" strengthen and support one another. Second, to be brothers with one another is apostolic. The quality of our life together commu-nicates something about God's presence and activity in our world. In some areas of the world, we may be the only witnesses people see, the only evidenc~ they have that God is alive and active in their lives and in their culture and society. Brothers to the People Our very title brothers excludes distinctions among us. Nationality, culture, ethnic heritage, education, ministry, natural and acquired skills--all these are gifts that are to unite us, not dif-ferences to be made into walls of division among us. So too our presence among the people must communicate without compro-mise that we make no distinctions, that we welcome and are hos-pitable to all people. To be brothers to the people also influences the way we approach ministry, whatever our ministry. Our apostolic activity among the people must be a model and a means of unity for them. We must be skilled in guiding people to work together, to appre-ciate one another's gifts, and to share those gifts with one another for the good of all. Regardless of the specific nature of our min-istry, this task of facilitating union among the people is a primary aspect of our mission and message as brothers in the church and society today. Brothers for the Church There are many unnecessary distinctions in our church today. Among the most dominant are those between women and men, between lay and ordained persons. Our presence and activity in the church must strive to communicate a perspective free of the kinds of distinctions that can and sometimes do deteriorate into divisions. To be brothers for the church is to live and proclaim, in St. Paul's terms, "There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male 6r female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus" (Ga 3:28). We know it was a risk for St. Paul to preach such a message two thousand years ago. In truth, it is still a risk to preach this today precisely because people can and do establish their identity in distinctions. Any message that seeks to Review for Religious remove distinctions tends to disrupt that identity, thereby stimu-lating responses that range from simple admonition to sharp antag-onism. I believe it is part of the mission of brothers in the church today to preach and to live such a message regardless of the con-sequences. Doing What Brothers Do What I have said so far pertains to being brothers, pertains to our basic identity as lay religious in the church and society. To be brothers of the Lord, with one another, to the people, and for the church will have a definite influence on our doing what brothers do. Doing what brothers do is the prophetic dimension of our life as lay religious. In terms of these four basic relationships, what do we do as brothers? Through our relationship to the Lord, we demonstrate the possibility of living the example of Jesus in today's world. Jesus' example of selflessness, of compassion, of service to others is not popular today. We observe the sustained promotion and tenacity of an individualism which condones and constructs self-contained and closed styles of life that do not readily respond to the influence or needs of others. The danger is that Jesus' example could be placed on the shelf of items that are no longer realistic or useful for our world: items that are fine for museums of ancient artifacts, but not really relevant for everyday life in contemporary culture. To do what brothers do is a clear expression of the importance, necessity, and urgency of Jesus' example for today. Through our relationship with one another, we demonstrate the possibility of love and reconciliation. In a world where self-ishness and self-containment become the ways of relating to one another, love and reconciliation become ever more rare. Personal histories, past mistakes, and present weaknesses become conve-nient excuses for not reaching beyond ourselves to love, to for-give, to be reconciled with others. And yet it is only through our humanity--with our histories and mistakes and weaknesses--that we can love one another. To do what brothers do means commit-ting ourselves to love and forgive and reconcile, and to take up whatever means are necessary to live that commitment every day. Through our relationship to the people, we demonstrate the possibility of living in peace and unity. The rich diversity repre-sented in social, political, religious, cultural, and ethnic differ- September-October 1999 Giallanza ¯ "Come Closer. I Am Your Brother" ences is too often used as a basis for creating divisions among peo-ple. And as the barriers supporting those divisions become stronger, mutual destruction appears more effective and efficient than coop-erative dialogue. Conflict, violence, war then become the usual ways of dealing with differences in life. To do what brothers do means making every effort to show that the differences among people are graces and blessings to be celebrated, not burdens and bothers to be shunned. Through our brotherly relationship with the church, we demonstrate the possibility of living and ministering in equality. This equality is not uniformity; there can and must be distinctions among the many necessary ministries within the church. The important and imperative idea here is to help maintain the link between those many ministries and the common good of the Body of Christ. To create and then vindicate situations in which peo-ple are excluded or treated slightingly is not acceptable. Ignoring such situations is also not acceptable. To do what brothers do means pointing out injustices and inconsistencies--in our society, but most especially in our church. We will not be popular for iden-tifying such realities, but to neglect doing so would contradict what we profess to be and to do. The Haunting Question Male lay religious are often confronted with the simple but haunting question "What is a brother?" Brothers themselves, as well as other church ministers, struggle with formulating a satis-factory response. I do not believe that any response, however elo-quent and theologically sound, will ever be satisfactory. Indeed, it cannot be. If being a brother and doing what brothers do is at heart a matter of relationship, then our identity as brothers will be found in our actions, in our witness and our way of relating to the Lord, to one another, to others, and to the church. Thus, the only worthy answer to "What is a brother?" is simply "Watch us! Watch what we do, how we behave. Observe our love, care, concern, com-passion. Watch us. Then you will see and know what being a brother is." Are we willing to make that response? Will the integrity, consistency, and quality of our lives withstand such close scrutiny? The precedent for this response has been established already. When asked by John the Baptist's disciples, "Are you the one who Review for Religious is to come, or are we to wait for another?" Jesus responds, "Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the leper~ are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them" (Mt 11:3- 5). Jesus' response invites a simple and direct method: observe, then report what you see. Could it be that we work to enhance the eloquence of our language and the soundness of our theology in responding to "What is a brother?" because we hesitate to say "Watch us"? Obviously, to invite close observation is to imply an integrity and a quality of life that are beyond question or com-promise. Writing to the Corinthians, St. Paul is boldly explicit in continuing Jesus' precedent: "Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ" (1 Co 11:1). In fact, no less than seven times does Paul make this recommendation in his correspon-dence with the early Christian commu-nities (see 1 Co 4:16 and 11:1; Ph 3:17 and 4:19; 1 Th 1:6; 2 Th 3:7 and 9). We might wince at the bluntness--almost arrogance--of his recommendation. Nevertheless, the only way to avoid rel-egating Jesus' example to the realm of theoretical ideals is by a practical demonstration of it. Only a living example can accomplish that demonstration effectively. Brothers must live in such a way that we can make this Pauline recommendation with confidence and integrity. If we believe that our God is incarnational, then the example of our own lives must be the first of all our responses to the simple question "What is a brother?" Again, we must ask ourselves about our willingness and ability to make that response. Any other response, whether from an individual religious or froma general chapter, will fall short of the convincing and transforming power inherent in a living example. Being brothers and doing what brothers do involve decisions regarding a belief and a behavior. The belief is that the example of our brotherhood, as a reflection of Jesus' own, is necessary for society and for the church today--and tomorrow. The behavior is our effort to follow Jesus with integri.ty, simplicity, and fidelity. Through our brotherly .relationship with the church, we demonstrate the possibility Of living and ministering in equality. September-October 1999 Giallanza * "Come Closer. I Am Your Brother" This belief and behavior must stem from deliberate decisions, for they will not and cannot come into being by themselves. If they do not find explicit expression in our daily lives and activities, then they do not exist at all. If we cannot invite the world to "Watch us" when we are asked about the identity and meaning of our life as brothers, then we have only words. Such words die in thin air without living exam-ples to certify their truth. Action verifies articulations; witness confirms words. When action and witness are separated from artic-ulations and words, credibility is compromised. To speak and to act, together, must constitute our effort to define who and what we are as religious brothers and, being brothers, what we do. All else is shifting sand. All else contributes to the continued invisibility of religious brothers within the church and society. Being and Doing To be brothers and to do what brothers do are inseparable. We must strive for consistency in our life so that what we per-ceive and profess ourselves to be and what we do become a single reality. Otherwise we compromise the quality of any prophetic presence and activity we would have in the world. To be and to do as brothers of the Lord, we must be men of integrity, firmly rooted in the Lord. To be and to do as brothers with one another, we must be men of communion, who willingly choose the interdependence necessary for a healthy and whole life. To be and to do as brothers to others, we must be men of mis-sion, who love others through compassion and service. To be and to do as brothers for the church, we must be men willing to pro-vide challenge, whose commitment to the church enables us to question its inconsistencies even as we continue to love it. In the Book of Genesis, the challenge confronting Joseph is both to reveal his identity and to witness to the truth of that rev-elation. He begins with a simple invitation, "Come closer to me." He invites closer scrutiny and careful listening, confident that he will be recognized and accepted for who and what he claims to be. We religious brothers, by the very nature of our vocation, must extend the same invitation in all our relationships. The witness of our integrity, our sense of communion and mission, and the chal-lenge we present will confirm or contradict the truth of what we claim to be and profess to do. Vita consecrata says that brothers participate in the "mission of proclaiming the gospel and bearing witness to it with charity in everyday life" (§60). Such proclamation and such witness are responsibilities we bear and services we provide. They are the heart of our invitation to "Watch us"--to "Come closer" and see ¯. "I am your brother." Questions for Personal and Communal Reflection These brief reflections need fi~rther refinement from the particular cultures and contexts in which brothers live and minister around the world today. In fact, the most sound theologies of religious brotherhood today will conte from within those cultures and contexts. Generic theologies of religious life, by attempting to speak to everyone, run the risk of speaking to no one. As we continue to reflect on and discuss various dimensions of our religious life, we must remain ever attentive to the specific culture and context in which we live and minis-ter. The following questions are offered as a starting point for individuals and for communities. For us as brothers of the Lord, what aspects of Jesus' example and teaching are particularly striking and significant, given the heritage of our religious congregation and the particular culture in which we live and minister? As brothers with one another, what do we desire people to see in us through our life together? What do we believe our wimess communicates to people? What evidence do we have to support that belief?. As brothers to the people, what means do we use to foster peace and unity among them? How do our ministries serve towards dialogue and reconciliation? As brothers for the church, what efforts do we or could we make in our local area to emphasize the equality of persons within the church? With what specific challenges does our heritage as a congregation con-front the church? In which aspects of our life are we confident in saying "Come closer"? In which aspects of our life fire we hesitant about saying "Watch us" in response to people's questions about our vocation? What are the principal gifts we bring as brothers to this cultural set-ring? What are the principal social and ecclesial challenges confronting us today as brothers in this cultural setting? What is the most attractive quality about our religious life in this cultural setting? What is least attractive? What means would be effective in the particular culture where we live and minister for educating the people and the church about the voca-tion of brothers? In addition to the witness of our life, what are effective strategies for promoting vocations to religious brotherhood today? Septentber-October 1999 PAUL BEDNARCZYK Religious Brothers: One Vocation Director's Perspective Religious congregations of brothers can no longer ignore the question of new membership. The "vocation crisis" is staring us in the face. We can debate more effective governmen-tal structures, we can plan new mission orientations, and we can write more documents about solidarity with the poor, but, unless new members join our communities, what will it all mean fifty years from now? The membership crunch seems to be hitting home more now than ever. In many dioceses and religious congregations, the vocation question has been moved to the forefront. At their annual national meeting three years ago, the United States bishops agreed on a comprehensive strategy for vocations to the priesthood and reli-gious life. In June 1998 the U.S. bishops' committee on vocations sponsored a national symposium that had an overwhelming atten-dance. In addition, both the men's and women's religious leader-ship conferences--the Conferences of Major Superiors of Men (CMSM), the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR), and the Conference of Major Superiors of Women Religious (CMSWR)--are exploring how leadership corporately can be more active in promoting the priesthood and religious life. For the past thirty-some years, we have quietly and sometimes unconsciously watched more brothers leave our corigregations than Paul Bednarczyk CSC, of his congregation's eastern province, first published this article in Horizon, a journal for vocation directors. His address is Congregation of Holy Cross; 85 Overlook Circle; New Rochelle, New York 10804. Review for Religious enter them. We prayed for vocations, and many communities even maintained their commitment to a full-time vocation director, but few prospects have joined our prenovitiate programs. Although over the years there was a general concern about the lack of new members, still--because numbers of brothers remained in the "work force"--we felt somewhat comfortable regarding our num-bers. These days are now gone. Our congregations are aging, men are retiring, and fewer members remain in full-time ministry. Our younger members continue to be few. We must confront the new-membership question. Much has been written about societal factors that create a cli-mate unfavorable to religious vocations. Family and neighborhood structures are no longer what they once were. We are witnessing changing definitions of family: single-parent homes, blended fam-ilies, children being raised by gay or lesbian couples. In addition, physical, sexual, drug, and alcohol abuse have greatly impacted the trust and stability that families need. Individualism and mate-rialism have consumed our American culture. Authority is looked upon cynically and institutions are considered suspect. Combine that with young people's inability or reluctance to make commit-ments, and religious vocations become an uphill battle. The changing face of the American Catholic and the tension between Catholic teaching and American values also have an impact on the numbers of religious vocations. The rising multi-culturalism of U.S. Catholics challenges us. Many Hispanic peo-ple continue to abandon the Catholic faith of their ancestors for fundamental and evangelical groups. Polls claim that many Catholics believe that the church's teaching on contraception, homosexuality, and premarital sex is outdated. Although young adults in general do not see the difference between clerical and religious celibacy, they will say that celibacy is the primary rea-son why they would not be a priest or a religious. Likewise, given our democratic values, American Catholics must reconcile them-selves with a church that does not function democratically. I believe it important to mention these factors at the outset because, although they are beyond our control, they have an effect on our religious-vocation promotion. In this paper I intend to share my own reflections on why fewer people are choosing to be brothers. Although I belong to the Congregation of Holy Cross, I have shared some of these ideas with brothers in other religious congregations. We are not alone in our struggle. After five years Septentber-October 1999 Bednarczyk ¯ Religious Brothers as vocation director, I offer thoughts I have gleaned from numer-ous vocation talks I have heard and given, from many meetings and discussions withadolescents and young adults, from direct-ing men and women on both personal and group discernment retreats, and from my association with other vocation directors both regionally and nationally. 492 A Question of Visibility We religious brothers are invisible. To put it more precisely, people generally have no clear idea about who or what we are. I say this neither cavalierly nor despairingly, but as simple truth. Part of this is the reality that we are fewer in number. In the United States, according to thd 1998 official Catholic Directory, the number of religious brothers dropped in 1997-98 by 178, resulting in a national total of 6115. Of course, many of these are retired or infirm and therefore no longer engaged in part- or full-time min-istry- and so are even more invisible. Brothers in teaching congregations cannot assume that the freshmen entering our high schools in September know what a religious brother is. Even though some come to us from Catholic grade schools, many have not met a religious brother or sister and know little or nothing about religious life. If they do have a min-imal understanding oic our life, most likely their perceptions have been influenced by what they see in the media, which is often dis-torted, stereotyped, and scandal ridden. Their parents, too, a generation that had greater exposure to religious in classrooms and parishes, have limited understandings of religious life. They may have romanticized notions of who we once were or, on the other hand, may endlessly repeat stories of brothers and sisters maintaining uncompromising discipline and inflicting harsh corporal punishments. In addition, people are con-fused by the polarization of the various religious lifestyles. How do lay people find a balance among various extreme "liberal" and "conservative" positions taken by religious men and women? How do they understand community when the religious they know live in private apartments or are in scattered communities of twos and threes? Although there are justifications for various places on the spectrum, the average persons in the pews just do not understand. I think it safe to say that they are confused, just as we are at times. The question of visibility is more complex than the reality of Review for Relig~o~!s fewer members. It is, I believe, also related to a greater issue in the church. Without a doubt, within the past twenty years our church has become increasingly clerical. At a time when there are fewer and fewer priests, lay religious life is not always promoted in the church as enthusiastically or emphatically as it could be. In litur-gies all of us have heard public prayers for vocations to the priest-hood and privately wondered why we were not also praying for vocations to the religious life. I do not think these omissions are intentional. When I have respectfully asked presiders to include in their future prayers of petition a mention of an increase in candi-dates for religious life as well, I was usually met with sincere apolo-gies and a response such as "To tell you the truth, I didn't even think of it." Such admitted forgetfulness is disarming, but the response remains a telling one. Another reality is that many bishops and priests are "gun shy" of religious men and women. Since many of their dealings with us have been confrontational and neg-ative, it seems they may be choosing to either ignore or avoid us in order to avoid future hostile situa-tions. Likewise, we religious have suffered from our own antago-nisms with the clergy and the hierarchy, and we too may choose to either ignore or avoid them. My point is not to say that we are right and they are wrong, but rather that stereotypes and false generalizations held by either party only lead to further break-downs in communication and in understanding one another's voca-tions in the church. If we assume an "us and them" mentality, we add to the divisiveness that already exists here and there in our church, and it is the church, the people of God, that ultimately suffers from such internal strife. To pin the blame of our invisibility solely on the church would be both unjust and inaccurate. We brothers must own the fact that some of us have chosen to be invisible. In the neighborhoods of some of our communities, I would conjecture that most of the neighbors are unaware that there is a religious community of men living on their block. Instead of participating in the life of our local parish community, some of us have chosen instead to par-ticipate anonymously in a nearby parish that may provide a better liturgy or choir. At a time when many teaching congregations have made concerted and successful efforts at connecting the mission of We religious brothers are invisible. September-October 1999 Bednarczyk ¯ Religious Brotbers their schools with the mission and charism of their community, some brothers choose not to participate in school activities, often to the dismay and wonder of lay colleagues, parents, and alumni. Although reasons for these examples may be acceptable to us, we must realize that such choices promote further invisibility and anonymity, something which we brothers can no longer afford. Without a public presence, our hope for future vocations is dim. The old clich~ has much truth: "Out of sight, out of mind." Not being part of the clerical hierarchy has given us a unique freedom that is comfortable. I heard one brother say about the hierarchy: "It's good that they forget about us--this way they leave us alone!" We come to a religious community not to dis-tance ourselves from the existing tensions or authority in the institutional church, nor to find a supportive haven for our anger against church authority, nor, for that matter, to promote our own church agenda. As consecrated religious we are men of the church and in the church. Our vocation by its very nature calls us to deepen our baptismal commitment and our relationship with the people of God. The faithful see us and look to us for who and what we are: men who through our vows have consecrated ourselves totally to God and to service within the church. They expect us to be integral to the church: when they do not see this, they are surprised and confused. If we are going to welcome men into our communities, I believe that we must all realistically deal with our feelings and beliefs about the church of today--not the church of yesterday or tomorrow, but the church of today in all of its glory and weakness. Generational Differences The majority of us have lived through the social, political, and ecclesial turbulence of the 1960s. We experienced the devastation of political assassinations, the power of the people in working for justice, and the sense of betrayal and shame that resulted from Watergate. We mourned the violence and casualties of the Vietnam War and of the racial wars that were erupting in our city streets. We underwent our own personal and spiritual transformations after the drastic changes set in motion by the Second Vatican Council. Suddenly our equilibrium was shaken. We experienced a shift in values from uniformity to diversity, from authoritarianism to collegiality, from commonality to individuality. Review for Religious We dealt with these dramatic events and changes in a variety of ways. Some simply left religious life. It seems to have been a good decision for some, once they discovered they .may have become brothers for the wrong reasons. On the other hand, oth-ers left and we still wonder why. Regarding these departures we still grieve. And, into the bargain, some of us have stayed. What are our reasons for remaining? After these radical shifts in church, society, and culture, has our dependence upon God and one another deepened, or have we learned instead to place more trust in our own self and in our material security? Have our vows increased our joy and appreciation for life, or have they regretfully only made our life burdensome? Do we face the uncertainty of the future with excitement and hope, or with cynicism and despair? If we are to witness to an attractive lifestyle option, we must answer these questions honestly and reexamine our own commitment to religious life. Unlike many of us who were brought up with the order and constancy of a triumphal church, our young people today have experienced conflicting messages from a church in transition, and they seek, simply, truth. In the face of New Age spirituality and watered-down Christianity, there are those who, in their desire to know more of what it means to be Catholic, resort to tangible, traditionally Catholic symbols. I find it fascinating that Exposition and Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament is making a comeback on college campuses. In the midst of the noise and rush of their aca-demic lives, students appreciate the hour of silence in the pres-ence of Mystery. Similarly, young adults are rediscovering the virtue of Mary, and have found the rosary to be an attractive form of prayer that is identifiably Catholic. Some ofos may be quick to categorize these young people as conservative or wacky, but these are students who volunteer weekly at local soup kitchens and par-ticipate in "alternative" spring breaks with Habitat for Humanity. They are also class officers, athletes, and students on the dean's list. As I have discovered, our younger people defy the neat and tight boxes in which we tend to categorize them. Have our VOWS increased our joy and appreciation for life, or have they regretfully only made our life burdensome? Septentber-October 1999 Bednarczyk ¯ Relig4ous Brothers To live with the ideals, hopes, and dreams of the young is inconvenient and at times even uncomfortable. In my meetings with men who are exploring a vocation, I have found that it is not because of ministry, education, or social-justice convictions that they are drawn to religious life. Our church has evolved to where, if this were their primary desire, they could eas-ily do this in a Catholic institution as laypersons. They are com-ing to us first and foremost for the religious life itself. To live in the secular world as a committed Christian espousing Catholic values is difficult for them. They admit their need for a community of like-minded individuals who could strengthen their love for God and their Catholic convic-tions. They are not looking for just a nice group of people who do good work. They are looking for men who know and can lead them to God and who can give them a sense of hope in a world that has become increasingly pessimistic and destructive. They want to pray together, share their faith, and bring the Good News to people through their ministry. They acknowledge the Eucharist as central to our faith, and they have devotion to it. Since they often come from an unchurched, nontraditional back-ground, they seek structure and definition. From our community perspective, that is quite an order to fill! Some of you who are reading this are probably wincing and saying, "I thought we got away from that years ago!" To put it simply, I believe we find ourselves in the middle of a generation gap. Thirty years ago some brothers retained their habits, sat in their pews, and looked with distaste upon those who wore jeans and colored shirts and prayed on throw pillows. They thought that, for sure, religious life was quickly going down the tubes. The younger brothers, however, challenged the older brothers to renew their zeal for religious life by adapting to a different lifestyle, one that was based more on shared expressions of faith and on more interpersonal, communal living. Likewise, the younger members were taught by the elders to appreciate the tradition of our life and consequently were enriched by their fidelity to their vows in the face of change. Since some of us have lost a younger generation in our con-gregations, we have forgotten what it is like to be challenged by the young. The lively community dynamic that occurs with the mix- Review for Religious ture of generations--the elderly, the middle-aged, the young--does not happen in many of our local communities. As a result, many of us have grown comfortable with one another and in our life together. For the majority of us, the mutual challenges and exchanges that we all remember from our earlier years and that occur naturally between the young and old do not happen anymore. At forty-one years old, I am still considered one of the "young" brothers in my community. I realize that much of my religious life has been lived with men older than myself. Although I am thank-ful for the benefit of their example and wisdom, as I enter my own midlife I realize that I have been deprived of living with the con-tagious energy and enthusiasm of much younger religious. I know that I need at times to be challenged to think in new ways and to experience life differently. Most of us are middle-aged or older. If we are to have a newer generation following us, we must--even if it becomes increasingly more difficult as we age--be open to the renewal of our basic val-ues: prayer, community, and lifestyle. Ironically, those who are considering religious life look for deeper community experiences while some veterans of thirty or forty years say they are tired of the routine and demands in community. How do we bridge this gap? To live with the ideals, hopes, and dreams of the young is incon-venient and at times even uncomfortable, but I know of no other way. Although youthful idealism may need some tempering, we must admit that at least it is refreshing. We have now become the "older" brothers of yesterday, and, like the older ones of thirty years ago, we too are invited to new ways of thinking and being as we look to the next generation in religious life. I do not believe that age has to be a deterring factor. When I hosted discernment retreats for prospective candidates at our retire-ment facility, I would invite three of our elderly brothers to tell their vocation stories. The combined witness of almost two hundred years of faithful religious life is better than any vocation brochure I could ever design! Their authentic fulfillment in Holy Cross and their continuing joy and vitality were always evidence to these interested men that this life can be lived and can be lived well. Our young people look to their elders for inspiration. They hunger for the wisdom that comes from living a prayerful and reflective life with God. If, however, they see stagnation, apathy, and cynicism, they are left disillusioned and wanting. For many of us, our lives as religious have been deeply enriching and grace filled, and yet some September-October 1999 Bednarczyk * ReligiousBrotbers of us are reluctant to share these experiences with each other. We underestimate at times the power of our stories. In many religious congregations it has been the tradition to respond to "the signs of the times" and to the contemporary needs of the church. I maintain that we need to continue this spirit of openness not only to our mission and ministries, but also to our religious lives as well. The Answer Is in the Present I do not claim to have the answers for the future. To be truth-ful, my worry is not for the future, nor is it for the past. It is the present that is my concern. We can only theorize about the future, as we can only reminisce about the past. Such intellectual exer-cises tend to distance us from the responsibility of making neces-sary choices about our lives and our community in the present. In general, given the societal changes and challenges discussed above, some recerit shifts in our culture seem to coalesce with our lives as religious brothers. For example, our society displays a renewed interest in spirituality. Celebrities from Oprah to Madonna have made daily meditation chic again! With the pro-liferation of self-help and support groups for every issue imagin-able, people long for connection and belonging. They desire "to share their story" and to be validated by a group. Corporations are supportive of community service, and some school systems have included service components in their curricula. As a result, volunteerism is at an all-time high. Ironically, many authors are making lots of money with their best-selling books on how to sim-plify one's lifestyle. It would seem that religious brotherhood would somehow fit into this picture. Our life is a wonderful secret that needs to be shared more now than ever before. As religious brothers we bring, I believe, a special gift to the church. Our faith teaches us about a God whose love is uncondi-tional and whose mercy is unlimited. If faithfully and genuinely lived, our vows attest that fulfillment is to be found more in the transcendent than in the transitory. Where division and broken relationships characterize many families and marriages, our com-mitment to community life, despite its inherent struggles, myste-riously witnesses to welcome, order, acceptance, and equality. I have read many books and articles detailing futures for reli-gious life in temporary vowed commitments, lay associate mem- Review for Religious bership, satellite communities, blended communities, and so forth. All of that makes for interesting reading and good discussion, but I return to the question: What about now? How do we live now the vows we professed, however many years ago? Do we do so with the passion, zeal, and love of our early years? I do not believe that the answer to the challenges of our pre-sent situation is as simple as the reconstruction of past external structures. Our lives are much more complex today than they were thirty years ago. No one can deny that our traditional structures served us well, considering the church and spirituality of the time, but it would be naive to expect the former ways to meet our con-temporary needs. We can romanticize about the past, but we know that it is impossible to turn the clock back. I am, however, not convinced--at least in my own congrega-tion- that we are at present compelled to create new models and forms of vowed religious life. We do not need to reinvent the wheel. We need to insure that the wheel we already have is on the right track. Besides, since Vatican II, a number of experimental lay and religious communities have already been formed, imple-menting exciting new models of lifestyle and commitment. How they will fare in the future, only time will tell. I am convinced that as brothers we need to reclaim who and what we are. We are men of the church vowed to a life of poverty, celibacy, and obedience. We commit ourselves to a life of prayer and mission with each other in community. Given today's society and culture, these core values are what make us countercultural. Our vows are meant to be lived joyfully, with hope. This life was meant to be lived in relationship with God and with one another. Our challenging times invite us to probe and to enter more deeply into the essence of our vows and the mysterious grace that comes with this life. I believe in the gift of religious life, and particularly in the gift of religious brotherhood. I want a future for us because I believe the church would b6 lacking without us. Knowing how much I have been enriched by my own vocation to Holy Cross, I desire to share this gift with a new generation of religious. I am sure that the majority of members in our communities desires the same, but to do this requires conversion and a courageous open-ness to the Spirit that speaks to us today--and not yesterday and not tomorrow. [--z~00 September-October 1999 AVIS CLENDENEN II On Promise Making, Leave-Taking, and Becoming journeying It has been sixteen years since I requested and received a dispensation from my religious vows. The following reflection explores--from ethical, psychological, and theological perspectives-- the experience of malting and breaking promises and leaving the vowed religious life. Principally I will be drawing upon the ethical con-siderafions of Sister Margaret Farley RSM, the psycho-logical insights of Dr. Carl Rogers, and the theological depth of Father Karl Rahner SJ. These pages reveal a slice of an experience shared by many--that is, the mak-ing of a religious commitment, living in a vowed reli-gious community for years, developing bonds of trust and friendship, experiencing a crisis of fidelity, discov-ering the personal inability/choice to sustain the orig-inal commitment, and ultimately breaking the commitment and leaving religious life. A suspicion I had as I thought about examining the psychology and theology behind the making and break-ing of promises was that Rogers and Rahner had more than their first names in common. I sensed they shared a fundamental understanding of the human person, the Avis Clendenen PhD, associate professor of religious stud-ies and director of the Pastoral Ministry Institute, teaches pastoral theology and ministry at Saint Xavier University in Chicago, where she can be reached: 3700 West |03rd Street; Chicago, Illinois 60655. Revie~v for Religimts human dilemma, and the graced and flawed human quest of becom-ing whole and free. The following reflection reveals some signif-icant connections between Rogerian psychology and Rahnerian theology and offers a way of viewing the painful process of leave-taking and becoming. The painful and hopeful contours of this all-too-familiar experience can be traversed again in openness to the possibility of deeper revelations about the choices we make that sustain our word of love. Sixteen years from my departure after a thirteen-year commitment gives me perspective and a desire to return and examine the process of making promises, breaking promises, and becoming. In the fall of 1969 at nineteen years of age I entered the Sisters of Mercy. My letter of request to enter was all of two paragraphs composed by a nineteen-year-old touched and transformed, as late teens can be, by the turbulent events of the 1960s: My reason for choosing religious life as my way of life is because this in the only life that makes sense to me, as an individual. I want to express my life as a commitment of love to God and His Church. I am not quite sure why there is an attraction to the Mercy order in particular, but I believe my potential for giving and receiving, of freedom and ful-fillment, lie within this community. By the time I would profess my final vows in 1978, all refer-ences to God in the masculine pronoun were to be stricken from my vocabulary. By 1978 1 would be a graduate of the Jesuit School of Theology, having been the first woman admitted to its master-of- divinity program. Throughout the 1970s I struggled with the weight of a patriarchal church, including the graces and conflicts surrounding the inclusion of women in all ministries of the church. I would, over the expanse of years, come to greater clarity as to my "attraction" to the Sisters of Mercy as women of valor and vision, with a deepening sense of gratitude for the reciprocity of our rela-tionship. The issues of freedom and fulfillment became bemus-ing, and the turbulent times never did seem to abate. At thirty-three years of age, thirteen years after my entrance and less than four years after my final profession, I received a dis-pensation from my vows of poverty, celibacy, and obedience. The following are excerpts from the letter I wrote to the provincial administrator, initiating the formal leave-taking process: To try and summarize all the spiritual and psychological investigations I have done would be an injustice to all that has September-October 1999 Clendenen ¯ On Promise Making, Leave-Taking, and Becoming gone into this decision. To say too little would be an injus-tice to the quality of relationship I have shared as a Sister of Mercy throughout these years. I feel great pain as I accept responsibility for breaking my promises. But it was the pain of remaining in religious community that finally made the decision. I have asked myself again and again about the truth and integrity of the final commitment professed in 1978. That moment expressed the insight and honesty that was available to me; and while only four years ago, it's been a lifetime. In the months I have lived alone, I have read all the journals from my thirteen years as a Sister of Mercy. I saw the patterns of my struggles repeated year upon year. I read and remembered delightful times in community. My loneli-ness lines many pages. Notes from numerous retreats reminded me of my love for God. And, oh, the growing rage at the institutional church as it demeaned me and our efforts for women's voice and body to be celebrated all places, including the altar. I do not believe that in asking for a dispensation from my religious vows I am walking away from the vision of Catherine McAuley, the works of mercy, the body of Christ, or the commitment with feminists to liberate ourselves from the patriarchy. I am stepping away from a vowed relationship among you. I promised to persevere for life. I believe I per-severed until there .was no more life for me. I am so very sorry. I do not look for understanding, I~ut I will always expect compassion for that is why we bear our name. For the compassion that has been shown me and I have shared with you, for the years of service given expres-sion to as a Sister of Mercy, for the treasured moments and persons, I will always be grateful. I remain a believer and a daughter of Catherine McAuley. I hold now with courage and trepidation her legacy, my Bible, and I turn a corner. And trust. To Give One's Word Yale University Professor of Christian Ethics and Sister of Mercy Margaret Farley's tough thinking on the meaning of fidelity and its claim of obligation form an important frame of reference in analyzing whether one has the moral sanction to end a com-mitment. Sister Margaret Farley wrote her book on commitment in the late 1980s, when the permanency of commitments in American marriages teetered at a fifty-percent divorce rate and when "defection" from the priesthood and religious life in the Review for Religious American Catholic Church continued to deplete the ranks of ordained and vowed Catholic ecclesial leaders. For many years I successfully avoided Margaret Farley's 1986 book Personal Commitments: Beginning. Keeping. Changing. Research for this article inevitably led me back to her work and the challenges to think hard about why we give our word in mak-ing commitments, why we are obliged to keep them, and under what circumstances we may be morally released from them. Farley suggests that the rise of the human-potential movement served to shift the goals of many from the challenges of permanent commit-ment, fidelity, and responsibility, toward the increasing warrant of the call for per-sonal growth and self-actualization. It was as if these two venues for being and becoming were mutually exclusive. Those who had previously interpreted their life in terms of a religious vocation began to claim the. need to transfer voca-tion from one locus to another. "It was not always easy to tell whether these were expressions of faithfulness or of irresponsibility and betrayal."' What does it mean to say you make a promise with a sense of its truth and integrity and then years later suggest that your insights and sense of integrity have changed so signifi-cantly as to justify a breaking of the bonds and a release from obli-gation? Is emotional pain and lack of personal fulfillment sufficient cause to be dispensed fr6m the vows professed in an act of freedom, a free action always given into the hands of an uncertain future? As Farley eloquently explains, commitment has to do with the free action of free persons who give their word as part of them-selves. Commitment m~ans to give my word because that word belongs to me and I freely choose to entrust it to another's keep-ing. In a sense, commitment means to share with one or more per-sons claims on my being there in a promised way with and for them. While my word is "given away," paradoxically I still pos-sess it because it is myself. In commitment we freely take on an obligation to do as we have promised. The motivation for the kind of commitment we are discussing here is always love. "By assuming certain frameworks for love, we Is emotional pain and lack of personal fulfillment sufficient cause to be dispensed from the vows professed in an act of freedom, September-October 1999 Clendenen ¯ On Promise Making, Leave-Taking, and Becoming commit ourselves to whatever we understand essentially to con-stitute this framework."2 The profession of religious vows to be lived in the mic

Issue 56.1 of the Review for Religious, January/February 1997. ; for relig i ou s Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1997 ¯ VOLUME 56 ¯ NUMBER 1 lived experience of all who find that the church's rich heritages of spirituality support their personal and apostolic Christian lives. The articles in the joumml are meant to be informative, practical, or inspirational, written from a theological or spiritual or sometimes canonical point of view. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Lonis, Missouri 63108-3393. Telephone: 314-977-7363 ¯ Fax: 314-977-7362 E-Mail: I:OPI~ EMA@SLUVCA.SI~U. E DU Manuscripts, books for review, aud correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDouough OP 1150 Cedar Cove Road ° Henderson, NC 27536 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional ,nailing offices. See inside back cover for iuformation on subscription rates. ©1997 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy an), material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal t, se 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 uotice 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 o,aly be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. for religious Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisoty Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Regina Siegfried ASC Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Jean Read James and Joan Felling Iris Ann Ledden SSND Joel Rippinger OSB Edmundo Rodriguez SJ David Werthmann CSSR Patricia Wittberg SC Christian Heritages.and Contemporary Living JA~NUARY-FEBRUARY 1997 ¯ VOLUME 56 ¯ NUMBER 1 contents living the consecrated life ~ 6 The Ambiguity of Religious Life: Does It Evolve? Nadine Foley OP highlights the living tradition of consecrated life evidenced in the phrase "consecration for mission" and its development in Vita consecrata. The Vatican II Generation and Religious Life Brian J. Pierce oP comments on his post-Vatican II experience of contemplative spirituality, community living and sharing, and ministry among the poor. Of Those Who Leave Us: A Typology Edward van Merrienboer OP describes five types of members seeking permission to leave and the behaviors that led to their petitions. growing as christians 37 Four Seasons for Christian Group Sharing Hilary Ot~ensmeyer OSB proposes a dynamic based on the framework of the four seasons for Christian groups to reach new levels of sharing. Inner Work with You~ Anger 'Paul Duckro, Marjorie Kukor, and Jean Meier CSJ present the potential of a contemplative or meditational encounter with anger, so linking the psychological and spiritual aspects of healing. On Letting Go Denise M. Callaghan SSND reflects on the pervasiveness of a "letting go" in the continuing call of God to us as individuals and as a community. Review for Religious 59 loving as celibates Nuptial Love and Discerning Celibacy's Call Daniel J. Trapp examines the specific call to celibacy as a spousal response to Christ's love. Consecrated Celibacy as Means, Peril, and Delight Melannie Svoboda SND describes a few aspects of the religious experience of consecrated celibacy which is rooted in the unfathomable mystery of God's radical-mad love. 72 finding God Mystical Moments in Daily Life Matthias Neuman OSB calls attention to the mystical moments that reveal a transcendent mysteriousness and often a holy . presence which are a part of our ordinary faith experience. Silence Donald Macdonald SMM points the ways in which silence helps us perceive the priceless gift of a Spirit-filled world. Jesus, Power, and the ONE Edmundo Rodriguez SJ presents a way of understanding how action on behalf of justice is sanctioned by the life and teaching of Jesus. departments Prisms ~.,~ /~o ~ ~-,~, ~-Jf~o,o- Canonical Counsel: Diocesan Institutes and Pontifical Institutes Book Reviews January-February 1997 prisms Jesus is the focus of this year's celebra-tions preparatory to the coming third millennium. In John Paul's apostolic letter "As the Third Millennium Draws Near," the thematic structure of the three-year period 1997- 1999 is Trinitarian. Since the distinctly Christological char-acter of the jubilee is a primary emphasis, the first year, 1997, is devoted to "reflection on Christ, the Word of God, made man by the power of the Holy Spirit" (40). National conferences of bishops, local dioceses and individual parishes, religious congregational provinces, and other church organizations have proposed various ways of entering into this reflection on Christ: Some helpful study aids, reflection guides, and discussion outlines are available. Programs and conferences, gatherings among various Christian churches, and especially prayer services are planned throughout .the year. We all are called to become a part of this movement-- like a three-year-long Advent preparation--to celebrate our Christian jubilee. The challenge for each of us is accept-ing our responsibility "to know Christ Jesus" and acting on it. Knowing Jesus was a constant theme of St. Paul's writ-ings to the young churches. It is the theme reemphasized in our preparation for celebrating the millennium. How do we come to know Jesus? Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John each give us a way of knowing Jesus. Every Gospel account became a composite reflection of the stories told about Jesus within an evange-list's particular community. Details and settings of the same stories differ from Gospel account to Gospel account, and it does not matter. Each way of telling the story is true in its Review for Religious ability to give us an entrance into knowing Jesus. At one moment in our lives, through the Gospel of Mark we may find ourselves impressed by the immediate sense of Jesus' activism, the uncluttered quality of his speech, the directness of his affective response. At another time we appreciate the Jesus of Luke's Gospel, who appears so much the person of prayer, compassion, and lively joy. Sometimes the longer wisdom stories of John's Gospel and the image-identity language of being bread, life, light, vine, shepherd, gate, or para-clete call us to pe~r deep into our well of meditation. Over and over as we move through the Gospels, we find ourselves always com-ing to know Jesus~ Perhaps, taking our cue from St. Paul, we might discover anew the insight especially applicable to our millennium preparation. Necessary and helpful as the Gospel accounts are for our knowing Jesus, only in entering into our own experience will we find the Jesus who calls us by name, knocks at the door of our heart, and persists in bringing about the fullness of the reign ofGod. St. Paul was marked forever by his experience of One saying to him, "It is Jesus of Nazareth whom you are persecuting." For Paul there was no confusion of James and Joseph and Julia and Claudia with Jesus. But Paul realized that, in his dealings with James and Joseph and Julia and Claudia, he was also dealing with Jesus and coming to know him more, Paul came to know Jesus the more he preached and the. more he worked with all the people in his churches and the more he prayed. What Paul focuses for each of us is the Jesus in front of us, the Jesus whose coming we await by the way we live and minis-ter now. Jesus in his total gift of living and dying and Jesus in his sure promise of coming is always being made present to us in the Eucharist and so in his Body, the church. We experience Jesus. Experiencing Jesus is more than studying Christology or gospel reading. Experiencing Jesus is more than serving a, soup line or demonstrating for peace. Experiencing Jesus is knowing Jesus in the way that Paul exhorts his churches to know Jesus and to let themselves be seen as models of imitation because of that knowl-edge. The demand for people who know Jesus in this way has never been so clearly expressed as it is in the pope's apostolic letter. In John's Gospel, the story is told of some Greeks who came forward to Philip, making the request "We want to see Jesus." How will we, with the question coming both from within us and from with-out, respond this year to that request? David L. Fleming SJ ~anuary-FebtwaO, 1997 living the consecrated life NADINE FOLEY The Ambiguity of Religious Life: Does It Evolve? A number of years ago, in one of those seemingly endless discussions about the character of religious life that flour-ished among women religious after Vatican Council II, I remember making a reference to the evolution of reli-gious life. Within my hearing a canonist vehemently snapped out an objection. "Her response startled me; I could not see a reason for her agitated insistence. Was it the word evolution? The word seemed appropriate to me as a member of a religious congregation of women whose founders, responding to needs of the mid-1800s, emerged from their cloistered life in Regensburg, Germany, and ,.met the challenges of ministry in their new home in America. The move was not merely geographical. It entailed considerable adaptation of their lifestyle, their sense of mission, and ultimately their self-identity as a religious congregation of women. Their revered daily reg-imen of discipline and prayer as Second Order Dominican nuns was not immediately adaptable to what they were to undertake in a new and strange world. In due time they made the wrenching decision to become conventual Third Order Dominicans, an available alternative within Dominican structures. Was this development some kind of evolution? Nadine Foley OP, a former president of the Leadership Council of Women Religious (LCWR), is professor of religious studies at Siena Heights College and is historian for the Adrian Dominican Sisters. She can be addressed at 1257 East Siena Heights Drive; Adrian, Michigan 49221. Review for Religious Other institutes of women religious, founded directly for active apostolic or ministerial life, came sooner or later to share much similarity with active institutes such as mine that have their ¯ historical roots in the cloistered contemplative life. For both of these groups, there were expectations of meeting the obligations that had pertained to contemplative life: separation from the world, limited contact with the laity, conformity in dress and often in demeanor, a set horarium of prayer and liturgical observance, and disciplinary practices of silence, self-abnegation, and obedi-ence. Many of these were unique to women religious and not shared by their male counterparts. But changes were occurring in women's religious life without the appropriate "infrastructure" to support it. Modifications were made--dropping night vigils and prayers, from the daily horarium, omitting face veils from the prescribed dress, and the like--but tensions often existed, whether acknowledged or not. The model for the religious life of women remained that of the enclosure. The 1917 Code of Canon Law, welcome in many respects, more or :less fixed the ambiguity canonically in the sense that its architects--and, no doubt, members of religious institutes as well--did not have a clear perception that something new was emerging in religious life and might require a new look at the canonical legislation. In the 1930s and 1940s religious congrega-tions hastened .to write new constitutions in conformity with the Code while at the same time many made formal application for the status of pontifical institute. The all-consuming preoccupation for women religious (and many men religious as well) was with developing the entire spectrum of Catholic education and health-care to meet the needs of a burgeoning Catholic population. The effort required education of the members in all of the relevant fields of specialization to meet the standards of accrediting agen-cies. Meanwhile, imperceptible to the outside observer and even to many within religious life, a ferment of dissatisfaction and dis-affection was gradually spreading. The competencies developed by religious in the many secular fields required for their professional ministries had the additional effect of providing them with criti-cal tools of analysis that they began to apply to their own per-sonal development and their social organization as religious institutes. Then came Vatican Council II. By this time the institutes of women's religious life were ready for the directives from Rome ffanuary-Febrttaty 1997 that followed it: Hold a general chapter of renewal within three years, consult all the members in preparation, and enter into a period of experimentation where it seems advisable. A further communication, directing the institutes to write new constitu-tions and statutes, called for a thorough review of the original inspirations of the founders. No one could have predicted the impact of what followed, particularly when the institutes devel-oped internal processes for consulting all the members. Their reflections and consultations brought to the fore a wealth of expe-rience that hitherto had not been factored into general-chapter decisions about the congregations' agendas. The questions and the solutions were wide ranging and radical in the very good sense of reaching to the roots of religious life and its very identity. Reexamining origins and reflection upon a century and a half of experience in ministry were critical in formulating new con-stitutions. The documents produced were perhaps the first to reflect the character of women's active, or ministerial, ~eligious life. Mining the rich tradition~ in the original inspirations of reli-gious institutes led to a breadth in understanding ministry, not so much as specific works, but as response to the needs of people in our times. 'But a parallel effort was in progress at the same time: the reform of the Code of Canon Law. While religious worldwide submitted data for the section on religious life, their work on constitutions proceeded without benefit of knowing how the canonical revisions were progressing. In the final analysis, while some strides were made, religious were unable to find in the revised canons support for some of the new approaches--to traditional values of governance, community, ministry, the vows-- that had already been duly incorporated into their constitutions and statutes. As one who participated in the process of gaining approval of new constitutions through conversations with members of the Vatican Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life (CICLSAL, a recent name change that requires its own exegesis), I had a privileged vantage point from which to examine the notion that religious life does not evolve. While processes had been devised whereby entire congregations participated in developing new constitutions (documents that for the first time accurately reflect our sense of identity as ministerial congregations of women religious), it became quite clear that we were expected ,to fit into a Procrustean bed of fixed categories. Review for Religious The suggestion, once heard, that we could save ourselves a lot of trouble if we just settled upon calling ourselves "secular insti-tutes" epitomized the problem. We did not fit many canonical expectations of "consecrated life," but at the same time we found no comfort in being labeled secular institutes. ("Institutes of apos-tolic life," founded specifically for traditional "missionary" activ-ity in "foreign" lands, continues to be a unique category.) It is against this background that I read the postsynodal apos-tolic exhortation Vita consecrata. Many things can be said about this document, some positive and some nega-tive. (I will not dwell here on the persis-tence of noninclusive language.) But I take encouragement in the inference I draw from it that there is basis here for the idea that religious life can in fact evolve--or at leastodevelop, if that is a more acceptable word. I draw this conclusion as I move from chapter 2 to chapter 3 and find a distinct theological shift from a transcendent view of religioils life to what I will call an incar-national one. The shift is particularly evi-dent in the treatment of consecration, no longer wholly identified with the vows, but associated with mission in the phrase "con-secration for mission." While the theological reorientation is not consistent throughout, the theme is pervasive enough to be noted as a significant change. Two themes that are present throughout 'the exhortation are consecration and eschatology. The manner of their treatment illus-trates, the shifting theology. In chapter 1 the organizing biblical text is Matthew's account of the transfiguration, described as "a decisive moment in the ministry of Jesus" (§ 15, italics in the original here and elsewhere). While the document presents this experi-ence of Peter, James, and John as constantly relived by the whole church, a people on its way to the eschatological encounter with its Lord, it has particular meaning for those called to the conse-crated life. For, we read, Peter's words "Lord, how good it is to be here! . eloquently express the radical nature of the vocation to the consecrated life." The. ecstasy and the mystery of the trans-figuration lead to the evangelical counsels as "a specific acceptance of the mystery of Christ, lived within the Church" (§16). Thus reli- Reexamining origins and reflection upon a century and a half of experience in ministry were critical in formulating new constitutions. Januaty-February 1997 gious consecration is linked to the eschatological realization of the reign of God to come. Applying this interpretation to the three basic vocations within the church, the text reads: "The laity, by virtue of the secular character of their vocation, reflect the mystery of the Incarnate Word particularly insofar as he is the Alpha and the Omega of the world, the foundation and measure of the value of all created things. Sacred ministers, for their part, are 'living images of Christ the Head and Shepherd who guides his people during this time of 'already and not yet,' as they await his coming in glory. It is the duty of the consecrated life to show that the Incarnate Son of God is the eschatological goal towards which all things tend, the splendor before which every other light pales, and the infinite beauty which alone can fully satisfy the human heart" (§16). The three vocations here do not reflect the division of the church into episcopacy, clergy, and laity found in Vatican II's Lumen gentium, an outline that, by including nonclerical religious only invisibly among the laity, seems to drop them from the church (see LG §§31 and 43). While harking back to the "objective superiority of the conse-crated life" (§§18 and 32), a notion seemingly abandoned after Vatican II, chapter 1 acknowledges that religious life, in addition to its eschatological witness, is also "a particularly profound and fruitful way of sharing in Christ's mission, in imitation of the exam-ple of Mary of Nazareth, the first disciple" (§18). The "sacred bond of chastity for the sake of the kingdom of God" is singled out as the first and essential evangelical counsel. A further expansion to all the church's members' manifesting the one mystery of Christ is contained in the statement (here retranslated from the Latin) that, "as their specific but not exclusive characteristics, the lay faithful have activity in the world, the clergy have ministry, and consecrated men and women have special conformity to Christ chaste, poor, and obedient.''l This assertion occurs in the discus-sion of baptism and confirmation's conferral of a consecration that is common to all members of the people of God (§31). Erroneously but understandably, "ministry" in the official English translation of this sentence is sometimes taken to be the exclusive responsibility of the clergy, and special conformity to Christ in chastity, poverty, and obedience an exclusive character-istic of consecrated men and women. The qualifier "but not exclu-sively" seems to be attached only to the specific characteristic of the laity ("activity in the world") when in fact it pertains to the Review for Religious specific characteristics of the other two groups as well. Just as the laity and the clergy are not to repudiate the importance of their own "conformity to Christ chaste, poor, and obedient," neither priests nor (at least during the last several hundred years) women and men religious have been excluded from activity "in the world" along.with the laity. This is "missionary" activity, understood in the fundamental sense of their having been baptized into mission. It is just possible that collectively reli-gious have been quite as involved in ministry in the world as the laity have been, and no doubt proportionately more so until the recent past. Further reflection upon these three distinct-- but also overlapping (officially in this document and manifestly in historical praxis)--categories of baptized people seems to suggest that such separation of roles among the people of God no longer serves, If all the people of God are baptized into mission, and bear a responsibility for it, saving the term ministry exclusively for bishops and priests would scarcely be helpful. The term is today widely applied to many kinds of ser-vice as forms of diakonia, an essential component of mission, along with kerygma and koinonia--preaching and community. Perhaps in this connection we could profit from an expanded exploration of the meaning of the priesthood of all of the faithful. In various ways it is being exercised, but without the kind of theological reflec~ tion that would help us understand who we are as a total priestly people of God addressing the many aberrations in faith and morals that surround us in our global society today~ For many of us the subhead "Consecrated for mission" that appears at the beginning of chapter 3 leaps off the page as a sign of theological breakthrough. It encapsulates the case that I tried to"make for this concept in.my 1989. LCWR presidential address (see Origins 19, no. 13 [31 August 1989]: 209-214). At that time the idea abroad here and there that some r.eligious had opted for consecration and others for mission seemed dangerously divisive. The dichotomy became a defining issue for reflecting upon who and what women religious uniquely had become. We were and If all the people of God are baptized into mission, and bear a responsibility for it, saving the term ministry exclusively for bishops and priests would scarcely be helpful. Janltary-Febrvtmy 1997 are present in the world not merely as a kind of ethereal escha-tological "sign" of the kingdom to come--by reason of the vows we profess, that particular consecration of ours. Rather, we were and are present also as ministerial workers actively advancing the good of people and, thereby, the reign of justice and peace. In this way, too, we are a striking sign of the reign of God--by rea-son of our dedication to the mission of Jesus, consecration in that sense as well. Indeed, as the exhortation at this point says, "The task of devoting themselves wholly to 'mission' is ~,. included in their call . A sense of mission is essential to .every institute, not only those dedicated to the active apostolic life, but also those dedicated to the contemplative life" (§72). In support of this, Luke 4:16~ 19 is cited to emphasize that the Spirit has consecrated Jesus to bring good news to the poor, to captives, to the blind (§82). Consecration for mission places the vows in a new context and suggests that they testify to the evangelical counsels' "profound anthropological significance" (§87). Chastity is presented as a response to "a hedonistic culture which separates sexuality from all objective moral norms, often treating it as a mere diversion and a consumer good and, with the complicity of the means of social communication, justifying a kind of idolatry of the sexual instinct" (§88). Poverty is related to "a materialism which craves possessions, heedless of the needs and sufferings of the weakest, and lacking any concern for the balance of natural resources" (§89). And obe, dience is a response to "those notions of freedom which separate this fundamental human good from its essential relationship to the truth and to moral norms. In effect, the promotion of freedom is a genuine value, closely connected with respect for the human person, But who does not see the aberrant consequences of injus-tice and even violence, in th( life of individuals and of peoples, to which the distorted use of freedom leads?" (§91). These ideas on the vows, incarnational in my view, are more compatible with our experience than the idealized and "transcendental" notions pre-sented in the earlier sections of the document. They are consonant with the serious study we have done on Gaudium et spes and with the implications we have drawn for our identity in mission and the ministries we have undertaken to further the reign of God. These interpretations are welcome in expressing a realistic understand-ing of the vows, one with which we can identify. Whether or not~ religious life evolves is in the end not that sig-nificant a question. What really is at issue is whether or not the Review for Religious church--and the religious life within it--has a living tradition, one that adapts and grows and grafts new things into its old self, for the sake of gospel mission. The experience of women reli-gious over the years reveals that there is a dynamic interior prin-ciple among us that challenges, motivates, energizes, and adapts in our ongoing history. The traditional values of religious life are not cast aside; they are evaluated in new contexts, reinterpreted and reformulated for our mission in the contemporary world. Our communal discernment in these recent years convinces us that this interior principle is the Holy Spirit, to whom we must be faithful. Thus, Vita conseo'ata, Pope John Paul's postsynodal exhor-tation "on the consecrated life and its mission," strikes us as an affirmation of a movement of the Spirit of God that we have rec-ognized in our experience and articulated in our theological reflec-tion. We are happy to find this movement acknowledged in this exhortation. Note i "Licet varia haec genera unum Christi mysterium demonstrent, pro-prietatem peculiarem quamvis non unicam laici prae se ferunt, saecular-itatem nempe, pastores ministeriorum curationem, homines consecrati peculiarem cum Christo virgine paupere oboediente conformationem" (AAS 88, no. 5 [13 May 1996]: 405, §31). Our Lady of the Gifts Bewildered by the gifts: they bring Her son--such treasurest. and still listening For more nightsongs strange spirits sing, Her human love thrusts these apart As not fully human; let him start With just one gift; pressed to her breast For all she has to give: her human heart. Nancy G. Westerfield Janua~y-Februmy 1997 BRIAN PIERCE The Vatican II Generation and Religious Life lhad just celebrated my second birthday when John XXIII _~-went over to a dusty, closed window, threw it open with a smile, and invited the windy spirit of Vatican Council II in to freshen things up a bit. Needless to say, I do not recall the excite-ment of that time. Nor do I remember where I was when the news broke that John F. Kennedy had been shot. Only three at the time, I was probably building a fort in a sandbox somewhere-- totally oblivious to the tears and shock that swept the nation and the world, sending my mother into early labor. I do not even remember my little brother's birth the next morning. My preparation for first Communion was with a group of guitar-playing sisters who taught us a revised version of the Act of Contrition (I never did learn the "0 my God, I am heartily sorry" version that my older brother learned). They taught us, too, thaf it was okay to chew the Communion host before swal-lowing it, something my brother had distinctly been told not to do. To top it all off, none of my philosophy or theology classes as a Dominican were in Latin, and so, every time an older Dominican tosses out a Latin phrase during a dinner conversation, We younger men just roll our eyes and pretend to know what he is saying. Coming from that background, I can honestly say that I love the church and am committed to continue the journey as a Brian J. Pierce oP is a member of a Dominican community whose activ-ity includes lay ministry formation, university ministry, and pastoral accompaniment of persons with AIDS. His address is Frailes Dominicos; Apartado 2608, San Pedro Sula; Honduras, Central America. Review for Religious believer, a disciple of Jesus, and a preacher in the family of St. Dominic. I often get the feeling, though, that some of those who grew up in the pre-Vatican church look at us of the postconciliar generation as second-class Catholics: "Nobody can call himself a real Catholic if he's never attended a forty-hours' devotion," said one of those faithful daily-Mass folks to me one morning. I swallowed and smiled, not daring to confess to him that the young priest who had just "said Holy Mass" was one of those question-able "pseudo-Catholics." A sense of humor and some patient understanding help in those situations in which the distances between the generations seem irreconcilable. Religious Life and Spiritual Development In his recent book Further along the Road Less Traveled, M. Scott Peck, noted psychiatrist and spiritual guide, has capsulized in simple language the stages of spiritual development that James Fowler and others had mapped out earlier. Peck speaks of four stages: (1) chaotic-antisocial, (2) formal-institutional, (3) skeptic-individual, and (4) mystical-communal. My intention here is not to give an overview of the stages, but instead to comment on my own experience as a religious withi'n the post-Vatican church in light of Peck's categories. I realize that to make sweeping generalizations about faith development, especially on an institutional level, is both preten-tious and dangerous. I do so only as a way of situating us within the present moment so that we can more readily hear the Spirit calling us to growth. All ages of church history have had persons and communities representing each of the four stages. I think, though, that i( is safe to say that the pre-Vatidan church and reli-gious life had become somewhat bogged down in the legalistic uniformity of Peck's stage 2 (formal-institutional). Vatican II opened up the windows and doors of dialogue, both within the church and with the world. This dialogue marked the social and ecclesial environment in which my generation of religious grew up. In our childhood years Catholic liturgy was being transformed (causing its share of confusion, I later learned), and we began singing such hits as "Sons of God, hear his holy word" (inclusive language being still in an embryonic stagg). Renewal brought many new apostolic groups and movements, and there was an Janua~y-Febm,ary 1997 Pierce ¯ The Vatican H Generation and Religious Life overall air of dialogue and experimentation, especially in religious life. Uniformity was out, and modified habits and consensus deci-sion making were coming in. Vatican II's fresh breeze opened up the possibility for many persons and religious communities to move into skeptic-individ-ual faith development, Peck's stage 3. Peck says that, even though this stage is outwardly less "religious," it is in fact more "spiritual.". It is the stage of healthy questioning, conscientious dissent, and the blending of psychology and spirituality. In many ways those first years manifested themselves as an overreaction to the for-malities and legalisms of years past. In a positive sense it was a time of much dialogue and growth. My generation was still too young to be involved in 'the dialogue, but our early religious edu-cation took place in that environment. I remember the lay couple who taught our confirmation class in the early 1970s stressing that for us to be mature Christians we had to learn to make moral decisions with gospel responsibility. A far cry from the Baltimore Catechism of our parents' generation! Now we are in the 1990s and rapidly approaching the new millennium. Again, recognizing the frailty of making any kind of generalization, I think it safe to say that most of us raised in the postconciliar generation and most of the religious communities that went through renewal are still in Peck's stage 3. I do not mean that we have stopped growing or have become stagnant. Quite the contrary. In the American church in general and also among religious, a strong spirit of creative searching, is still preva-lent. At the same time, though, I think that very few religious communities have moved to what Scott Peck calls the mystical-community level. This may be quite natural, given the fact that Vatican II happened only thirty years ago, but my hope is that our generation may have something to offer here. Those of us who were formed in stage-3 parishes and reli-gious communities, complete with guitar Masses and face-to-face "celebrations of reconciliation," never went through the painful birthing process that gave way to the renewal of Vatican II. We are grateful to those who have gifted us with this rich inheritance-- a more mature and liberating life of faith within the community of believers. In many ways we had it easy, and perhaps it is now our .turn to lead the way through the desert. Many of my friends (ages twenty to forty) have left the church for a variety of reasons. Some have gone back to stage-2 Review for Religious Catholicism (usually lured there by disgruntled elders) or have found security in fundamentalist Christian groups. Reactionary Catholic religious congregations and movements and Bible-thumping evangelical churches (sometimes even with a shiny, high-tech faFade) are on the rise. Others of my friends--some of whom experimented with drugs--are trying to get to stage 4 by New Age pseudomysticism. Many young people today have a thirst for religious and mystical experience, and not all of them seek just a quick fix. The large num-ber of young adults (many ex-Catholics) adhering to the rigorous disciplines of Eastern meditation practices is an impor-tant phenomenon of our day. Our gener-ation is willing to sacrifice if we believe it is worthwhile (that is, no blind obedience, please). What, then, is this new journey that calls out to us today? If Our religious com-munities are not opening up the path to a deeper mystical and communal level of faith (Peck's stage 4), how can we respond in creative ways to bring about the needed growth? I am no expert on either faith development or postcon-ciliar religious renewal, nor do I propose to speak on behalf of all the Vatican II'generation. I simply speak out of my fourteen years of experience, prayerful struggle, and reflection as a Dominican. We have been hearing for several years now that religious life is in crisis, and I basically agree with that reading of the signs of the times. Crisis, however, does not have to mean something bad, a negative experience. Crisis can mean growth, a time for matur-ing, Just as past generations of Catholic religious strove to pro-duce new forms of religious life, so must we do today. This is no time to give up or go backward. We have received a generous and precious inheritance indeed, but the "not yet" of God's reign still burns within us: Now it is our generation's time and task to carry the torch. I am aware that much is being written about the renewal and refounding of religious life these days, and in no way do I intend a comprehensive overview of the issues at'stake. I will look at three main topics (contemplative spirituality, community living and sharing, and ministry among the poor) while attempting to We have received a generous and precious inheritance indeed, but "not yet" of God's reign still burns within us. I7- Januao,-Feb~waO, 1997 Pierce * The Vatican H Generation and Religious Life reflect on them from the perspective of us who were raised beneath the cool shade of Vatican II. Contemplative, Prayerful Living My mother, whbm I consider to be a fairly open and renewed Catholic, still pulls a tattered Stations of the Cross prayer book out of her purse to reflect on before Mass or after Communion. In other words, she still holds on to and receives life from the meditative and devotional practices common before Vatican II. That kind of prayer-book piety does not fill my spiritual needs, but neither does the "my ministry is my prayer" pastoral workaholism that apparently has taken its place, especially among us younger religious. It seems to me that we went from saying prayers (Peck's stage 2) to not saying prayers (stage.3 skepticism) and somewhere along the way began to lose sight of the plain, simple art of just praying. For many of us, the charismatic renewal, with its focus on prayer rather than saying prayers, offered a stepping-stone in our spiritual development, but the emotionalism and fundamental:- ism in the movement caused many to look elsewhere. I am con, vinced now more than ever, after five years of living among the destitute poor of Central America, that being a follower of Jesus necessitates a deep commitment to prayer--and prayer requires time, energy, and creativity. Without a very intentional spiritual life, we run the risk of doing many good things on an ego~ trip rather than out of gospel-based selfless love. As I grow in prayer-ful communion with God, I discover that my loving others is freer, less needy, more liberating. In the past several years, there has been a growing interest in contemplative and centering prayer throughout the country. This is a wonderfully hopeful sign, and in many places it is the laity who are taking the lead in this kind of prayer. It saddens me that I have lived in or visited religious communities where com-mon prayer is either nonexistent (stage-3 individualism, at best) or simply "reciting the breviary" (stage-2 formalism). In order to grow into a communal, stage-4 level of faith, we must learn once again what it means to really pray together. I occasionally spend my annual retreat with a small commu-nity of Benedictine women in Oklahoma. These women gather three times a day for contemplative, sitting meditation, a blend of Review for gelig4ous Catholic contemplative prayer and Eastern meditation practices. The shared silence has been a gift beyond measure for me. In my years of formation, we were enc.ouraged to give time each day to personal or "private" prayer--can Christian prayer ever be "pri-vate"?-- but because of the previous generations' experience of having to spend a half hour together each morning in the chapel for "meditation," we rarely shared silence as a form of prayer. It seems to me that in our day and age, with all its diversity and respect of the individual, we could profit immensely from a kind of shared prayer of silence. Silence binds together and bridges gaps in ways that words sometimes cannot. The liturgical reforms brought in by Vatican II .helped to bring our com-mon prayer back into the real world, but I believe that in many ways our common prayer has become just one more task to complete in the day's busy schedule and thus something that many find uninteresting. Introducing some shared silence into our common prayer can be a way of celebrating sacred time together in a "non-doing" manner. Prayer as a,task to be completed increases the workaholism of the many religious and lay Christians brought up on "do good to your neighbor" faith renewal after Vatican II. Not that we should reverse the renewal, for the recovery of the social-justice dimen-sion of our faith has been one of Vatican II's greatest gifts to the church; but are we perhaps only following our culture's insatiable drive for success and efficiency when we burn ourselves out as gospel do-gooders? A deep spirituality.that combines contem-plative prayer and Sabbath rest not only promotes gospel values, but challenges our consumerist society as well. The renewal of the contemplative dimension of our religious life consequently brings into question the professionalization of our ministerial commitments. I think that the emphasis on solid formation in theology, Scripture, and the social sciences that has come as a result of Vatican II is to be highly lauded, especially for women religious, for whom such opportunities were rare in the preconciliar years. To my mind, this move toward professional- In our day and age, with all its diversity and respect of the individual, we cof~Id profit immensely from a kind of shared prayer of silence. ~anua~y-February 1997 Pierce * The Vatican II G, eneration and Rdi~_ous Life ization, though, has taken away much of the evangelical freedom that marked the early years of our foundations. As professionals we have had to buy into the world of competitive salaries, con-trolled work schedules, tenure-track professorships, and the over-all efficiency mind-set that characterizes the corporate and professional marketplace. Can we honestly cultivate the deeply contemplative prayer life that we entered religious life desiring while yielding too much to that system? Without losing sight of the need to be justly compensated for our ministry, have we not given up some of the freedom to "be with and for God" by trad-ing in our vow of poverty for the corporate model of church life? Have we fallen into'a minimalisrunderstanding of Sabbath (noth-ing more than Sunday Mass) because of the demands of ministry? At a recent day-long conference on Dorothy Day and Thomas Merton--given by Jim Forrest, who knew them both--someone asked what his strongest memory of Dorothy Day was. Jim answered quickly and with no hesitation: "When I think of Dorothy, I think of her on her knees praying. She spent a lot of time in prayer." Imagine that! This dedicated social-justice apos-tle of the United States is remembered as a woman on her knees praying, and for long periods at a time. Stage 4's mystical dimen-sion cannot be integrated into our lives if prayer is just another point on the "things to do" list for the day (after clocking out from work at the social-service agency, of course). Our commu-nal and contemplative prayer must be leaven in the dough of our daily lives. For, when our prayer truly becomes prayer, then our ministry and our lives as a whole will also become prayer. Real Community vs. Corporate Individualism We know it. We say it. We preach it. We write books about it. But do we live it? Do we live real community? The early Christian communities were not sacramental fast-food outlets, nor were they the early predecessor to Motel 6 (key, clean bed, cable TV,, free breakfast, cheap rates). They were brothers and sisters who had made a commitment to each other and to fol-lowing in the footsteps of Jesus of Nazareth. They lived, shared their goods, worshiped, and died with and for one another and the gospel. The beatitudes were their daily bread, and they knew that being a disciple of J.esus was to be their everything, their cross and their deep joy. Jesus was the way, the path by which the com- Review for Religious munity of believers would walk together towards the promised reign of God. Does this sound a bit idealistic? Well, the picture which the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles paint for us probably is a somewhat idealized version of reality. But let us not forget that these pictures appear in our Scriptures precisely because they were the goal towards which the early communities strove. Many ist-century Christians gave their lives to make this dream of com-munal gospel testimony a lived reality. Today we have the same struggles, difficulties, and weaknesses as the early Christians. But can we also claim to share the same goal of offering the world a living witness of the Body of Christ? I think that women and men religious provide coundess exam-ples of Christian witness, but I also think that the communal dimension of gospel living--and consequently of religious life-- has suffered great setbacks since Vatican II. We give ourselves to excellent and creative ministries, but more and more we do them alone. Everyone in the community has a project, and all the pro-jects are nicely organized under a fancy mission statement. We have all made use of the Myers-Briggs and the enneagram to facil-itate our once-a-month interface gatherings (which used to be called community meetings!), but does the world feel the force of our communal witness to the gospel of Christ? In my own Dominican tradition, the example of the first fri-ars in the Americas stands out strongly: a small band of Spaniards on the island of Hispaniola in the early 16th century. Needing to make a response to the atrocities of the conquest and oppression of the island's native inhabitants, and convinced that the atrocities were not the will of God, the community broke with the dominant theology of the day and preached that the Spanish conquerors were living in mortal sin because of their unjust treatment of the Indians. They all signed the community's homily that was preached by Antonio de Montesino, and, as expected, their words brought upon themselves a tidal wave of reactions, one of which was a harsh reprimand from their provincial back in Spain. Listening to the homily that day was young Bartolom~ de las Casas, who years later became the continent's most important defender of the cause of Indian rights. The question that blaringly stands out is whether or not the same words from a single Dominican friar on the island would have had the same dynamic effect on the history of Latin America that the community witness had. I think not. .']anuaty-FebruaD, 1997 Pierce ¯ The Vatican H Generation and Religious Life Today's church has become so individualistic in its focus that one wonders if there is still room for a prophetic witness in com-mon. The "something for everyone" mentality has worked its way into every part of chursh life in our country. Many of our parishes look more like the food malls where thirty or so minirestaurants are squeezed in between J.C. Penney's and Florsheim Shoes. We have become pastoral experts in creating a program for every-one, in itself not a bad outreach mentality; but the lack of focus is something we have to look at seriously. What is the message we are giving about the gospel? How can we celebrate the gains brought on by the council, with its renewal of lay participation in church life, without dispersing our witness in so many directions? I believe we need to step back and ask ourselves the tough ques-tion: Is corporate individualism the same as community? The question becomes even more urgent when we ask it from the point of view of publicly vowed religious life. Are we mir-roring the communal striving of the early Christian communi-ties or the strategic planning model of IBM? Brother David Steindl-Rast~OSB, in his book Gratefulness, the Heart of Prayer, uses a wonderful image to describe community living. He com-pares the old model of pre-Vatican corporate uniformity (Peck's formal-institutional) to sardines all lined up in a can--nice and orderly, but all dead. Real community, he says, is more like a school of fish swimming together gracefully'(Peck's mystical-com-munal). I think that we threw away the sardine can in the 1960s and then, liberated and full of life, all swam off in different direc-tions (Peck's skeptic-individual). How can we get back to swim-ming together gracefully in a school without destroying our creativity or drowning our witness in watered-down corporatism? There certainly are no easy answers, but we know deep down the hunger for such a life. Young people want community. Many of the people my age and younger are tired of the broken fami-lies, broken relationships, and lonely apartment living that have characterized our generation. The thousands of young people who flock to Taiz~ each year in postmodern, de-Christianized Europe must be telling us something. The human heart longs for communion, and the world denies the fulfillment of that longing to more and more people everyday. Many religious women and men are choosing to live alone and work .in their own ministries, often identifying themselves professionally with a group that is not their religious community. Review for Religious We have come to accept this reality as quite normal, but will it continue to attract young people to a life of public, gospel-cen-tered, and vowed living? Real community is an urgent need for us who long to channel our creative energies in healthy ways in a world that sees little value in the commitment of celibate living. Will we find that companionship if we come home to an answer-ing machine full of messages or a "com-munity" room full of brothers or sisters inert before the TV set like the pillars at Stonehenge? Could Acts 2:42-47 give us some hints as to where to continue journeying along the path? References there to the teaching of the apostles, the common life, the breaking of the bread, and prayer point to a community that spent a lot of quality time together. Today we have many meetings run with corporate efficiency, but do we really spend time together (sharing the day's stories during a leisurely evening meal, faith sharing, studying the day's or the week's liturgy texts together, recreating or even taking a day off together--away from the phone and TV-)? The early Christian community's life had a tremendous impact on the local people (2:43). Does ours? Have we ever considered a ministry in which the whole community works as a team (for example, a series of lay formation workshops, time each week in a soup kitchen, regular visits to the AIDS wing of a hospital), giving witness to the value of community through our example? The passage goes on (2:44-45) to the difficult point of sim-ple living and common sharing of goods. It is an area of great challenge for us today. We have adopted the "have credit card, will travel" mentality of mainstream America, some of which, per-haps,, is inevitable. But are we taking these steps with sufficient reflection and caution? Are we willing to defend the truth even when it may not be a popular stance among some of our generous benefactors? Do we tithe from our salaries and communal accounts?.Where does our province or religious congregation invest its money? Do those investments promote social, economic, and ecological justice? Are we content with generic brands of food Many of the people my age and younger are tired of the broken families, broken relationships, and lonely apartment living that have characterized our generation. ffanuaty-February 1997 Pierce ¯ The Vatican H Generation and Religious Life and a simple wardrobe? Do we have a common library, or do we all keep adding personal bookshelves? There are many questions to struggle with, but gospel witness is well worth the struggle. The last two verses of the passage (2:46-47) speak of enthu-siasm, joy, and simple sharing. We glimpse an early community that freely praised God while giving a clear witness to an alter-native, counterculrural way of living. Freedom to be for God and for others was their common ground. They risked martyrdom in order to keep giving their communal witness to the gospel. Theirs is not an easy act to follow, but it sure beats a sardine-can existence or lonely nights at Motel 6. Acompafiamiento, a Way of Walking with the Poor A great gift of Vatican II and these past thirty years has been the church's openness to continuing the dialogue with the world that the council's document on the church, Lumen gentium, high-lighted. The Latin American Church followed up with the prophetic stances taken during the Medellin and Puebla confer-ences of bishops (1968 and 1979). In the United States the pastoral letters on peace and economic justice have been lights .on the path of relating gospel faith to pertinent issues in our world today. We must not underestimate the steps that have been taken since Vatican II. Having said all this, I wish to comment on where I see a weak-ness in our post-Vatican II model of engagement with the world's poor. Not that what is being done is wrong or contrary to the gospel, but in many instances there is, I think, a need to move to a deeper level. Archbishop Oscar Romero, the martyred prophet of El Salvador, popularized during his years as archbishop the term acompa~amiento (accompaniment), a form of walking with the poor that is different from just working with the poor. Acompa~amiento is a way of living more than a way of doing (though, of course, this division in itself is dualistic). Several years ago I heard the noted liberation theologian Gustavo Guti~rrez say that we often reduce the option for the poor to going to the poor neighborhoods and barrios, to the social-service centers and the inner-city schools to work during the day, only to return to our comfortable homes and convents at night. To truly opt for the poor, Guti~rrez said, means to spend the nights withthem as well. In other words, we are called not only Review for Religiotts to do good things for the poor, but to be with them, to walk with them, to live with them, and, if necessary, to die with them. Romero's acompa~amiento could be translated as "sharing bread along the journey." It is different from giving bread to the poor; it is a sharing of life that dissolves the distances that separate us from them. To opt for the poor through acompa~amiento moves beyond all dualisms to make more real the concepts of global commu-nity and people of God. The hospice movement, Habitat for Humanity, L'Arche, and Christian base communities are expres-sions of this new way of being church and community. Each model portrays a community of equals, living and working together for a new world. There is very little corporate mentality present in them. This was the power of Archbishop Romero's witness--an erasing of the distances: the sheep and the shepherd together risk-ing their lives for the kingdom. How can our communities continue to make the transition to more of an acompa~amiento model over the traditional "charity" model (I do not favor the impoverishment of the word charity in contexts like this). I believe that, first of all, we have to set aside the obsession with efficiency and success that our world impresses upon us and complement our doing with an equal emphasis on being with. It is not an easy step. Rather than sending money, clothes, and food to the poor, can we pray, eat, study, recreate, and even live with them? The challenge is at the heart of the Catholic Worker Movement founded by Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin decades ago, and it is the call heralded by St. Paul when he proclaimed that our baptism erases all the divisions between persons, making possible a true community of equals (Ga 3:28). Finally, and perhaps this takes us back to the start, I believe that to truly love the poor as .sisters and brothers requires a con-templative (mystical) heart. To develop the capacity to stand in silence alongside the poo~r and accept the ambiguities of life is to grow into the mystical dimension of our faith. We really are not separate from "the others," but only a contemplative heart can begin to grasp the interconnectedness that holds us all together. If we grow in such contemplativeness, our being with becomes less a heroic act of giving life to .somebody in need and more a happy fulfilling of our potential as children of God: we are uninhibitedly glad of the opportunity to see the kingdom that .Jesus preached radiating from our simple act of "sharing bread along the journey." Januao,-FeblvlaO, 1997 Pierce * The Vatican H Generation and Religious Life I recently learned this lesson anew. A group of university stu-dents and I were scheduled to visit the inmates at the local prison. The students, among whom was Diana, a young crippled woman, met at our house, about ten blocks from the prison. I quietly asked if one of the students would go with her on the bus while the rest of us walked to the prison. Overhearing my request, Diana told me politely that she preferred to walk. I would not hear of it. Angry that no one offered to go with her on the bus, I decided to do it myself. By that point Diana, perceiving herself a burden to ¯ the group, had grabbed her crutches and begun walking home. When she finally had the courage to return to the group two months later, she told me I had made her feel terribly uncom-fortable that day. I had wanted to do something~r Diana. She simply wanted to be part of the group. I had seen her as a problem rather than as a person. Without a heart made flesh by prayerful silence and careful listening, we run the risk--as we go about doing good works to save the world of forgetting that we too are just part of this world already saved by God's love. To step back, to see and lis-ten to God speaking to us through poor people, is not always the quickest, most efficient way to bring about change in the world, but it is God's way. Stepping back, we discover anew each day that we are all part of one body--crippled, broken, healed, and set free. Community and Grace Thirty years after Vatican II, we all still have much to learn. The gospel is new each day and in every generation. However much progress we may have made since, the council, we need some self-critique as we continue the journey. Many people my age are not attracted to a church that differs little from the trap-pings of their everyday job, and the skeptic individualism in reli-gious life does not stand out as an exciting alternative. They can live that way and get paid a pretty good salary for it! Religious life' among the Vatican II generation must continue to offer some kind of critique of the dominant culture if it is to be viable for our times. Some cultural criticism, however, neglects important parts of Jesus' teaching. The post-Vatican II generation of Catholics is nov looking for more moralistic condemnations of modernity. They want a life with deep meaning, a simple life Review for Religious they can share with real people (and not just through their Internet modems!), a life that can help to make our world a bet-ter place without making themselves workaholic basket cases in the process. I believe it is still possible to swim gracefully through the waters of our times, guided not by the uniformity of the past nor the runaway individualism of the present, but by the Spirit of Jesus given to us and quietly moving in us with transforming new-ness and amazing grace. Awakening Golden leaves rustle and swirl Beneath the silver birch tree As sunlight from crisp blue skies Comes to rest on the forest floor. And nature poised on winter's brink Does not die but falls asleep Until it one bright spring morn Awakens to song of birds and brook. How like our lonely restless souls When in their final slumber lie Until aroused one glorious dawn By sweet sounds of an angel's horn. Eva Marie Ippolito Janua~y-Fd.-uaty 1997 F EDWARD VAN MERRIENBOER Of Those Who Leave Us: A Typology Tpe contemporary leader of a religious community is ected to be a person of prayer, with a vision, who can manage finance and who knows the legal aspects of public cor-porate life. Although few people ever fulfill all of these expecta-tions, most leaders do very well at some of them while in office. Many leadership tasks give one a sense of joyful accomplishment; of those that fail to do so, none is more painful, in my experi-ence, than participating in the departure of a member. I was a member of my province's council from 1973 to 1983 and then, until 1992, a member of our general council in Rome. In both the provincial and international contexts, the pain was ever present when a petition for dispensation came in. Impressed by the unique story that each of the many petitions revealed, I began to ask myself what I could learn from them personally and corporately about departure. During my nine years on our general council, I kept a brief list of people's reasons for leaving. My purpose was to learn from these experiences how to help those in leadership. I wanted espe-cially to help the men working in our initial formation programs so that they in turn could help our candidates avoid such painful experiences for themselves and their communities in the future. I share these reflections in that spirit. Edward van Merrienboer OP chairs the Department of Theology and Philosophy at Barry University. From 1983 to 1992 he was assistant gen-eral for the apostolic life of the Dominican order. He has written on reli-gious life, social justice, and spirituality. He can be addressed at Barry University; 11300 Northeast Second Avenue; Miami Shores, Florida 33161. Review for Religious Collating the many stories, I found that about eighty percent of those who left our community from 1983 to 1992 could be gathered into five groups, no matter what part of the world they lived in. My findings, of course, are not scientific conclusions of the sort one expects from an empirical study using a sociological method. Rather, they are reflections made after reading petition after petition regarding departure decisions that had been arrived at by individuals and/or the provincial leadership. I did not speak with the men petitioning for dispensation, nor did I interview their provincial leadership for additional data. My typology is based on what they and their provincial superiors wrote in the petitions. Typologies are models that seldom fit reality perfectly: there is always some overlap among the types. But still the general pat-terns proved helpful when I was making visits to our provinces. These types, from what I have learned from previous members of our general council, represent a change. During the time of Pope Paul VI, most members departed°to enter marriage. Today this is still a reason, but other reason~ have become more dominant. I have shared my findings with members of other general councils. They have found my insights to be valid in their communities and have encouraged me to share them more widely. What follows is a brief description of the five types of mem-bers seeking permission to leave and of the behaviors that led to their petition: the free agents, the must-have-its, the new founders, the loss-of-hopes, and the I'm-better-nows. The Free Agents Most free-agent petitions came from those who entered at the time of the Second Vaticah Council or within ten years after it. My religious community, like most religious communities of that time, was emerging from an era of strict legalism and con-formity. While we never had a fixed mold to force people into, informal ideas of what religious were supposed to be and to do defined almost every aspect of our lives. Perfection would be achieved by going through a "narrow gate," the perfect mechanism for making sure that, of the many called, few would be chosen. After the council, all the rules of our life were examined and revised. Now a wide embrace would replace the narrow way that was so well defined. Pluralism was encouraged in ministry and in 29 January-Feblwal.'~ 1997 Merrienboer * Of Those Who Leave Us local community life. Everyone was encouraged to participate in shaping our life and mission.For most of us this new freedom was a blessing because it allowed us to be ourselves and be faith-ful to our community at the same time. While limits were less defined, most religious knew that there were limits because of our vowed life. This was not the case with the members whom I am calling free agents. They enjoyed the new freedom and saw no limits. For some of them the freedom involved embracing works that were hard to locate within the mission of the institute or within the vowed life. Commonly they found ways to spend community funds while being little concerned about bringing in any money themselves or about the consequences of their expenditures on their community. Because finance is so concrete, much of the ten-sion between free agents and their community is about money. In extreme cases they establish private bank accounts or have funds that are not accountable to the community. Sizable funding is essential to them because it provides the means to express their freedom. Money provides the physical necessities they need to be free from the community's demand for responsible account-ability. Another area of conflict between free agents and their com-munity is their approach to relationships within and outside the community. Some of these relationships become exclusive com-mitments that involve genital expression. Self-direction in ministry becomes essential as part of their freedom agenda. Most are happy with the spirit of freedom that the council mandated; but, when "oppressive" superiors or members begin to challenge their lim-itless freedom, they became unhappy and start to question their vocation. They often say that they woul.d never have come to the point of seeking dispensation from their vows if it had not been for narrow-minded, or legalistic leaders. They do not see the problem of living a lifestyle that is contrary to their public commitment. Long and painful dialogues with their superiors do not enable them to see the points of conflict. Some express their anger at the community for trying to restrict the freedom given to them by the council. Many view the challenges coming to them from their community as statements of distrust. The decision to leave the community is a result of having to choose concretely between their agenda of freedom and certain Review for Relig~ous behaviors their community identifies as essential. It is tragic that often these members leave us without ever understanding that every life option imposes certain limits upon people, that in this regard religious life is no different than any other vocation. The Must-Have-Its Departing members of the second type seek dispensation within a very short time--usually three years or less--after their final profession or ordination. Judging from externals, one won-ders whether these members have really given religious life a fair chance. A common concern expressed by leadership is that these members may be acting in haste. The problems the mem-bers are experiencing could be rooted in the normal adjustment period from initial forma-tion to the wider life of the community. Because of the short time that these mem-bers have been in the community, unless there have been major difficulties previously, most religious superiors give only a very qualified support to their petitions for dispensation. This is understandable from an administrative per-spective, but I think there is an aspect of these members' personality that is perhaps being over-looked. It is this: They cannot come to a decision to leave the religious life or the priesthood until they actually possess these realities. Part of their personality demands that they prove to themselves that they can be a religious before they can decide that they do not want to be one. Some of this feeling is rooted in a need to be clear that they are rejecting the community and not being sent away. Very often I noted that, when during their initial formation they were asked as candidates to question their decision to be a religious, they responded by devoting themselves to becoming a better religious. Even when their simple vow period was extended so that they could look at their vocation, they never questioned their call to religious life. Some indicate that, almost from the day of their final pro-fession or ordination, they began to question if this was for them. They felt that before final profession they really .had not known While limits were less defined, most religious knew that there were limits because of our vowed life. Janua~y-Feb~vla~y 1997 Merrienboer ¯ Of Those Who Leave Us what it would be like; now they knew fully and were not happy. Others fully expected that after final commitment their experience of the life and ministry would change radically. It did not; in some ,cases it even became worse. They were given less attention and were expected to be fully contributing members of the commu-nity- which beEame a major source of frustration. Even in situations where a mentor was assigned to assist them in their adjustment to the postformation community life, there was little the community could do to change the attitude that, "now that I have what I set out to achieve, I noolonger want it." My reading of their autobiographies comes up with a pattern throughout their life of obtaining something, then setting it aside. Before entering the community, a high number of petitioners had obtained graduate degrees in unrelated fields and then never used this knowledge and experience. At the core of persons of this type is their inability to project their hopes into the future and make an assessment of their fitness for that vocation. Their experiences of initial formation do not enable them to make an educated guess about their ability to live religious life in the future. They only know what is present to them, and now that they have the life in its fullness they no longer want it for themselves. The New Founders Some people enter a religious community with the idea of reshaping it according to their own vision of religious life. Such an idea is in strange contrast to a community's centuries-long acceptance of its charism, but it is a fact that some people feel that their own image of religious life today takes priority over all that has come before it. One area into which such new-foundation efforts are brought is the community's mission. New founders would define this mis-sion as movement for social change or promotion of a different theological perspective. In countries where there has been a his-tory of repression in society, they see religious community as a resistance movement that offers its members prophetic opportu-nities. When the new founders promote involvement in social action, they become disappointed that not all the members feel called to participate. In more industrial countries the meaning of religious life, Review for Religious according to some new founders, is to protnote the women's movement or the gay movement. For others it is to become pro-tectors of traditional understandings of the faith. A common focal point for new founders is the community's liturgy. It becomes the platform for their view of religious life. Whether traditional or progressive, they see community prayer as a way to form the other members into a new identity. Most new founders are critical of programs for new members and of the actions of the community's leaders. They believe that, if their own vision of things prev~lils, the community will be refounded with new vitality. They blame the community's short-age of vocations on its resistance to their newcomers' vision of community renewal. The tone of their petitions for dispensation often indicates that they consider themselves to be ahead of or even better than most of the institute's members. They predict dire consequences for the community after their departure, Convinced that their own vision is important and urgent, they feel they must leave and find a place to implement it immedi-ately. Such refounding attitudes seem to stem from an assumption that the community is joining them on their journey, not that they are joining a group that already has a reasonably defined identity as it proceeds on its journey. In my experience, formation programs that encourage self-expression without enough regard for the community's corporate identity only encourage new founders in convictions that will prove problematic. The Loss-of-Hopes I have thus far described three types of departing members. I believe that the responsibility for their departure from religious life rests primarily with them and not the community. The com-munity has failed them in many ways, but the motivation of these individuals has been essentially flawed, often from their very early years in religious life. The fourth type of persons leaving reli-gious life today are different. Here the primary responsibility for the departure lies with the community, with its lack of faithfulness to its charism. These tragic petitions come from persons who have given their best effort to be faithful to the religious life and have not found much support from other members. Some have found it JanuaTy-Febtvtaty 1997 Merrienboer * Of Those Who Leave Us nearly impossible to find within their community a supportive environment for prayer and the vowed life. If they have shared their frustrations with other members, they often have received kind words but not active support. Sometimes this, alienation from the community has been caused by other members' general lack of interest in things spir-itual. These other members see themselves as professionals and have little feeling for the idea of a vocation. Considering the meaning of the vows to be very personal, they avoid discussing their own viewpoint with others for fear of seeming to impose it on them. I believe that the departure decisions of members of this type are rooted in their experience of hopelessness about the direc-tion in which the community seems to be moving. Often they feel that they do not even speak a common language about reli-gious life with the other members. They feel that the commu-nity has settled for the lowest common denominator for reasons of avoiding the tensions associated with serious conversion efforts. From my distant vantage point, there appear to be real signs of death in places where these departing members have been living their religious life; regrettably, suggestions to try another place are too late by the time the petition for dispensation reaches the major superior. It falls on leaders to learn from these tragic stories and to address the perceived failures as part of their leadeiship task. In my experience, it is almost impossible to restore hope to members who have become disillusioned; but leadership should make dis-tinct efforts to change situations in which, in the future, even more members would be likely to lose their hope. The I'm-Better-Nows Persons of the fifth and final type of men leaving religious life during my term of office were those who through most of their lives suffered from spiritual or emotional problems. Often their motive for entering religious life was the hope of having their problems resolved by the vowed life. Some of these problems were rooted in their early childhood experiences. Religiou~ life appeared to be a safe place to escape the pain of their family sit-uation. Their low self-esteem was a primary reason for entering community. Their hope, however, that religious life would con- Revie'a, for Religious fer a new value on them and make them better people had not been fulfilled. In some cases the reality of verbal or physical abuse made them fearful of any close relationship. They perceived the vow of chastity as protecting them from such trials, but as the years passed they experienced an inability to relate in a healthy manner with other members of the community. Their lives were marked by a crisis event, such as substance abuse, which made their superiors suggest or even require them to get professional help. Their petitions for depar-ture were often set in the context of the ther-apy in which their suffering was addressed. As they became spiritually and emotionally more integrated, their reasons for being a religious seemed to them less cogent. If they now were capable of healthy relationships, they wanted marriage or the freedom to find deeper mean-ing outside religious community. While it might seem strange, their main reason for wanting to leave community was that they were now happy and did not need the community anymore, Their needs for protection and status had been resolved in a positive manner. Most of these petitioners expressed gratitude to the community for their loving support through their many trials, and they knew true sorrow as they left. I have spoken with a number of healthcare givers about mem-bers of this type, and all have suggested that departure may be the best option for them. They also suggest that religious should examine within their communities the dynamics that allow peo-ple to hide from their problems until they reach the crisis stage. One healthcare professional once told me he thought that reli-gious practice "false mercy" in not addressing the problems of disturbed members until there is a major crisis. As they became spiritually and emotionally more integrated, their reasons for being a religious seemed to them less cogent. Reflections for the Future No matter how perfect our formation programs become, there will always be some members who make the decision to leave us after many years of association. This is to acknowledge frankly Janttaty-Febtvtat3, 1997 Merrienboer * Of Those Who Leave Us the human dimension of religious life, but we can learn from our experiences. It is for the sake of such learning that I have shared my insights as a general-council member who has returned to his province and seen these patterns continuing in religious com-munities. Can we learn from those who have left us? Can we speak hon-estly with our present members when we see behaviors that have led others to leave us? I believe that, if we have the courage to say yes to these two questions, the pain of occasionally having some members choose to leave us and our life together would be much more bearable. In the Temple Year followed year the two had come to this place, old man, old woman, wearing persistence like a skin. Here, perhaps, familiar shadows sharpened the eye's observance. What ¯ better place to find the light, and by it be found, than in the dark? Leonard Cochran OP Review for Religious HILARY OTTENSMEYER Four Seasons for Christian Group Sharing From time to time a gathering of like-minded Christians-- whether it be a spiritual-direction group, an Emmaus group, a Bible-sharing group, or a prayer group--expresses a desire to "go deeper." This desire, perhaps only vaguely defined, generally means that the members want to be more self-revealing, more honest in discussing areas of faith, doubts about the church, glossed-over conflicts within the group, and fears that the meetings have become perfunctory, even boring. In such a case the introduction of some simple group dynamic into the meetings may allow the group to reach a new and more comfortable, if challenging, level of sharing. A dynamic based on the four seasons seems well suited to that task.~ The first time the dynamic is used, an outside facilita-tor can be helpful, one whom the group has chosen for being able and trustworthy. Later, on its own, the group could well devote at least one session to each of the seasons. Nature's seasons are an experience with which we are all familiar. The seasons can function for a group in poetic, dynamic ways, that is, ways in which the clearest and most labored prose cannot. Such metaphors break through the limits of human speech and help us become aware of thoughts and feelings that are otherwise inaccessible. The "I am" statements of John's Gospel demonstrate this beau-tifully. Each believer brings a different set of meanings Hilary Ottensmeyer OSB wrote "The Problem with Problems" for our September-October 1995 issue. His address remains 1414 Southern Avenue; Beech Grove, Indiana 46107. Ottensmeyer ¯ Four Seasons for Christian Group Sharing on hearing Jesus describe himself as the Good Shepherd or the Bread of Life. The seasons function in a similarly evocative way. People instinctively realize that we grow only when we hon-estly share the burdens and problems of our minds and hearts. Time and again we witness this in the pages of the Gospels. The healed leper, the demoniac rescued from among the tombs, the blind Bartimaeus lifted from his roadside isolation, the breath-less disciples returning to Jerusalem from the road to Emmaus, all these Jesus restores to community where they can pour out their hearts in sharing their "stories." Some Cautions Sharing in a group must be neither .intrusive nor abusive. Certain agreed-upon boundaries need to be set to protect the sanctuary of the individual conscience and the dignity of personal free will. There can be no forced entry into the heart. Even God will not force that door, but, like a true lover, quietly tells us, ,Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me" (Rv 3:20). The ultimate dream: table companionship with God! As a minimum, the following rules apply: 1. Members should make only."I" statements, never "you" statements, that is, "I think." and not "You are . " We cannot know the full reality of other people's minds and hearts until we ask them from a respectful distance. 2. Anyone should feel free to call a halt at any time to a line of inquiry directed towards herself or himself: "I'd really rather not discuss that at this time." This allows group members to claim the reverence which is their due. 3. Members should accept responsibility for the unfolding of their lives, avoiding the chronic "victim mentality" that is pervasive in our culture. Blaming others or "life" is most often an evasion.~ As one friend expresses' it, there are four doors into the neurotic. Each door is a belief in one of the following statements: (1) I can make you happy; (2) I can make you sad; (3) you can make me happy; (4) you can make me sad. Reluctant though we are to acknowledge it, each one of us is responsible for his or her own life. Only catastro-phes that overwhelm us exempt us from facing this honestly. 4. We help each other through honest and clear feedback, painful though that may sometimes be. Simple feedback, that Review for Religious is, a brief statement about how another's thoughts or actions come up in one's own life, proves most helpful: "When I am drawn to act that way, I find ."Advice giving is to be care-fully avoided. Other cautions come to mind, but these seem basic. We do not have a direct perception of ourselves. So burdened are our thought processes, so fixed into routine are our actions, that we need the kind mirror of another's perceptions held up before us. We seem at times so suffocated by our prejudices, by our closely guarded denials and chosen ignorances, that we experience a real joy when someone gently opens the window to let in the fresh air of new ideas and new possibilities. Indeed, our deepest prej-udices are those we hold against ourselves. This is the saddest discovery of all. What a joy when someone helps us stand up and claim our own worth! Fall: Season of Fruition Easing into the sharing process is most gently done by choos-ing as a beginning the symbol of fall. Most mellow of seasons, fall is the time of harvest, when good things are gathered up and fes-tivals begin. The rewards of hard work and steady determination lie before us. We have a need to celebrate at this time of year. At this point, what are the fruits of the group's loyalties? There are stored memories of joy shared, of times when a mem-ber has been lifted up and celebrated. The group has had insights that can be recalled, times when it realized that Jesus was there in their midst and hearts burned with awareness of his presence. The Lord was walking with the group as it went along the way. Ours is a faith community devoted to the joys of remembrance, as every Eucharist proclaims. One way of beginning: Inventory the gifts each individual brings to the group. What do I bring to the group which, because of my background, education, talents, and so forth, constitutes a special gift? Follow this by a question put to the entire group: What do we think this one member contributes that is most enriching? Move on then to a consideration of how the group has changed over time, pointing out new levels of support and understanding. Where has a sense of continuity been discerned? What new and unexpected biessings have been slowly revealed in each individual? ffanuao,-Febrttaty 1997 Ottensmeyer ¯ Four Seasons for Christian Group Sharing An important benefit of a sharing group is the contact that members have between sessions. We all struggle to keep alive a "circle of friends." A support group affords an excellent opportu-nity to widen that circle beyond relatives and school-day chums. Do the members of the group reach out to each other between meet-ings? Has acquiring and sustaining friends--those essential inter-personal skills--been nurtured by the activities of the support group? What new skills have been acquired? "If you want a friend, be a friend" is a truth that needs to be lived out day by day. Living in community is of itself no assurance of having friends, but only company. Have I worked at being a friend to members of the group? Winter: Season of Perseverance Winter is the season of hoping and of endurance. For most of us in these northern climes, except for the occasional bright win-ter day, the skies are covered and a chill hangs over the land. Winds bite. Snow and ice impede travel. One has to draw on deep inner resources of strength, and hold on to memories of warmer days. There are winter seasons for a support group, too. These times have to be confronted and admitted. There is a time for breaking open the soil before spring planting. We are reluctant to put a hand to this kind of work, but it is the necessary condition for future growth. A "winter" discussion is the most difficult kind the group will have, and requires patience and loyalty. Questions needing examination fall easily into three cate-gories: 1. Where have we silently established "off limits" areas of discussion: subtly agreed-upon restrictions and withhold-ings? When and how does sharing break down in the group? What expectations did we bring when we joined the group, and how have these been disappointed because of these unspoken conventions? Was I honest with my hopes when I joined? Certainly, every group has the right to mark the boundaries of its sharing. But were these boundaries hon-estly agreed on when the group was formed? Were we too idealistic, too superficial, or too demanding? Were there angers in the group that were glossed over? ¯ 2. What does the group need to work on with determina-tion, for example, admitting and establishing boundaries, facing avoidances; or surfacing denials? Review for Religious 3. Very importantly, what healings need to take place? Does any member feel wounded or rejected in any way? How would this healing best come about? One makes a wonderful discovery in crossing this difficult winter terrain. Secrets can poison people's lives. When we have the courage and trust needed to reveal those tender areas of the heart, we find that others too have suffered in the same way. Walls crum-ble. The Jesus who draws us together out of our loneliness and fears is there, in the eyes and voices of others, to strengthen the fragile bonds that hold together a faith community. Spring: Season of Hope Renewed We all love spring with its beginnings of new life, with early crocuses, hyacinths, and tulips. Winter seems sometimes to linger stubbornly, but spring finally triumphs and spirits soar. Melting snows turn into sparkling rivulets. Sap rises in the trees, and ten-der greens appear along the limbs of trees. A support group too brings forward its hopes for renewal, for new life. It is helpful to go back and test the roots for their vital-ity. This can be done when the members share where their indi-vidual faith stories began. People are always eager to tell their stories. The vast professional therapeutic industry has risen because people are hungry to recount their stories. If the listen-ers are skilled, they can help the storyteller understand better the meaning of the tale. Within the faith story, certain elements are important. Who taught you to pray? Who were your role mod-els of faith? What were some of the significant moments on your faith journey? What was your image of God in childhood years, and how has it evolved over the years? How do you pray at this time in your life? What more do you wish for in your relationship with God? What is your answer when Jesus asks, "What do you want meto do for you?" (Mk 10:51). Not only do roots need to be inspected, but growth too needs to be looked for. What hungers are you aware of in your faith today? How could this support group help you? What aspects of your faith do you want to bring into the lives of those you love or those with whom you work? I have noticed that groups experience a surge of interest when "spring" sessions take place. A renewed commitment, a deeper investment is made in the group, and mem-bers reach a deeper trust level very easily. Januao,-FebrttaO, 1997 Ottensmeyer ¯ Four Seasons for Christian Group Sharing Summer: Season of Sustained Growth The summer months fill us with a sense of achievement. The harsh days of winter are over. The stimulating work of spring has been accomplished. Now is the time to relax and enjoy the warm days and long, quiet evenings. In fields and in flower beds around the house, buds are gathering to maturity; grains are swelling in the fields and fruits filling out to ripeness in the orchards. This is the season of contentment, when gentle rains come to nature's aid. Now people have time for visits, vacations, and concerts in the park. Indeed, the "lazy, hazy days of summer" clothe us like a comfortable garment, and we are grateful. Groups, too, can benefit from at least one "summer" session, counting the blessings the members have seen coming to fruition among themselves. What was the heritage the individual members received from their mother and father? Looking back on the ten-der years of childhood, each person recognizes a "gift" from his or her parents, a "breath of life" that only parents could breathe into the heart of a child. Influenced deeply by our family roots, we make decisions about our place, our possibilities, in the world. What was the special legacy, outlook on life, stance before the future that the members received-from their mother and father? And how has this gift been nurtured and cherished? How did the hands of your father and mother feel at your back as they sup-ported your first steps and as you still, to this da~,, feel their hands steadying your walk through life? Or, and this too must be faced, did their hands grasp you and hold you back? When did you first feel the hand of God at your back, reach-ing with help and love into your life? Perhaps you experienced God as a hand drawing you forward through difficult days and years, pointing the way prophetically towards promise. Which times were times of contentment, when your journey reached a plateau and you rested quietly for a while? Seasoned Years Our lives seem to take the shape of repeated cycles. The pri-mordial journey of Abraham comes to mind here. A call comes to move forward when we are asked to entrust our future to God in faith. Then follows a transition period presenting obstacles to overcome, anxieties and failures to accept, flesh commitments courageously to be made to our beckoning God. Finally comes a Review for Religious sense of arrival, a time to rest and gather strength for the next call, time to sing a canticle of gratitude. Such a pattern applies to a support group. How has the group experienced these calls, these trials, and these periods of rest? Does the group know how to celebrate its members, choosing activities that will express its joy? One priest group I know takes a three-day trip each summer. All eight pile into a rented van, set out for a not-too-distant point of interest, and simply enjoy them-selves. They are gathering shared happy experiences to live on through the months to come. Nothing has been said on the impor-tant topics of how a group is set up, how members select themselves into a group (or are allowed to join it), and how an individual might bring closure when leav-ing. Indeed, perhaps the group decides it no longer serves its original purposes and goes out of existence. No mention has been made of how a group defines its orig-inal goals or modifies them. Without that vital process, the prospects for a successful investment of time and energy are rather dim. These are all con-siderations for another article, one that indeed has been written many times and was not our purpose here. Group renewal is our purpose. Every group, no matter how well put together at its inception or how generous and serious the will of its members, needs to be renewed in its commitment from time to time. The four seasons of the year can help in that necessary task. When did you first feel the hand of God at your back, reaching with help and love into your life? Note ~ The seminal idea for this article was suggested to me by Donna Fyffe; CommunityWorks; 101 West Ohio Street, Suite 1776; Indianapolis, Indiana 46204. Januar),-FebJvlat3, 1997 PAUL DUCKRO, MARJORIE KUKOR, AND JEAN MEIER Inner Work with Your Anger Anger is an emotion much maligned. It is often referred to as a "negative" emotion. Many persons are not comfort-able feeling anger and seek to suppress it in the interest of har-mony and accommodation. Paradoxically, by such efforts people increase their likelihood of expressing anger dysfunctionally. When people suppress anger, or even repress it, it does not disappear; it is left to work its way indirectly, like a force under-ground. It may express itself in very rationalized statements, rec-ognized only in the impossible and recurring problems that follow in their wake. There may be episodic outbursts of anger followed by gre~t anxiety and remorse, forming a cycle of conflict. Other persons may use anger much more overtly, as a domi-nating force. In them anger is a trademark, emerging frequently with few inhibitions. It may even become crystallized in ways of viewing the world--as evil, inconvenient, incompetent, and so forth. Either extreme--expressing anger frequently or habitually suppressing it--may lead to the development of a clinically sig-nificant syndrome for which professional therapy is indicated. Along with such destructive potential, anger has many posi-tive aspects that we shall point out. Moreover, there are proactive ways to deal constructively with deleterious anger in everyday life. Behavioral therapies have been demonstrated to be very effec- Paul Duckro PhD, Dr. Marjorie Kukor, and Jean Meier CSJ, PsyD, can be written to at St. Louis Behavioral Institute; 1129 Macldind Avenue; St. Louis, Missouri 63110. Review for Religious tive. For example, cognitive behavior therapy is effective in cases of uncontrolled anger, suppressed anger, simmering resentment, or cycles of angry outburst and fearful restraint. Typically it com-bines development of new skills, modification of dysfunctional beliefs, and exploration of past experiences that have shaped a person's thoughts and behaviors. More experiential approaches are effective too. In clinical practice these have been shown to improve the recognition, acknowledgment, and expression of anger, whether or not there is the opportunity to work through the anger interpersonally. Experiential therapies take many forms. Art, movement, and fan-tasy are common ways to explore and express anger. Painting and sculpturing are evocative media through which the source of someone's anger can be revealed. Color and form can often rep-resent anger that lies too deep for words. This therapy has long been used with children, but it is no less effective with adults who feel trapped in their own anger. Exercise and movement can express and diffuse angry feelings. Emotional energy is "con-verted" into physical energy rather than being "trapped" in psy-chological or physical symptoms. Fantasy allows people to express and then explore their powerful emotions in a safe way, even toward absent or deceased persons or toward the unseen God. The persons "work through" angry feelings, moving toward a new level of integration and wholeness. Experiential therapies are important when the anger is not even recognized, much less processed, as emotion. It is not unusual for anger to be experienced and expressed--and masked-- in intellectualized forms such as opinions and logical judgments. In such cases, working in a tactually receptive form of experien-tial therapy can release emotions otherwise effectively disguised as thoughts and verbalizations. For persons of faith, contemplative or meditational encounter with the anger has great potential, linking the psychological and spiritual aspects of healing. It is on this approach to anger man-agement that we focus here. For our purposes we will refer to it as inner work. Inner work is the interior correspondent of con, flict resolution. The essence of both is movement, as opposed to remaining stuck in resentment, bitterness, or cynicism. From the exterior perspective, the time given to inner work appears to be "doing nothing." In fact, this doing nothing is true only superficially. Inner work is an active and engaging process of Janua~y-Feb~'ualy 1997 Duckro, Kukor, and Meier ¯ Inner Work with Your Anger coming to terms with both the immediate stimulus for the anger and its deeper sources within. Synergistic with the more obvious activity of conflict resolution, engaging in inner work may provide the time needed for cooling off. Beyond such a practical benefit, this doing nothing is also the space in which one can reflect and make associations and thus prepare to move forward in relation-ships. It helps individuals to insure that they are not pinning their own issues onto someone else or substituting one-sided judgment for dialogue. Stages of Inner Work Inner work with anger involves several stages. The first appears so simple that it is often overlooked: the recognition that you are angry. This step requires regular self-examination, knowl-edge of the ways you may experience anger physically and psy-chologically, and alertness to how you customarily try to mask your anger. That regular self-examination is necessary only restates the obvious: if one does not look, one will not see. Knowing the variety of ways that people experience anger increases the odds that you will recognize it. Anger is, of course, an emotion that people experience directly, but it can also be uncovered in behaviors, thoughts, verbalizations, and bodily reac-tions. Individuals will have characteristic ways in which their anger is masked, expressed indirectly, or expressed passively. Becoming aware of these patterns of human response, you will more likely recognize your own anger under such guises as logi-cal argument, social withdrawal, passive resistance, depressed mood, and spiritualization. If you do not recognize your anger, it cannot be channeled or transformed. Anger that is not experienced or expressed directly is not easily unmasked. Gruff exteriors can hide from the indi-viduals themselves an anger that is obvious to everyone else; so can a smile, and so can solicitousness. For you to relate to such a "shy" anger within yourself may be compared to relating to some-one who is reluctant to come forward. The unmasking must not be done forcefully, or hurtfully. Imagineextending your hand to the anger within, with reassurance that there is no need to hide. In this invitation the anger is reassured that it is seen as a legiti-mate emotion with a reason for being which is important for you to understand. Review fi~r Religious The simple power of recognizing your anger (we might call it awareness) lies in the fact that merely paying it attention changes the anger at once. This phenomenon, the power of simple obser-vation to transform what it observes, is well recognized, not only in behavioral but even in physical science. It can be found in var-ious forms also in our spiritual tradition. From earlier teachers we know the concept that to hold the true name of anything or any-one is to have power over it. We learn that the desert fathers and mothers taught their spiritual children first to name their demons.St. Teresa of Avila taught us that, if anything is embraced in love, it already begins to be transformed. To be true to this way of proceeding, we must remind ourselves that the power does not lie in trying to manipulate or control the anger. In each case, as in the example of dealing with "shy" anger, there is an encounter with the anger. Encounter implies relationship, interaction, and the potential for mutual change: the anger also has something to say. The second stage of inner work with anger may be described as bringing the anger inside yourself. Unpacking that metaphor is not easy; not all of its meaning will be captured in any one exposition. It is already evident that the first and second stages are diametrically opposed to what is often a reflexive response to strong, unwanted anger--trying to get rid of it. We turn to a familiar fairy tale to shed more light on the power of bringing the anger inside. Recall the story of "The Three Little Pigs." Imagine being one of the little pigs barricaded in the last house, the one made of brick. Anger at first may seem like,the big bad wolf howling menacingly outside the door. You shake within, behind the barred door and locked windows. To be exposed to such a monster would be certain death. If matters continue in this way, there can be no happy end-ing-- at best there is stalemate. You know the pigs' solution, and in a way it is related to what we will suggest. But let us modify it in the interest of love and mutual growth. In a feat reserved for imagery, imagine yourself inviting that wolf in. Already, simply to enter the house, the big wolf must become small, at least small Inner work is an active and engaging process of coming to terms with both the immediate stimulus for the anger and its deeper sources within. JanuaJ3,-FebJvtal3, 1997 D_.~ckro~ Kukor~ and Meier * Inner Work with Your Anger enough to fit through the very same door which you use. From that time the wolf already becomes more your equal; the bad wolf becomes your guest. Your fear calms down to prudent caution. Anger, upon being brought inside, begins the dialogue, furthers mutual understanding, and allows you to listen to the message-- which apparently some part of you thought was important enough to arouse such a furor. The third stage consists of continuing your association with the anger. This is the dialogue, and the very heart of inner work with anger. Although associating with your anger must of neces-sity be a free-flowing process, with content unique to yourself, it is useful to consider the general material you might encounter. The material of association might be divided into old and current issues. Old issues are the recurrent themes that come up again and again in anyone's life. Much of the message of any intense "negative" emotion has to do with these recurring themes. A popular way of conceptualizing this idea has been called the 90/10 rule. It suggests that, in understanding the message of strong feeling, very little (10 percent) has to do with what seems to be obvious, the matter on which you are focused. The greater part (90 percent) arises from old issues that have been reawak-ened by the current circumstances. Imagine a detonator: a small and harmless charge sets off a much larger and destructive explo-sion, a cache of dynamite for example. Obviously, the great positive potential in associating with the anger is in learning to listen for the old issues which come up in the process. These old issues influence your perception as perva-sively as a pair of colored glasses affects your view of the world around. They color your interpretations and lead to a type of conditioned reality. You actually see what you expect to see. Unrecognized old issues lead to compulsive or addictive cycles of behavior. You perceive each new situation through lenses that transform it into an old familiar one. In turn, you bring up and apply old familiar responses to these new situations. Outcomes become more and more predictable. Imagine a traveling theater troupe picking up extra actors in each town. The players are dif-ferent, but the plots are always the same. With anger, bitterness, or resentment, there is a kind of cold comfort in having been right about the advent of unpleasant realities (while you conve-niently forget that often it is you who make them unpleasant). Such victories are P))rrhic, Finding the results familiar becomes Review for Religious for you (however unconsciously) more desirable than finding--or trying to make--the current reality pleasant. The rigid shape of such compulsive behavior is evident. To emphasize the importance of old issues is not to say that current issues are unimportant. On the contrary, as you recog-nize the anger, calm the anxiety, and listen for old issues, the cur-rent issues become more distinguishable and more manageable. The solutions that present themselves are likely to be effective for being rooted in your actual current situation instead of being autonomous repetitions of previous experiences. When you see current issues clearly, you under-stand them in terms of relationship rather than as someone else's problem affecting you. You see a problem as relational, a matter between or among the several concerned parties rather than in one or another person. Common sources of anger in the present include threats to self-esteem, feeling vulnerable, being cheated, receiv~ ing dishonest or indirect communication. When these problems are freed from the heavy bag-gage of the old, recurring themes, their substance remains but they become much lighter to carry. Consider, for example, a threat to self-esteem. A colleague is given attention for her successes. It seems to you that some of her ideas carrie from' conversations in which you played a part. There is resentment that she is in the spotlight and fear that no one will look to you for ideas in the future. The most power-ful factors in your emotional response to the situation lie in your previous experiences. If you have felt unappreciated, if you have been afraid to speak before others, if you have learned to feel that others do not take you seriously, if you have learned to deeply doubt your own value or your ability to succeed, you will feel burning anger at your dubiously accurate perception of a threat to your livelihood and reputation. If you are not good at pro-cessing and expressing anger, you will carry it as a tortuous con-flict within you, eating at body and mind, blocking the flow of spirit. On the other hand, if you can recognize the old issues for what they are, can avoid disparaging yourself for holding them, and then begin dealing with them directly, you will find within The great positive potential in associating with the anger is in learning to listen for the old issues which come up in the process. dO dTtttltta13,-Febrtttlty 1997 Duckro, Kukor, and Meier ¯ Inner Work with Your Anger yourself the energy for doing so. You will assess more clearly how serious the immediate threat is. From that assessment you can gauge the strength of the confrontation and discussion you must have with your colleague. If you are not.skilled at assertive expres-sion, you may determine a course of action to improve such skills. The problem is resolvable. The actual method of associating with your anger requires some elaboration. An essential component is to calm yourself down. The failure to calm down, especially to calm down your cognitive activity, heightens the risk of repeating a version of the old issues that tend to inflate your angry response. Physiological calming facilitates cognitive calming, and both allow the pro-duction of fresh associations. It is important to distinguish this type of calming from sup-pressing the anger or avoiding the current issues. The idea is not to become suddenly and inexplicably blissful. The aim is simply to be present to the anger--bringing it in, seeing it for what it is, and sorting out the old issues that are inflaming it. The most effective way to calm down is simply to become aware of your breathing and then to breathe gradually more slowly and deeply, and from the diaphragm. No particular rate or pro-portion of breathing is necessary, but it is often helpful to allow each exhalation to proceed slowly, like a slow leak from a tire. With each long exhalation your heart rate will be slower, and you will feel more and more relaxed. Let yourself move as necessary to remain physically comfortable, and do not be afraid to take a big ungainly breath if you get out of rhythm; just come back to the slow, diaphragmatic breathing as soon as possible thereafter. The overall goal is a sense of effortlessness in the breathing, letting the tension and the struggle to control melt away, but feeling all the sensations of the body with even greater awareness. Focus then on the parts of the body that seem most active. You will find in these places the physical correlates of your anger, As you interact in this way with your physical sensations, move to the emotion underlying them. Remaining relaxed, let yourself feel the anger more fully, either directly as emotion or in its phys-ical manifestations. Now that it is allowed to enter within your relaxed self, it will no longer be overpowering as you contemplate it. Call it by name with your inner voice, softly and repeatedly. As you do so, remain calmly aware and allow your mind to produce the next thought, feeling, image, or memory. Accept that next Review for Religious association without judgment, and then focus on it. Continue the process in just this way until you reach an association that seems new and striking a.nd that requires more time. Stay with it for a 16nger time, just holding it in mind. Other thoughts and feelings will weave themselves around it. If you find yourself excessively dis-tracted, try writing.down your thoughts, feelings, or sensations, associating further with each one as you write. In this process of free association, you are opening doors within you. Areas which have been blocked off by shame or will-fulness may become accessible. Some of these areas may be unpleasant, exposing feelings that are painful. These you must bring to spiritual direction, prayer, intimate friends, or psy-chotherapy for support in working through them to new life. In the course of such work, you move toward oneness within; this is the essence of the integrity you seek. You see yourself more hon-estly and clearly, and you see also what is being touched within you. What you must do becomes more clear. The last stage is taking the anger to relationships.° Although our focus in this essay has been on inner work, this inner work leads to interpersonal interaction. It is in the movement from intrapersonal exploration to the interpersonal resolution of anger that we avoid individualism and act for justice and peace in our personal worlds. These personal worlds, in any particular life or set of circumstances, may range from the grand scale of interna-tional diplomacy to the intimate relationship of two persons. This inner work, then, is not an alternative to external work, but is the basis from which to move toward others. In inner work we take time to explore thoroughly .the nature of our own anger, with-holding action until we have taken the beam from our own eye. Upon so doing, when we do act we are much less likely to return evil for evil. We are more likely to be able to collaborate with God in turning all things to the good, for ourselves and others. Relational Responses In discussing this stage in which we take the anger to rela-tionship, it is useful to highlight the basic choices with which we are faced. Our choices determine whether and how much our response will further a relationship. In coming to terms with any strong "negative" emotion, we are faced with such choices, lead-ing to greater or lesser connection with others. Januaty-Febtvlaty 1997 Duckro, Kukor, and Meier ¯ Inner Work with Your Anger The mutuality required for integration rests ultimately on dialogue, people expressing their own feelings and desires and listening to one another. Y2 At its worst, anger polarizes. The participants separate into factions whose interests seem mutually opposed. Anger so expe-rienced leads to stronger or longer-lasting feelings of hatred and resentment, and to behaviors aimed at the injury or destruction bf the other parties. We easily see such hot or cold wars on the broad and somewhat anonymous levels of local, national, and interna-tional politics; they occur just as often, however, on the smaller stages of our personal and professional lives. Somewhat more benign, but still only minimally relational, is what we might call parallel play. In this live-and-let-live stance, there is no intention to hurt the other parties, but neither is there much sense of the common or universal good, and there is no intimate interaction. Farther along the continuum, we can indicate a point of compromise. This term is unfortunately not held in high esteem. What some people see as a reasonable compromise, many others see as "giving in," collaborating with evil; in fact, they see the compromiser as "compromised"-- or, at best, wishy-washy. However, com-promise (literally: putting forth, together) can be actually a high-level response with the potential for build-ing a better relationship out of previous anger and conflict. The partners in conflict become sensitive to each other's agendas and to opportunities for their mutual benefit in a common good. The arrangement might be unsteady, but continued dialogue in this spirit leads to change, however slow it might seem to those who prefer war, personal or otherwise, as a means of change. On any given day, compromise may be all the relationality we can muster. Nevertheless, its regular practice can move us along toward the point of integration. It is in the honest integra-tion of apparent opposites that we most fully participate in ongo-ing creation. Both compromise and integration must be and remain, opposed to syncretism, in which each side is reduced to being a lesser entity than it was. Integration requires the full pres-ence of both parties, each maintaining--and even realizing more fully--its own identity, but also coming together to form, from an Review Jbr Religious appreciation of their essential unifies and commonalities of inter-est, a new whole never before experienced. To accomplish such a union requires freshness of experience: two persons seeing each other as if for the first time. Obviously, the ideal is challenging and not easily reached. It is best to consider it a process that incor-porates the letting-go of egoism, that sense of self which empha-sizes self-protection and personal rights at the expense of openness and intimacy. It is analogous to the process of inculturation in evangelization presented by Pope John Paul II and articulated eloquently in the documents of General Congregation 34 of the Society of Jesus. The mutuality required for integration rests ulti-mately on dialogue, people expressing their own feelings and desires and listening to one another. Words are a poor medium to express such matters, but they are often the best means we have. In love, they are enough. At this level of relationship, anger has been transformed. It is now not merely a difficult emotion to be managed, but an impetus to new creation. Of such dialogue--two or more persons allowing their center of focus to be between or among themselves rather than within any one of them--it may truly be said that the reign of God is there. Forgiveness and reconciliation are experienced in a fresh way. Old hurts are not forgotten, but now are embodied in the new whole. They are used to create a new way of understanding which, rather than suppressing them, coopts them for the good. Taking care of oneself is redefined, as self has been redefined, beyond the limits of the corporeal body and one's personal psy-chological history. The well-being of any other person comes grad-ually to be seen as vitally important to one's own self. The Contemplative Stance This coming together in integration is certainly not without much pain and difficulty. More often than not, it seems that the creation of a new whole from disparate positions is impossible. Nevertheless, it is this apparent impossibility that in fact calls us to a new something. There is a tradition, among shamans of so-called primitive religions, that iust such apparently impossible situations signal, often in a sacred dream, the opportunity to advance to a new level of spiritual understanding. In our Christian tradition we may understand this new creation as furthering cor-poral realization of the mystical body of Christ. .~mlttaly-Febrttal3, 1997 Duckro, Kukor, and Meier o" Inner Work with Your Anger A contemplative stance in life facilitates the recognition and acceptance of opportunities' for integration as we work through strong feelings of anger. Such a contemplative stance does not imply or require a cloistered vocation; it is simply a willingness to become ever more aware of what is happening within us and around us. It is furthered by the practice of certain disciplines such as frequent self-examination, centering prayer, and medita-tive relaxation. An image passed on by Suzanne Zuercher OSB expresses the nature of being contemplative very well. Imagine holding a bird in your cupped hands. Hold it too tightly and the bird will be crushed; too loosely and the bird flies away. So it is to be present to ourselves and others. In such contemplation God, divine Mystery, is found truly in all things. All the events of life, without exception, are material for the spiritual journey. There is no need to avoid or suppress dis-tractions or strong emotions; there is only the call to work with them honestly. An ideal, of course, is a distant marker. As with ship and lighthouse, we hope not so much to find ourselves there as to be guided by its light. In the end the stuff of our growth is not found in our perfection, but in our flaws. Stumbling blocks become stepping stones, fissures become our footholds. Honest reflecting on the disruptive emotions that rise unbidden in us, and on our failures in handling them for the good, keep us rooted humbly in the truth of our lives. This truth, however unlovely it may seem, is the sure and only foundation for realizing the power of God working in us, From there we move closer to joy and compassion, holy indiffer-ence and equanimity, and become people for others. We find love. Review for Religious DENISE M. CALLAGHAN On Letting Go l~aan still see you sitting across the room from me, the light of e lamp highlighting your silver hair, your blue eyes still filled with life. You talked of how they were "putting you out," try-ing to get you to come to the motherhouse infirmary. And the best reason they could give you? They were worried about you because you seemed to be forgetful. You were not buying that, you told me. You kept insisting that you knew what you were doing, that you were not forgetful or careless about little matters of safety. I tried to suggest that there could be episodes you were not aware of. If you had been aware, there would be no prob-lem- but not being aware that you were not aware could be seri-ous. I was not just playing with words. I tried to give you examples. I tried to ease your dread of being uprooted. I hope I helped just a little, anyway. I thought of you often after you left. I found myself praying that you would be able to let go. So much of life is a matter of let-ting go. None of us does it lightly or easily. We are clingers by nature, I think. Even as infants we fasten our fingers around lit-tle baubles and hold on with surprising strength. Paul talks about that in some of his Epistles. "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child . . ." (1 Co 13:11). I think (can we really remember it all now?) that it was not always easy to put aside the things of the child and become the responsible adult. Somehow, however awk-wardly, we did it. Sometimes it is not all pain--if the letting go of the old, famil-iar some thing, or some place, or some one means the reaching out Denise M. Callaghan SSND writes to us from 6401 North Charles Street; Baltimore, Maryland 21212. 1997 Callagban ¯ On Letting Go What a beautiful gift we offer one another when we truly listen! Y6 to some one new, or some place new, or some thing new that sat-isfies and delights us. But there are those letting go's that are just that: all pain. There is no exchange; there is an emptying out, a hollowing out, a hurt, a loneliness, a void. Some of us literally break under the strain of it. Some of us do not break, but we become bitter and withdrawn. Some of us bluff our way through or somehow just bury the ache. Some of us, quietly and with great wisdom, simply let go--and then go on. What a great grace! No matter who we are, no matter how well we do what we do, we will all need from time to time to be able to let go: ¯ the older for the younger, ¯ the familiar for the new and the different, ¯ the surety of the tried and the true for the promise of the untried and the possible, ¯ the mellowed for the freshly cured, ¯ the wisdom of experience for the vision and the dream of the not-yet-chanced. It cannot be done lightly, nor should it be. Wisdom cautions weighing and measuring, reflectively letting go, effectively hold-ing on. We need to pray that the Spirit of wis-dom will inform us. We need to be attentive listeners to the movement of the Spirit in our own hearts and to trust that message. We also need to pray to be good listeners one to another. No one of us is so informed that our own judgment is always best. So we listen and weigh our view again, in light of someone else's wisdom and insight, There is a courtesy we owe one another, and a respect, and an esteem. We listen to each other, not dismissing the line of rea-soning, but attentively pondering it. What a beautiful gift we offer one another when we truly lis-ten! It is rare that we really do this. It can be singularly painful to someone when we do not do it, as when one who over a span of years has been looked up to as wise and judicious, insightful and intuitive, now senses that her views are being suddenly and sum-marily dismissed by younger members of the community. The real pain here is the feeling she has, upon seeing her remarks mentally brushed aside or not even fairly listened to, that she her-self is being discarded. This kind of not listening can go the other way, too. Someone Review for Religious young and presumably inexperienced touches deftly and wisely the very core of the issue and is merely smiled at as though youth's inexperience cannot possibly know anything that is truly perti-nent and helpful. All of us, of course, are painfully aware that most wisdom seems to come only by hindsight. Wisely did St. Augustine pray often for the grace of a "listening heart." We do indeed have to try our best to speak truth as we perceive it. Beyond that, we need the grace to be able to let go and try to pick up the truth in the words of others. Sometimes the need to let go can concern only myself: ¯ the death of a loved'one when I cannot even imagine living my life apart from that person, ¯ the loss of a friend in some painful misunderstanding that somehow cannot seem to be remedied, ¯ the diminishment and inability brought on by serious illness or aging, ¯ the hurt when politics decides who gets the promotion or the credit or the acclaim. One other demand on us individually from time to time will be the letting go of memories. We need never let go of the very heartening memories that enrich us and that are among our most precious treasures. We thank God over and over for those times, those persons, those events that set our hearts to singing at their every recall. But we do need to let go, with God's help, when the memory is painful and the whole episode shouts of injustice or rash judgments or false accusations or just plain dislike. It is right to try to remedy the wrong, particularly if it is done to someone else. Jesus asks each of us to be a speaker of truth. But when every effort fails and every avenue of remedy is sealed off, we need sim-ply to let go and to go on. It is not easy. Yet holding on and nurs-ing the grudge can be utterly destructive. We give the victory to the demon of darkness and we hurt God's cause. Ther

Issue 54.5 of the Review for Religious, September/October 1995. ; Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1995 ¯ VOLUME 54 '. NUMBER 5 Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Telephone: 314o977-7363 ¯ Fax: 314-977-7362 Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ° St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP ¯ P.O. Box 29260 ° Washington, DC 20017. POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©1995 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library, clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. for religious Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming sJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Regina Siegfried ASC Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Jean Read Joann Wolski Conn PhD Iris Ann Ledden SSND Joel Rippinger OSB Edmundo Rodriguez SJ David Werthmann CSSR Patricia Wittberg SC Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER 1995 ¯ VOLUME 54 ¯ NUMBER 5 contents 646 symposium The Roots of Faith-and-Justice: Critical Assessment Martin R. Tripole SJ presents a case for a more careful assessment of the relationship between faith and justice in the Christian apostolic life. Responses are made by Gerald F. Finnegan SJ, Vincent J. Genovesi SJ, and Charles L. Currie SJ. 675 681 ecumenism Ecumenism a Scripture Mandate for Religious Jude D. Weisenbeck SDS explains how ecumenism is at the very heart of what it means to be a religious. Too Deep for Dogma Bernard Seif SMC describes the enriching prayer relationship that has been created between a Salesian monastery and a Hindu ashram. 685 Catholicism in the Social Order of a New Era Curt Cadoret~e MM addresses changes in the church that will occur in the next millennium as its center of gravity moves from the developed to the developing world. 696 707 finding God Fihding God in Daily Life: Ignatian Spirituality's Heart Richard J. Hauser SJ describes a practical way of staying attuned to the Spirit by focusing upon the direction of one's heart. A Hermitage Experience Perry McDonald OFMCap takes away the fear or glamor of a hermitage experience as he recounts the everyday grace of solitude. 642 Review for Religious 716 The Abbey of S~nanque: A Journey of the Heart Dennis J. Billy CSSR ponders the contemplative effect of a pilgrimage to the Cistercian Abbey of S~nanque. 723 754 prayer Jesus:Beauty::Jesus:Compassion George A. Maloney SJ enters us into an experience of Jesus as Beauty and Compassionate Love which leads us to a self-emptying service towards others. 729 Mysticism as Flight M. Pascaline Coff OSB explains how t/~e breakthrough to the mystical, to the Transcendent, is the true goal of our lives. living spiritually J 735 The Problem with Problems Hilary Ottensmeyer OSB points out ways in which a problem-solving approach to hfe has e,normous consequences for how we think and feel about ourselves, our neighbor, and our God. 744 A Case for Candlelight [ Donald Macdonald SMM illumines thrbugh the experience of Julian of Norwich how personal relationships with God and others seem to flourish best in a gentldr rather than a harsher light. Vocation as Liberation and Revel Ltion Terrance Wayne Klein describes the necessity of liberation for ministerial candidates in their pursuit of a vocation call 644 772 from God. departments Prisms Canonical Counsel: Cloister for N~uns: From the 1917 Code to the 1994 Synod 779 Book Reviews September-October 199Y 643 prisms Te editor's introduction to each issue is usually focused on a way of viewing an issue, a practice, or an event in relation to our Christian living, often refracted through religious life heritages. In this issue I designate the following content rather in the "announcement" than in the "viewpoint" category. The National Board of the Religious Formation Conference in'the United States has designated Review for Religious to be the recipient of the Religious Formation Conference's Sister Mary Emil Penet IHM Award for 1995. The award is being given in recognition of its contribution to formation ministry in this country and throughout the world during its fifty-four-year-old history. The presentation will be made at the Ninth National Religious Formation Conference in St. Louis on October 13, 1995. Sister Mary Emil Penet, a member of the Congregation of the Immaculate Heart of Mary in Monroe, Michigan, was the founder of the Sister Formation Conference (pre-cursor of the Religious Formation Conference) and a woman who recognized the needs of her time in prepar-ing women religious for their professional ministries. The Religious Formation Conference evolved over the years from the founding vision of Sister Mary Emil Penet, and as a national organization continues to respond to the needs of religious communities in the area of initial and ongoing formation. Sister Mary Emil Penet received the first award in 1989. Presented biennially, the award was given to the Institute of Religious Formation at Saint Louis University and the Institute of Formative Spirituality at Duquesne University in 1991. In 1993 the Adorers of the Blood of Christ of Ruma, Illinois, received the Mary Emil Penet IHM Award in honor of their Sisters who were martyred in Liberia, all five of whom were in some way involved in the ministry of formation. 644 Review for Religious As the fourth editor of this journal, I express my apprecia-tion for this recognition--a tribute given to our many writers who have collaborated in sharing from their various religious life heritages. Building upon the untapped resource of collaboration among religious was central to the vision of the founding editors, Augustine Ellard $3, Adam Ellis SJ, and Gerald Kelly SJ, in 1942. That vision has been realized through the articles of numerous women and men--some well-known writers and many others not so well known, but all contributing from the richness of their insight and experience. Today this kind of collaboration is central to formation and ministry--between religious congregations and between religious and laity. ' In another example of collaboration, Review for Religious is working with the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth in Wernersville, Pennsylvania, in its special symposium: "Religious Life 30 Years Later. Is This What Vatican II Intended?" Scheduled to celebrate the 30th anniversary of Vatican II's decree on "The Appropriate Renewal of Religious Life" (Pe~fectae caritatis), this program will investigate the present state of religious life with an eye to appro-priate future developments. Major presentations will be given by Miriam Ukeritis CSJ, Albert Dilanni SM, George Aschenbrenner SJ, and Judith Merkle SNDdeN. The speakers mean to stimulate conversation among all the participants on current trends and devel-opments, community, mission, and other aspects of contemporary religious life. The symposium is dedicated to the memory of Mary Margaret Johanning SSND, former superior general and Review board member who died in October 1994. A notice on the practi-cal details for those wishing to participate in this symposium to be held October 26-29 can be found on page 797of this issue. Finally, Review for Religious intends to publish another book in the series The Best of the Review, with the title The Church and Consecrated Life. The book will include the pope's still-to-be-published apostolic exhortation as a result of the synod on con-secrated life, a collection of Elizabeth McDonough's Canonical Counsel articles reviewing church documents on religious life, and other significant articles relating to synod considerations. This prepublication announcement is meant only to alert you, our readers. Look for the book's publication in early 1996. David L. Fleming SJ September-October 199Y 645 MARTIN R. TRIPOLE The Roots of Faith-and-Justice: Critical Assessment symposium The 34th General Congregation of the Society of Jesus (GC34) met in Rome from 5 January to 22 March 1995. Twenty-four documents were approved and, as of this writing, were awaiting final revisions and official pro-mulgation. Its decree 2, 'titled "Our Mission and Justice," renews Jesuit "commitment to the promotion of justice as an integral part of our mission, as this has been exten-sively developed in GC32 and GC33.''~ Thus GC34 reaf-firms the tradition of the promotion of justice set in place at the 32nd General Congregation in 1975. This paper examines the roots of the justice move~ ment in GC32's decree 4, "Our Mission Today: The Service of Faith and the Promotion of Justice.''2 Commonly known as Decree Four, the document was dis-cussed amid considerable opposition during GC32 and has been the subject of much joy, confusion, and consternation since, reflecting the different ways the document has been received. A decree of major importance, it became the guiding light that gave new direction and meaning to much of Jesuit spirituality and ministry thereafter. It also had a significant effect on the many other religious orders of men and women that took guidance from its words in Martin R. Tripole SJ, associate professor of theology, and the three Jesuit respondents to his paper first presented these reflec-tions on 21 January 1995 at a Jesuit community meeting at St. Joseph's University. Their address is St. Joseph's University; 5600 City Avenue; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19131. 646 Review for Religious reorienting their own spirituality and apostolic direction. It will therefore be useful to examine carefully what the doc-ument decreed about the promotion of justice, why it made this change of direction, whether it was justified in doing so, and whether there might not be a better course to follow to attain its noble goals. This presentation is divided into three parts: (1) the meaning and use of justice in decree 4, with analysis of the spe-cial importance it gives t6 the promotion of justice in the apostolic life; (2) the meaning of"the poor"; and (3) a suggestion for a bet-ter formulary to guide religious apostolic life into the coming millennium. The Meaning and Use of Justice in the Decree A careful examination makes it clear that the primary mean-ing of justice in decree 4 is social justice, a justice that is achieved through the revamping of institutional or social structures so that they May more adequately reflect and promote a just ordering of society. There are those who argue that justice in the decree is more properly understood as the human reflection of divine justice, as God's justice at work in the world. This, they assert, makes Jesuit efforts to promote justice a spiritual activity appropriate to their priestly life. While it is true that the decree does argtie, and rightly so, that our efforts to secure tlie rights of others are a reflection of the "power of God's mercy, that mercy whereby he most fully shows forth his justice," this notion is present in only one small part of.the document and in no way substantiates the assertion that justice in the decree takes its central meaning from this the-ological idea) The argument from divine justice has such an iso-lated position in the document that one guesses it is an afterthought to provide a spiritual, foundation for activity in the social order.4 Even understood thus, the argument has its prob-lems, which we shall point out later. In emphasizing social justice the decree gives importance to the establishment of right relationships among people--to render to each what is his or her due--but stresses even more the need to change the social, political, and economic structures of society so that all, especially the poor and oppressed, obtain what is due them through these structures. The decree states: "There are mil-lions of men and women in our world., who are suffering from September-October 199Y 647 Tripole ¯ The Roots of Faitb-and- ffustice poverty and hunger, from the unjust, distribution of wealth and resources and from the consequences of racial, social, and polit-ical discrimination . In a world where the power of economic, social, and political structures is now appreciated and the mech-anisms and laws governing them are now understood, service according to the gospel cannot dispense with a carefully planned effort to exert influence on those structures" (§20 and §31). So far, so good. But this leads to one of the major conclu-sions of this presentation, and perhaps the major conclusion: While it is acceptable that the promotion of justice be a work of the Society of Jesus and, indeed, of all religious life, d problem arises when the decree makes the promotion of justice the absolute stan-dard against which all apostolates must be justified, saying in effect that you cannot have an apostolate in Jesuit life which is not, in some sense, a work of justice. The point is stated emphatically at least twice in the decree: The mission of the Society of Jesus today is the service of faith, of "which the promotion of justice is an absolute requirement. (§2) The promotion of justice is not one apostolic area among others, the "social apostolate"; rather, it should be the concern of our whole life and a dimension of all our apostolic endeavors. (§47) There are at least two reasons why it is unwise to give the promotion of justice this comprehensive role: First, there is an inherent danger in seeing a work of the temporal order as neces-sary to justify a (more ultimate) spiritual work, the danger being that this penultimate requirement may become the goal itself and thus its own legitimation. In this case the promotion of justice would become the goal of apostolic endeavors, rather than being in the service of the faith. Fear of that danger was present even among some of the del-egates at GC32. According to Jean-Yves Calvez, a delegate to the congregation and a longtime close associate of Father General Arrupe, some of the members "were truly fearful that, if the two themes [the promotion of justice and the entire apostolic life] were to be united, the promotion of justice would come to occupy the whole field and appear to represent the totality of today's Jesuit apostolate.''s That Pope Patil VI sensed this danger is clear from his admonitions to the Jesuits through his secretary of state, Jean Cardinal Villot,at the end of GC32, when Paul reminded 648 Review for Religious the delegates of what he had said in his closing remarks at the 1974 Synod of Bishops: "Human development and social progress in the temporal order should not be extolled in such exaggerated terms as to obscure the essential significance which the church attributes to evangelization and the proclamation of the full gospel.6 By most accounts, this danger became a reality--at least twice. Arrupe noted in 1972 that an undue emphasis had been placed upon justice as "socioeconomic development" in the aftermath " of Vatican II, probably because of the powerful impetus given to the social-jus-tice movement b}" Gaudium et spes.7 But it is also generally accepted today that after GC32 the concept of justice again became largely identified by Jesuits with the work of the social apostolate. Calvez tells us that a group of Jesuits who met in Latin America in 1982 admitted that they had "yielded to excessively secularized views" of justice in their apostolate (Calvez, p. 65). He notes that Arrupe became con-cerned in 1980 that justice was being seen as something "sufficient in itself" and not related to charity (p. 84) and tried to cor-rect the problem in his famous talk of 6 February 1981, "Rooted and Grounded in Love." Calvez and others argue that Arrupe reaffirmed the impor- " tance of love or charity in that talk--that social justice should not be separated from love or charity--but that he did not in any way intend to correct decree 4's heavy emphasis upon justice. But a better reading of the evidence indicates that Arrupe was reducing the importance of justice in that talk. Arrupe had been affirming as early as 1966, the year after he became superior general, that all Jesuit ministries and every form of Jesuit apostolate had to be a response "to the urgent priorities which justice and social equity call for. Even an apostolate like education., must be the object of reflection in the light of the demands of the social problem.''8 Right through to GC32 he often sti'essed the role of justice in the apostolate, especially in the famous 1973 speech in Valencia to Jesuit alumni, many of whom became so upset at his assertion that they had not been adequately Justice is necessary, but it is not enough. The world needs a stronger cure, a more effective witness and more effective deeds: those of love. Septentber-October 1995 649 Tripole ¯ The Roots of Faitb-and-ffustice educated for justice that the .president of the alumni association immediately resigned'(Calvez, p. 27). But, in "Rooted and Grounded in Love" only eight years later, Arrupe speaks quite differently. He talks about "all the imperfec-tions" of decree 4, that it was an "option in the right direction" but not sufficient: "Justice is necessary, but it is not enough. The world needs a stronger cure, a more effective witness and more effective deeds: those of love .C.harity adds its transcendent, inner dimension to justice .E.very explanation in terms of jus-tice seems inadequate.''9 About two months before this talk, Pope John Paul II had published his second encyclical, Dives in misericordia (Rich in Mercy). Arrupe cites it explicitly: "The experience of the past and of our own time demonstrates that justice alone is not enough, that it can even lead to the n.egation and destruction of itself, if that deeper power, which is love, is not allowed to shape human life in its various dimensions.''~° It would seem that Arrupe had come to a new awareness that undue emphasis had been placed on the promotion of justice by the Jesuits, an emphasis that should more properly have been placed on love and charity. The second difficulty with making the promotion of justice the criterion for all Jesuit apostolates is that it risks undermining the acceptability of traditional apostolates which cannot easily be explained as extensions of the promotion of justice. The ques-tioning of the legitimacy of many traditional apostolates is exactly what~occurred after GC32 and has continued to this day, for it is difficult to find rational arguments to justify apostolates such as education, the fine arts, some forms of research and publishing, administering the sacraments, and giving spiritual counsel on matters of faith and on people's personal relationship with God when these all must be demonstrably the promotion of justice to survive. This leads to one's asking why all apostolates must be expres-sions of justice. It seems.they must only if it has been determined a priori that justice is the norm for all apostolates. But why should that be the case? What the following discussion may show is that there is no clear reason for justice to be given ~uch a far-reaching role. Although dec'ree 4 provides at leasteight arguments for the comprehensive role of justice jn all apostolic activity, we shall examine only two of the more important ones here. 650 Review for Religious Is Justice an Absolute Requirement of Faith? The major argument is based on the view that the "mission of the Society of Jesus today is the service of faith, of which the pro-motion of justice is an absolute requirement" (decree 4, §2).lj But is the promotion of justice an absolute requirement of the service of faith? No footnote is given in decree 4 for the origins of this idea, but they are found in the document:Tustice in the World from the Synod of Bishops of 1971, which Arrupe made use of in the congregation. The key text from that statement reads: "Action on behalf of justice and participation in the transformation of the world fully appear to us as a constitutive dimension of the preaching of the gospel." J2 The words constitutive dimension are crucial, for if used in their technical sense they would mean that "action on behalf of justice" is essential to the preaching of the gospel--so that you could not preach the gospel without action on behalf of justice. The statement is repeatedly cited by all who would make the promotion of justice a new essen-tial dimension of Christian liv-ing, and everyone takes these words constitutive dimension in their literal technical meaning. It would take too long to discuss this matter fully here, but Charles Murphy, the former rector of the North American College in Rome, wrote in 1983 a highly significant article on this topic, in which he shows that, whatever it may have meant by those two words, the synod did not mean that they should be taken in their technical sense.13 Among the synod's possible meanings, the most likely is that justice is an integral part of the proclamation of the gospel. According to Avery Dulles, "integral part" means "pertains to the completeness of that of which it is a part, but., not essential to the existence of the latter." ~4 The distinction is crucial, for if the promotion of justice is "integral" but not essential to the service of faith, then the promotion of justice is not an "absolute require-ment" of the service of faith, as decree 4 asserts)s If the promotion of justice is "integral" but not essential to the service of faith, then the promotion of justice is not an "absolute requirement" of the service of faith. September-October 199Y 651 Tripole ¯ The Roots of Faitb-and-ffustice No pope since 1971 has understood "constitutive dimension" from Jztstice in the V~orld to have its technical meaning. Paul VI argued that the synod had not in fact explained the exact nature of the relationship between action for justice and the procl.ama-tion of the gospel, and both he and John Paul II have repeatedly used other terms; such as "profound links," to explain the rela-tionship. John Paul II, at his opening address at the Puebla Conference of Latin American Bishops in 1979, stated that work on behalf of justice is "an indispensable part" of the church's "evangelization mission." This is clearly not to assert that it is a constitutive or essential element of evangelization, but rather, in Dulles's sense, an integral part of it. The International Theological Commission in 1977 explicitly treated the synod statement.~6 It argues that the document should not be understood in a "theoretical, scientific," or "theological" way (I, p. 307), that it should be understood as affirming "a pro-found unity that links" the proclamation of the gospel and justice (II, p. 307), and that the more accurate meaning "seems" to be "an integral part, not an essential part" (IV, p. 311). Is Justice Integral to Priesthood? A second reason for the special importance given to the pro-motion of iustice in decree 4 is based on the essential role sup-posedly given to it in the ministry of the Jesuits as a priestly order. Because this constitutes one of the more serious theological argu-ments in the documents and because it has a broader signifi~cance for all religious priestly congregations, it needs to be given seri-ous attention. The argument in question reads as follows: The mission of the Society today is the priestly service of the faith, an apostolate whose aim is to help people become more open toward God and more willing to live according to the demands of the gospel. The gospel demands a life freed from egoism and self-seeking, from all attempts to seek one's own advantage, and from every form of exploita-tion of one's neighbor. It demands a life in which the justice of the gospel shines out in a willingness not only to recog-nize and respect the rights of all, especially the poor and the powerless, but also to work actively to secure those rights. It demands an openness and generosity toward any-one in need, even a stranger or an enemy. It demands, 652 Review for Religious towards those who have injured us, pardon; toward those with whom we are at odds, a spirit of reconciliation. We do not acquire this attitude of mind by our own efforts alone. It is the fruit of the Spirit who transforms our hearts and fills them with the power of God's mercy, that mercy whereby he most fully shows forth his justice by drawing us, unjust though we are, to his friendship. It is by this that we know that the promotion of justice is an integral part of the priestly service of the faith. (decree 4, § 18) We have here an argument that conflates several theological re~ilities that, while interrelated, must be understood distinctly: divine justice and human expressions of it and also the priesthood of all the faithful and the ministerial priesthood. The document gives as parallels "the justice of the gospel" that expresses itself in the mercy by which God draws us into his friendship and into the human practice of justice by which we recognize, respect, and promote the rights of others. The decree implies a certain equa-tion between the horizontal and the vertical: Our work toward the establishing of respect for the rights of others is made possi-ble in the power of God's mercy, the same mercy which is at work when God's justice brings us into his friendship. Thus it is God's justice which is at work both in our efforts to promote justice in the world and in divine-human reconciliation. The argument is not incorrect: It is in reality God's justifying action that is at work in the world in human efforts to promote justice. But God's justice is far greater than human expressions of it. Human actions of justice may therefore be considered one form of God's justice, but only one, and perhaps not even the major form of it. Justice in the Scriptures is always understood as at work inside a covenant relationship, whether in the Old or New Testament. Justice is God's saving,,redemptive activity at work in the world, extricating humans from the power of sin and restoring them to a relationship of friendship with God. Justice is equated with that saving action, and it is present wherever that action is at work. Justice, then, is ultimately found wherever salvific union with God is established. In the Old Testament, Israel's justice is "that she repents and takes refuge in her God, that she trusts in him, that she is faith-ful." t7 In the New Testament, justice takes place in the relation-ship centered on Christ's redemptive activity in his suffering, death, and resurrection. The human being's justice, then, "consists September-October 199~ 653 Tripole * The Roots of Faitb-and-ffustice of, and depends upon, his trusting acceptance of God's saving act in Christ, whereby man accepts the restored covenant relationship with God." ~8 In the New Testament, God in Christ is the source of justice or righteousness, and the human being enters into that righ-teousness by faith in Christ. We are justified in that we are brought back into friendship with God and made his adopted children. God's Spirit leads us to a share in the new justified life as God's children, which is in fact a sharing in God's own life-- even now in this world and more fully in the next. It is in the experience of this new life in God that the com-munity of love, human dignity, and respect for one another is formed. Indeed, in the Christian dispensation the horizontal expressions of that saving justice are realized as a consequence of the justice already enacted between God and human beings, so that the horizontal experience is unintelligible without the lat-ter. To separate human expressions of justice from the salvific encounter with God in the knowledge and recognition of his sav-ing love in Christ is not only to risk distorting the Christian dis-pensation but also to risk reducing the Christian expression of justice to something purely secular. As far as Christians are concerned, the promotion of justice should not be separated from its relationship to divine justice, which is its sole ground of meaning. This means that the pro-motion of justice not only should never be separated from its relationship to the gospel, but also should never diminish pri-mary attention on the good news of God's justifying Word. Decree 4 rightly argues that "our mission today is to preach Jesus Christ and to make him kntwn in such a way that all men and women are able to recognize him" (§1 i). The danger in decree 4 is that, with its excessive emphasis upon the promotion of justice in the social order, the gospel risks being slighted. What is rightly understood as the incarnation of the gospel in the world risks being sepa-rated from its foundation in divine justice and becoming simply an action of social justice of the secular order. That what Arrupe recognized as a danger actually happened in the aftermath of the decree in the late 1970s indicates that the danger remains a real one. While Vatican II in Gaudium et spes did encourage the church to take a strong role in promoting the dignity of the human person, it nevertheless saw human actions for justice as properly pr0paedeutic to the proclamation of the saving 654 Review for Religious mysteries of Jesus Christ and never intended that human efforts for justice be separated from the justifying life of the church. Unless human efforts at justice are designed to lead to an expe-rience of justifying union with Christ in his church, such efforts risk becoming inconsonant with the Christian mission. Decree 4 gives the impression that divine justice translates directly and adequately into efforts at justice in the world. While efforts at human justice are extremely important to God's justi-fy! ng action in the world, that impor-tance should not overshadow the fact that God's saving justice is revealed in many parts of our lives in which the word justice is not used. God's saving justice is revealed in the whole life of the church, especially in the procla-mation of God's Word and the church's sacramental life. While human justice is an integral part of the service of the faith, it is not the rich-est way in which God's saving action is manifested. Therefore, if the promo-tion of justice should ever be stressed to such a point that it begins to over-shadow the primacy of the proclama-tion of the gospel and the sacramental life of the church, one risks once again separating the promgtion of justice from its solid Christian base. Besides the, potential confusion that we have been discussing in regard God's divine justice, which is his saving covenanted relationship with his people, makes a human act of justice priestly, not in the ministerial sense, but rather in the sense of the priesthood of all the faithful. to decree 4's conflation (in § 18) of ~two theologically distinct mean-ings of justice, the passage also tends to confuse the priesthood of the faithful common to a!l Christians with the ministerial priest-hood conferred by the sacrament of holy orders. God's divine jus-tice, which is his saving covenanted relationship with his people, makes a humah act of justice priestly, not in the ministerial sense, but rather in the sense of the priesthood of all the faithful, each of whom is called to show through justice towards others God's saving activity" towards all. The promqtion of justice is, of course, appropriate to the life of the ordained priest inasmuch as he is called to proclaim the SepteTnber-October 1995 655 Tripole ¯ The Roots of Faitb-and-ffu~tice gospel and be instrumental in the establishment of God's kingdom, which in some sense involves the establishment of just relation-ships among people. If at times the faithful as a whole are not exercising their commitment to justice by direct action in its ser-vice, it may fall upon the ordained ministers to try to compensate for that lacuna by direct action. Nevertheless, it is to the enhance-ment of the lay faithful's efforts for justice that the ordained priest's mission efforts should be directed, rather than to his own direct involvement. To the extent that the priest gives himself to the latter, he risks slighting the mission role of all the faithful, a mis-sion that is increasingly in need of support. Who Are the Poor? Inextricably linked to the promotion of justice is what is often called the "preferential option for the poor." Though that expres-sion is not used until the 33rd General Congregation in 1983, it is there in germ in decree 4, which makes it clear that "the justice of the gospel" calls us "to recognize and respect the rights of all, especially the poor and the powerless, but also to work actively to secure those rights" (§18). The question arises: Who are the poor? No doubt the term "the poor" is used by decree 4 to refer to the materially or economically poor and the politically oppressed. But we should look to the scriptural use of the expression, to see if this commonly accepted understanding of who the poor are is consonant with the Bible. In the earliest stages of Israel's history, the poor are indeed the economically poor and the politically oppressed or marginalized. But in the postexilic period (after the 5th century B.C.) "the poor" is often the term used for people who are simply meek and humble, but then also for the Israelite community as a whole, standing before God in need. In the New Testament the two favorite texts making refer-ence to the poor are found in the beatitudes in Matthew 5:3-12 and Luke 6:20-27 and in the Last Judgment scene in Matthew 25:31-46. In examining these three passages and the exegetical interpretations of them, we shall see that there is a broad spectrum of scholarly viewpoints on who the poor are. When Jesus says "Blessed are the poor" (Lk 6:20) and "Blessed are the poor in spirit" (Mt 5:3), there is one thing we can be cer-tain of, according to the exegetes: Jesus is not speaking about poor people as such. R.J. Karris says: "The Lucan Jesus is not 656 Review for Religious declaring a social class blessed."19 According to the exegetes, when Jesus calls the poor blessed, he is referring, not to poor people everywhere in the world, but to those among his listeners who are open to his message, open to his Father and the coming of his kingdom, and open to accepting Jesus and his teaching as his disciples. There is no blessed state, as far as Jesus is concerned, apart from being one of his disciples. In Luke, it is true, the disciples (or potential disciples) are addressed primarily in their material and political poverty. But we must not forget that in Matthew the beatitudes are addressed to the "poor in spirit." The primary emphasis here is not on the material or political state of the blessed, but on the fact that they are poor in spirit, that is, living lives of dependence upon God, trusting their lives to him completely, and finding no meaning, comfort, satisfaction, or fulfillment in the things of the world. What Matthew brings out (though it is true for Luke as well) is that the poor are blessed, not because of their material or political poverty, but because of the total orientation of their lives to God in Jesus. This leaves ¯ open the possibility that, for Jesus, being poor or poor in spirit means being a disciple of his (at least poten-tially) and not necessarily being mate-rially or politically deprived. It may be that Matthew, having in mind a later stage in the life of the Christian community, may be extending the beatitude "to all, of whatever social rank, who rec-ognized their complete dependence on God.''2° One exegete asserts that "Matthew has spiritualized and generalized the beat-itudes, making them applicable to the spiritual needs and moral endeavor of every member of his church.''2~ After all, Matthew alone among the Gospel writers tells us that Joseph of Arimathea was "a rich man" and that Jesus' body is laid "in his new tomb" (Mr 27:57 and 60). Would Matthew have considered Joseph not to be poor in spirit? It seems we must be open to a conception of the poor that includes more than the economically poor and polit-ically marginalized. What Matthew brings out is that the poor are blessed, not because of their material or political poverty, but because of the total orientation of their lives to God in Jesus. Septentber-October 1995 657 Tripole ¯ The Roots of Faith-and-ffustice Last Judgment Scene Exegesis of the Last Judgment scene (Nit 25:31-46) is equally broad. The heart of the problem is contained in Jesus' statement to "all the nations" assembled for judgment before the Son of Man when he comes in glory: "Whatever you did for one of these least brothers and sisters of mine you did for me," and "What you did not do for one of these least ones you did not do ~:or me." Exegesis centers on who these least ones are and who the people in the nations are who are judged by how they relate to the least ones. There are two quite different interpretations in contention here. The more popular interpretation is that the least ones or least brothers and sisters are the materially and politically poor of the world and that "the nations" includes anyone in the world who comes to their assistance. The point is that, if you respond to the needy, you will be saved; if you do not, you will be condemned. The number of exegetes who in recent times subscribe to this interpretation is significant, due to the emphasis given to it by liberation theologians seeking a scriptural basis for a preferential option for the materially poor and socially oppressed. But there are problems: What about the necessity of faith for salvation and Jesus' constant call for faith among his disciples? Where does that fit in? The pec~ple of the nations are not represented as hav-ing any faith. Some exegetes argue that their faith is presumed, but this is a big presumption. Also, none of the people have any awareness of Jesus' teach-ing identifying himself with these least ones. Would not the dis-ciples know this teaching? It seems better to argue that the people are nonbelievers, in which case the passage is s~howing the sav-ing value and the necessity of works of love for nonbelievers. Niore and .more Matthean scholars argue that it is the Gentiles (and possibly the nonbelieving Jews) who make up the nations and that the least ones are Jesus' disciples sent on mission to preach the gospel of the kingdom.2~ The point, then, is that the Gentiles are saved or not saved according to how they respond to Jesus' disciples in their missionary needs. This appears to be the better meaning. It is based on Jesus' use of "brothers and sisters" to refer to members of the community, especially disciples in need (Mr 10:42 and 12:49), and on the fact that Matthew gives prominence to Jesus' sending his disciples on mission (Nit 10), telling them to carry on this mission to "all nations" to the end of time (Mt 10:40). This approach explains 658 Review for Relig%us why the respondents did not know that Jesus was present in his disciples, since they, unlike the disciples, would not have been familiar with that teaching. It also satisfies more easily the prob-lem caused by the lack of any mention of the importance of faith, a major element in Jesus' teaching (Mt 10:32-33): While explic-itly nonbelieving, the nations are saved because they are in fact responding positively to Jesus present in his disciples. With this exegesis, Jesus in the Last Judgment scene would not be showing a preferential love for or solidarity with the socioe-conomically poor. The scene would have an entirely different meaning; it would show his identification with the members of his community on mission and would give to that mission theo-logical and soteriological significance of enormous proportions. The disciples would be on a mission of evangelization, entrusted to all Christians by reason of their faith and baptism. With this exegesis, the Last Judgment scene and the beati-tudes in both Matthew and Luke could have a certain common message: Jesus' preferential love, if there is to be any, is extended to all sinners who accept him and respond to his teaching. In view of the fact that Jesus came to call all "sinners" (Mr 9:13), Jesus' option or choice is not for any special group or types of people, but rather for anyone who would hear his call and accept him and his teaching. A preferential love, however, could have been directed toward a special group, though certainly not toward hyp-ocrites (Mt 23) and the self-righteous (Lk 16:15; 18:9-14). Jesus, while never excluding anyone who would respond to his call On 3:1), may have had a special love for those perhaps best described as physically unfortunate (Mt 4:23-24) and spiritually dispossessed (Mk 1:12-18 and 5:1-20). Nevertheless, when it came to who this Jesus said would be "greatest in the kingdom of heaven," it was not the poor, nor the unfortunate or dispossessed, but "whoever hum-bles himself like this child" (Mt 18:~t) and "whoever obeys and teaches these commandments" (Nit 5:19b). This would seem to argue that Jesus' preferential love was for whoever accepted him and lived a life of dependence on God, as much as it was for the poor, the unfortunate, and the dispossessed. Those who point to Matthew 5:3 as evidence that Jesus had a preferential love for the poor o~erlook the fact that that verse is immediately followed by similar blessings on.those who mourn, the meek, those who search for evidence of the kingdom on earth, as well as on the merciful, the pure of heart, the peacemakers, September-October 199Y 659 Tripole ¯ The Roots of Faith-and-Justice and those who are persecuted because of their commitment to Jesus--all of whom may be different types of persons for whom Jesus had a preferential option or who may (more likely) be the same people denoted by different dimensions of their lives, in which case the term poor is probably an all-inclusive category. Since the Gospel, by the time it was written, was being addressed to a Christian community already formed, it is also possible that these beatitudes are intended collectively to describe worthy mem-bers of the Christian community, in which case the poor of the beatitudes are all who have turned to Jesus in faith, hope, and love and are committed to serve him with their lives until the end. This more extended sense of the meaning of the poor has been confirmed by recent statements. In 1986 the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith stated: "The .special option for the poor, far from being a sign of particularism or sectarianism, man-ifests the universality of the church's being and mission. This option excludes no one"; and John Paul II, in his Christmas mes-sage of 1984, listed fourteen separate groups under the concept of the poor, two of which are those who suffer from psychological violence and families that suffer from the moral upheaval of soci-ety due to consumerism.23 A Better Formulary to Explain the Priestly Apostolate GC32's ultimate goal was not simply to promote justice in the world by altering unjust social structures. This is not enough, for it simply attempts to redress the external order. What it wanted to do ultimately was to transform inner lives, to reshape who Jesuits and others are, as a necessary foundation for reestablish-ing the dignity of the human person and right relationships in the human community. The outreach of justice is not .great enough to accomplish this. What decree 4 should have made its primary focus was not human justice but divine justice, the entire process of God's sav-ing relationship toward his people. Instead of putting its primary focus on human justice, it should have put it on the transforma-tion of the human heart so as to bring it into a saving relationship with the divine, which would then be expressed in saving rela-tionships with others. A better formular~ to clarify these goals would be "the service of the faith through the promotion of a Christian and human culture." 660 Review for Religious This formulary keeps the mission's Christian dimension clear and puts inculturation at the forefront of evangelizing efforts. The primary goal of Jesuits and, indeed, of all apostolic religious would, accordingly, be to promote their own personal faith rela-tionship with Jesus Christ through endeavors to inculturate his gospel; in doing this they would be fostering and inculcating val-ues not only consistent with the gospel but also conducive to a truly human society. Such a program would be broad enough to include the promotion of justice and all or most of the other apostolates appropriate to religious life as well. Concentrating work on the pro-motion of justice helps to change external relationships, but it does not necessarily touch hearts, the way peo-ple think and the standards they use to measure success. It does not touch who we are and how we seek fulfill-ment. It does not necessarily restruc-ture our personal relationship to God--or to God in Christ, as the Ignatian focus would put it. Let us briefly examine a.typical apostolate of religious, namely, edu-cation. If we overdo the promotion of justice among our students, there is a danger that the Christian life may come to mean only redressing unjust social structures, but not changing who the students are. Students often seek a secure identity for themselves by adopting secular society's production-and-consumption values, values that embrace greed, money, power, and prestige. There is even danger that, in religious life, the promotion of justice may become a slick way of appearing to care without having any real transformation take place inside us. The promotion ofiustice urges us to fit into our lives some time for thinking of others, but it does not necessar-ily touch our fundamental options. In spite of programs promoting justice in our schools, our students often leave with an understanding of Christianity that accepts as a given that the normal human being lives a me-cen-tered life. The promotion of justice is likely to cut away only a Concentrating work on the promotion of justice helps to change external relationships, but it does not necessarily touch hearts, the way people think and the standards they use to measure success. Septe~ber-October 199Y 661 Tripole * The Roots of Faitb-and-ffustice small part from that me-centered existence. Justice actions can easily fall into the category of works of charity seen as addenda required of those who would be Christian, but who otherwise" lead self-centered lives. This leaves the rich to continue to get richer while the poor get poorer, with the Christian willingly sharing in that search for wealth and power, feeling there is noth-ing wrong as long as life is tinged with social concern. It is little wonder, then, that when there is an open clash in society between the values of the world and Catholic values, the church loses regularly. Christianity has come to be perceived as a side issue, whose primary purpose is to help the needy, and whose legitimate requirements are satisfied by giving some time or money to social causes. In this scenario Christianity's role is to make people feel good--whether as giver or receiver--rather than to make them redefine their understanding of who they are. The church thus loses the right to ask for a redefinition of human existence that would involve a commitment of one's whole life to Christ, to the life of the beatitudes, and to Christ's church. Union with Christ and through him with the Father is pri-mary, and this is not necessarily established by the promotion of justice. People must be led to understand that a personal rela-tionship with Christ through his church is primary and that this demands a commitment so profound that it challenges one's def-inition of oneself. A fundamental change occurs when people give themselves to their baptismal identification with Christ, and the new moral life is consequent upon that change. The absolute requirement in the service of the faith--for reli-gious as for anyone--is identification with Christ: not just to be men and women for others, but to be committed and involved, through personal faith experience, with Someone who re-creates who we are, so that as other Christs we think and act with the mentality, value perceptions, attitudes, and habits that are his. This kind of faith experience is so fundamental that it revolu-tionizes one's existence; it permeates one's whole life. It is this deeper transformation that Paul VI saw operating in effective evafigelization and that he perhaps felt was not pre-sent in the call to promote justice. To promote justice is to seek to establish equitable relations among people individually and collectively. To seek to establish Christian and human culture is to seek to transform people's mind-sets, the precondition for the establishment of a just society. 662 Review fo'r Religious In the coming millennium, the purpose of our religious apos-tolate must be to redress not the lack of justice so much as the lack of fully human beings--men and women who are motivated by Christ and by the beatitudes he proclaimed. To achieve that goal is far greater and more important than simply to promote jus-tice. The church and the world are in need of religious who will work for the transformation of minds and hearts, other people's as well as their own. This can be accomplished only if we restore the person of Christ and the centrality of a life of faith in him to the center of our mission statements. In doing that, we shall also be working for the promotion of all the values he stands for, val-ues not limited to but including the promotion of justice. Notes ~ Continuity is being affirmed with the decrees of General Congregation 32 (GC32), which met in Rome from 2 December 1974 to 7 March 1975 and General Congregation 33 (GC33), which met in Rome from 2 September to 25 October 1983. References from the doc-uments of GC34 are taken from "The Interim Documents of General Congregation 34 of the Society of Jesus," National Jesuit News 24, no. 5 (April 1995), special pull-out section, pp. 1-40. Here the reference is to "Our Mission and Justice," §3, pp. 6-8 at 6. z A more complete presentation of the issues discussed in the paper may be found in the author's Faith Beyond Justice: Widening the Perspective (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1994). 3 "Our Mission Today: The Service of Faith and the Promotion of Justice," decree 4 of the 32nd General Congregation, in Documents of the 31st and 32nd General Congregations of the Society of Jesus, ed. John W. Padberg SJ (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1977), pp. 411-438, §18 (hereafter, paragraphs are noted in the text). Other documents in this volume are noted under Documents. 4 A letter dated 8 February 1995 to the author from Gerard J. Hughes SJ, chairperson of the commission that composed the decree, confirms this impression. He states that references to supernatural justice were inserted at the end to make clearer the idea that such activity was under-stood as part of the priestly ministry of Jesuits. 5 Jean-Yves Calvez sJ, Faith and Justice: The Social Dimension of Evangelization, trans. John E. Blewett SJ (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1991 [1985]), p. 35 (hereafter, Calvez, and pages are noted in the text). 6 Appendix to "Letter of the Cardinal Secretary of State to Father General," 2 May 1975, Documents, p. 547. 7 Pedro Arrupe SJ, Witnessing to Justice Vatican City: Pontifical Commission Justice and Peace, 1972), p. 41. September-October 199~ 663 Tripole * The Roots of Faitb-and-ffustice s Pedro Arrupe SJ, "To Major Superiors of Latin America on the Social Apostolate in Latin America," 12 December 1966, Acta Romana Societatis Iesu 16 (1967): 791; Calvez, p. 27. 9 "Rooted and Grounded in Love," in Pedro Arrupe SJ, One Jesuit's Spiritual Journey: Selected Letters and Addresses, vol. 5 (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1986), §67. ,0 John Paul II, Rich in Mercy (Dives in Mi~ericordia) (Washington: USCC, 1981), §12. l~ The original text reads: "la service de la foi, dont la promotion de la justice constitue une exigence absolue"; the official Latin reads: "fidei servitium, cui promotio justitiae ut exigentia absoluta pertinet" (Acta Roman Societatis Iesu 16 [1975]: 330-331). The complete French and Latin texts are found on pp. 330-375. GC34's decree "Jesuits and the Situation of Women in Church and Civil Society" reaffirms this position (~8, p. 30). 12 "Justice in the World: Synod of Bishops' Second General Assembly," 30 November 1971, §6, in Joseph Gremillion, The Gospel of Peace and Justice: Catholic Social Teaching since Pope John (Mary.knoll: Orbis Books, 1976); pp. 513-529 at 520. 13 Charles M. Murphy, "Action for Justice as Constitutive of the Preaching of the Gospel: What Did the 1971 Synod Mean?" Theological Studies 44, no. 2 (June 1983): 298-311. ,4 Avery Dulles SJ, "Faith, Justice, and the Jesuit Mission," Assembly 1989: Jesuit Ministry in Higher Education (Washington: Jesuit Conference, 1990), pp. 19-25 at 24. ,5 Decree 4 states that the promotion of justice is both an "absolute requirement" of the service of faith (§2) and "an integral part of evange-lization" (§30). The decree gives no consideration to the marked differ-ence between the two statements. The latter would allow for apostolates not directly expressive of the promotion of justice; the former would not. Note that GC34's "Our Mission and. Justice" uses only the expression "integral part" when addressing the role of the promotion of justice in the Jesuit mission, fdr example, §1 (p. 6). 16 "Human Development and Christian Salvation," Origins 7, no. 20 (3 November 1977): 305 and 307-313 (hereafter, section and page are noted in the text). ,7 E.R. Achtemeier, "Righteousness in the Old Testament," in The Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible (New York: Abingdon, 1962), vol. 4, pp. 80-85 at 84. ,8 p.j. Achtemeier, "Righteousness in the New Testament," in The Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible (New York: Abingdon, 1962), vol. 4, pp. 91-99 at 91. ,9 Robert J. Karris OFM, "The Gospel according to Luke," in New Jerome Biblical Commentary, 48:39. 2o The New American Bible, Saint Joseph Edition (New York: Catholic Book Publishing Co., 1986), p. 16. 664 Review for Religious 2~ John P. Meier, Matthew (Wilmington: Michael Glazier, 1980), p. 39. 2., Eugene A. LaVerdiere SSS and William G. Thompson SJ, "New Testament Communities in Transition: A Study of Matthew and Luke," Theological Studies 37, no. 4 (December 1976): 567-597 at 581. 23 Origins 15, no. 44 (17 April 1986): 723, and Origins 14, no. 30 (10 January 1985): 498. First Response A his mystical experience at the river Cardoner, Ignatius described himself as "another man." As Martin Tripole sees things, that personal, fundamental change in a person remains the mission of the Jesuits today, and it is accomplished primarily by the preaching of the gospel. Using his own experience as a teacher of theology at St. Joseph's University, he argues that his job as a Jesuit in this situ-ation is to challenge students to question the values of the soci-ety in which they live, values which are mainly selfish, the values of the "me generation" which sound very much like the values Ignatius describes in the Exercises as those of the enemy: wealth, honor, and pride. The Jesuit does this by teaching his students the beauty of a life based on the beatitudes. But Tripole's concern is that this mission has been upstaged by an emphasis on social justice in the Society of Jesus since the days of its 32nd General Congregation and the publication of its famous document "Our Mission Today: The Service of Faith and the Promotion of Justice." The unfortunate consequence of this has been a lapse of memory. Jesuits have forgotten that social jus-tice depends--at least for the Christian--on a personal conversion to Jesus' understanding and way of life. What this means con-cretely in the situation of Jesuit schools is that Jesuits do not chal-lenge the secular values which students are taught as members of American society, but are content to teach them that they are good Christians if they volunteer their time or money to some good social cause. Thus Tripole sees the present emphasis in Jesuit schools on service, learning, and volunteering as deficient. It does not get at the root of the matter. It does not challenge and change the val- September-October 199~ 665 Tripole ¯ The Roots of Faith-and-Justice ues of students, their sense of themselves. It does not pay sufficient attention to the gospel itself. He admits that it is always hard to preach the gospel authen-tically. Teachers who want to challenge the values of their stu-dents have to examine their own as well. The social-justice approach, on the other hand, is much easier. It deals with action, The present emphasis in Jesuit schools on service, learning, and volunteering does not get at the root of the matter. It does not challenge and change the values of students, their sense of themselves. not values. It is acceptable to the larger society. It does not require great soul-searching. In short, it is a work, something external, whereas the preaching of the gospel demands first of all the changing of one's heart and mind and soul. And here Tripole can call on Ignatius for support. Ignatius was convinced that any permanent and worthwhile result must begin with the interior of the person and work from there out to external action. The social-justice approach, on the other hand, does not work that way. It begins and ends with external actions and leaves hearts untouched. So Tripole is calling for a return of the Jesuits to an emphasis on the preaching of the gospel. The effort to create a just society will follow from this preaching. But it is the observance of this proper order-- faith first, then works--which he sees as having been lost by those who have made faith and justice synonymous. Unless this primary emphasis on the gospel itself is main-tained, Trii~ole fears, Jesuits will become simply social workers. Moreover, many of their traditional works, since they will not be able to justify themselves as works of social justice, will be aban-doned. Higher education, at least in some of its disciplines, say mathematics, would be on this list~ For how can the work of a Jesuit professor of math be understood and justified as a work of social justice? As he sees it, the commitment of the Jesuits to justice as the criterion for its service of faith was the result of the spirit of the times, the late 1960s and early '70s, the time when society at large and the Society of Jesus were in a crisis of self-identity, when 666 Review for Religious eight hundred Jesuits left the Society each year, many perhaps because they found the priesthood a hindrance rather than a help in their attempts to do justice. Moreover, such efforts have not produced a better world. Thus he would claim that it is now time to correct this mistake, to put justice in its place, and to get back to preaching the gospel and thereby building what those who emphasized social justice wanted to build but failed to build, a more just world. Tripole's argumentation is appealing. How could any Christian deny that he or she wants to preach the gospel and believes in the beauty and truthfulness of the life Jesus describes in the beat-itudes? But then the question emerges: Must not the preaching of the gospel be fruitful? And what kind of fruit is called for today? Ignatius was a practical man. He looked at his situation and then decided how to bring the gospel to effective expression. What then is the effective expression of the gospel demanded of Christians today? It is the building of a just society for our world. Therefore Jesuits should be involved in it. And the only difference between this effort 'today and the efforts of Ignatius and earlier Jesuits is that Jesuits today recognize that economic structures are morally charged and changeable. Thus their effort to change them is simply the modern way of preaching the gospel effec-tively. It is the concrete application of the gospel to the situation at hand. And whether this effort is labeled integral to or consti-tutive of or essential to the gospel is really secondary. But it itself is necessary. Otherwise faith stands convicted as dead. Gerald F. Finnegan sJ Assistant professor of theology St. Joseph's University Second Response InmUSt agree with Father Tripole's suggestion that we need a ew formula to express the Society's understanding of its works, goals, and overall mission. Furthermore, I support the proposition that the varied apostolic endeavors of Jesuits are most likely to be both accurately described and properly justified by September-October 199Y 667 Tripole ¯ The Roots of Faitb-and-3~ustice the formulary which calls us to "the service of faith through the promotion of a Christian and human culture." It seems to me that to leave unchallenged and unchanged GC32's statement that the mission of the Society is "the service of faith, of which the promotion of justice is an absolute require-ment" brings us face-to-face with a task which I am not sure is either valid or necessary. It seems also to be a task which smacks too much of the kind of enterprise taken up by Procrustes. For staying simply with GC32's formulary seems to suggest either that we have to cut the legs out from under certain of our apostolates or that we have to stretch mightily our understanding of what justice is all about and of what in fact it takes in order for a work of the Society to be considered as one which is promotive of that justice. If I understand GC32's formulary correctly, when it says that the promotion of justice is an absolute requirement for the service of faith, it means that unless we are promoting justice we are not serving faith. To me the truth of this idea is neither obvious nor necessary. If ultimately we Jesuits are called to work for the sal-vation of human beingsand if faith is a sine qua non for salvation, then clearly the focus of our concern and labor must be on estab-lishing and enhancing the conditions which make it possible, and even easier for individuals to respond affirmatively to the initia-tive of God's love and grace in their lives. Clearly, one way in which the atmosphere conducive to the birth and flourishing of faith is created is by seeing to it that God is not lost in the exhaustive scramble that takes place when vari-ously marginalized and oppressed people must scratch and claw their way through situations in which their basic human rights are denied and their personal dignity is violated. In light of the full richness of the meaning of redemption--namely, that human beings are saved as whole persons, as spirit and body--it makes eminent sense to say that we as Jesuits must have concern not only for the spiritual well-being of others, but also for their tem-poral or material welfare. Indeed, I seriously do.ubt that the Good News of salvation can be effectively shared without our seriously attending to somehow improving the human condition. But I must maintain ~hat there are other valid and necessary ways for Jesuits to work in the service of faith without being insen-sitive to prevalent injustices or varying forms of oppression and without in any way doing an end-around run in the face of any social or political realities which affront human dignity. There '668 Review for Religious are simply other ways to serve faith besides promoting justice, and there is absolutely no guarantee that the effect of promoting justice is the service of faith. In itself, promoting justice does not necessarily serve faith. Promoting justice may indeed be a way for us as Jesuits to work out our salvation, but promoting justice in .itself may do nothing or little to encourage and facilitate the sal-vation of others, which is pre-cisely what we Jesuits are supposed to be about. I am all for more equity and less oppression and injustice, but when people become temporally and materially better off, then what? Working to improve the material and human status of others is noble and necessary, but it is not our ultimate work and not our final norm for apos-tolic involvement. Working to ensure that people come to have more of the good things of life is fine, but the message must be loud and clear that "the more" is to be used and enjoyed "tan-tum quantum," that is, only insofar as it serves to establish and enhance union with God. In other words, the good things of life are meant simply to help us, all of us, on our return journey to God. This means that all of us have to live and prosper in the light of God's reign. And so, although there is reason to rejoice if the poor become less poor and less oppressed and less forgotten and less powerless as a result of our Society's labors, nonetheless, it seems to me that the joy for us as Jesuits might well be tempered or conditioned until we know the answer to this question: Have these same people, newly lib-erated from the chains of injustice and oppression, remained resis-tant to the strong temptations to self-complacency and self-assertion which already lead so many of us to ignore provid-ing a place for God in our lives? I am left with these two questions: (1) Would it not be more honest and reflective of the actual work of the Society to expand Promoting justice may indeed be a way for us as Jesuits to work out our salvation, but promoting justice in itself may do nothing or little to encourage and facilitate the salvation of others, which is precisely what we Jesuits are supposed to be about. September-October 199~ 669 Tripole ¯ The Roo~s of Faith-and-Justice the formula articulated by GC32? and (2)What exactly would be lost by such an expansion? Vincent J. Genovesi Professor of Christian ethics St. Joseph's University Third Response The Mission of Jesus and Our Mission Today Somewhat serendipitously, the liturgical readings for the Sunday following the weekend discussion reported in these pages were eas-ily related to the theme of the discussion. 14/-hat follows is an adap-tation of the homily given in the St. Joseph 's University Chapel for the third Sunday of year C. Local references have been elim-inated. A few words have been added from the 34th General Congregation, which was in session at the time. Wlive in a time when everyone seems to be writing mis- V V sion statements--schools, parishes, religious orders and communities, organizations of all sorts. At their best, these state-ments address, in a fresh and updated way, who we are and what we are about. One such effort has been the recent 34th General Congregation of the. Society of Jesus, a gathering of about 230 Jesuits from around the world, attempting to say what it means to be a Jesuit in 1995. Another recent effort had members of Congress proclaiminga "Contract with America" on the same front steps of the Capitol where presidents deliver their inaugu-ral addresses. In today's readings from Scripture, we have two similar expe-riences. Nehemiah (8:2ff) and Luke (4:14-21) probably would not know what we mean by mission statement, but in fact Ezra and Nehemiah are proElaiming a mission statement for the Jews who have returned from exile in Babylonia, and Luke has Jesus at the beginning of his publiF life proclaiming his mission statement, his statement of who he is and what he was about. As we listen, we are obviously challenged to ask who we are and what are we about. About 350 B.C. the Jews had returned from Babylon to reestablish themselve~s in Jerusalem, but they were confused, much 670 Review for Religious like today's resettled and repatriated refugees, and they needed leaders to help them to find themselves. Ezra the priest is trying to renew them spiritually, and Nehemiah is trying to renew them politically and socially. Ezra and Nehemiah together remind them of their roots as the people of God by reading the Law, the compilation of God's revelation to them and their traditions as the Jewish people. They redis-cover themselves in their roots and come together as community. From a murmuring, discouraged gro.up of individuals, they become a believing, worshiping community. In the Gospel, Luke is introducing Jesus at the beginnifig of his ministry. He too reaches back to roots, Jesus' roots in the Suffering Servant of Isaiah, to describe who Jesus is and what he is about. He is to bring glad tidings to the poor, to proclaim lib-erty to captives, sight to the blind--probably not wha~ his hear-ers expected to hear. Various scripture scholars point out that Luke's Jesus inher-ited the social realism of the Israel into which he was born. He would have seen his people surrounded by various degrees of bondage, oppression, and poverty, and he would have seen the alleviation of this situation as an intrinsic part of their salvation and, therefore, of his mission. He would go about transforming social systems in a distinc-tive way. For disciples he chooses not the socially influential, .but the powerless and, in Matthew's case the despised. He reveals a predilection for little pe6ple, the least favored. He uses power riot to dominate, but to free and to serve. He follows, in fact goes far beyond, the model of the Suffering Servant, who gave his life so that his people might live. As we listen to Nehemiah and to Luke, we are being chal-lenged to spell out our mission statement as Christian commu-nity in 1995. Will it sound more like Jesus in the synagogue or more like the Contract for America on the steps of the Capitol? We live at a time when men and women all around us-- Democrats, Republicans, Perotians, and whatever--are ti~rning their backs on the poor, on immigrants (legal and illegal), and even on victims of violence and abuse. Lest we blame this on politicians, remember that all too often they are simply telling us what polls sugge.st we want to hear. Much of this mean-spirited agenda is supposedly what white mid-dle- class males and the "Christian Coalition" want. We hear that Septentber-October 199~ 671 Tripole ¯ The Roots of Faitb-and-3~ce we have done enough for those on welfare, the poor, and "for-eigners." Now we must look out for ourselves, get ours first, save America first. We h~ve done enough for "them." Let "them" now help themselves. What would Jesus say to us if he were beginning his public mission here in this chapel today? Are there any fewer poor than in his day? Of course not. The number is now in the billions. In this country, the richest in the world, one of every five children is poor arid faces a lifetime of poverty. Imagine what this means in wasted humanity. Are there any fewer captives? Of course not. There are over 45 million refugees and displaced persons in the world, 80 percent of them women and children, trapped in violence, oppression, meaning-lessness. Are there fewer blind? Of course not. We see millions suffering from physical, spiritual, and intellectual blindness of every kind. The big difference between 2000 years ago and today is that we, not Jesus, are challenged to open up the scroll and make Isaiah's words ours. Thirty years ago Vatican II situated the church, not on the m~untaintop above all of the turmoil of the human condition, but down in the trenches with women and men struggling to live in the midst of that turmoil: "The joys and the hopes, the griefs and the anxieties of the men of this age, especially those who are poor or in any way afflicted, these too are the joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the followers of Christ" (Gaudium et spes, §1). Twenty years ago the Society of Jesus spoke of its mission as the "service of faith, of which the promotion of justice is an absolute requirement"; since then, Jesuits and their colleagues have been trying to spell out what that means. It is sometimes said that the church's (and the Society of Jesus') interest in justice questions and in the poor is a remnant of the '60s and '70s and that it is a third-world issue not necessarily relevant to us today. We are told that we need to broaden our agenda and move on to other issues. But we have to be blind not to see that injustice, poverty, and oppression are as prevalent today as in the '60s and '70s, if not more so, and that we in the "first" world, with our own problems of violence, abuse, and neglect, are not that much more devel-oped than the "third" world. Thus it is that the recent Jesuit general congregation did not weaken, but rather strongly reaffirmed, the 1975 commitment to 672 Review for Religious a "radical life of faith that finds expression in the promotion of jus-tice for all." The international and cultural context for this com-mitment is spelled out in much greater detail, and the fundamental importance of faith is emphasized, in these words of the 34th General Congregation: "The aim of our mission., is the service of faith. The integrating principle of our mission is the inseparable link between faith and the promo-tion of the justice of the kingdom" (Interim Documents, p. 5). Work on behalf of justice is linked to the work of evangeliza-tion, inculturation, and interreli-gious dialogue. The agenda is broadened to include human rights, the sanctity of human life, the global interdependence of peoples and the environment. Within such a perspective, this is hardly the time to retreat from the mission of Jesus, "to bring glad tidings to the poor, to proclaim liberty to the captive, to give sight to the blind." Rather, it is a time to stay the course in the face of an ever more expansive agenda before us. Paul's letter to the Corinthians gives us an important insight for the ongoing task. In the Body of Christ, each of us has a different contribution to make, so that the It is sometimes said that the church's interest in justice questions and in the poor is a remnant of the '60s and '70s and that it is a third-world issue not necessarily relevant to us today. But we have to be blind not to see that injustice, poverty, and oppression are as prevalent today as in the '60s and '70s, if not more 20. total, collective effort may be successful. None of us can be involved in every cause for justice which comes to our attention, but a reading of the Gospels, the documents of Vatican II, and our most recent Jesuit congregational documents would argue that v~e need to be involved in at least one. We can pursue justice in various ways. Some of us will be more the activist, some more reflective. Many strengths are needed to solve the problems we face: the persistent work of the activist, the careful analysis of the scholar, the concerned prayer of the contemplative. September-October 199Y 673 Tripole ¯ The Roots of Faitb-and-3~stice Perhaps in the .past we have been too sweeping and too sim-plistic in our emphasis on justice; It is interesting to note one very moving exchange on the floor of the Jesuit congregation betweeri Latin Americans and those from formerly Communist countries. Both groups acknowledged how they had misread each other's motives in the past. There is no doubt that work for justice needs to be combined with strong faith if it is to be most fruitful for the kingdom and if we are to have the strength we need for the long haul. Work for justice needs to be combined with caring love if it is not to become harsh and vindictive. It needs to be part of an effort to transform culture, inculturate gospel values, if it is to have lasting, widespread significance. It must be linked to a total effort at evan-gelization for the same reason. Each of us will be able to bring one or more of these strengths to the table, each plays a different role within a complex agenda. The endless agenda left to us by Jesus, and made more explicit in the church in recent years, leaves more than enough for each of us to do in integrating faith and justice in our lives. Charles L. Currie SJ Adjunct professor of theology St. Joseph's University Many foreign missionaries depend upon people like you who donate subscriptions for them to Review for Religious. To start a subscription for a deserving missionary, please send $24 to: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Blvd. ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108 To pay by credit card, phone: 314-977-7363. 674 Review for Religious JUDE D. WEISENBECK Ecumenism a Scripture Mandate for Religious Our theme's images of "weaving" and "fabric" are indeed captivating as they relate to our present purpose. The theme affirms that the ecumenical vision, far from being an optional and ancillary dimension of religious life (or, holding to the image, a hem or a fringe), is so integral to our vocation that removing it would run the risk of caus-ing the entire garment to unravel. I hope here to focus reflection. To accomplish this, I believe we need to move away from the natural tendency to ask, "In what ways can religious communities contribute to the goals of the ecumenical movement?" and toward that self-understanding whereby we recognize ecumenism as being at the very heart of what it means to be a reli-gious. Promoting Christian unity is not merely something that is appropriate for religious to be engaged in; it is so integral to our way of life that religious life without an ecumenical thrust would be like religious life without a love for the poor or without concern for peace and justice issues. Undoubtedly an immediate reaction on the part of some might very well be: "Spoken like a true ecumaniac! Jude D. Weisenbeck SDS presented the following (here slightly revised) as the keynote address at the national consultation (Albuquerque, New Mexico; 28-30 April 1995) of men and women religious engaged in ecumenism. He is the director of the Office of Ecumenism for the Archdiocese of Louisville. He may be addressed at Flaget Center; 1935 Lewiston Drive; Louisville, Kentucky 40216. ecumenism September-October 1995 675 Weisenbeck ¯ Ecumenism a Scripture Mandate for Religious Sharing life to the fullest is what I mean by wholeness. In turn I think of the ecumenical movement as promoting the sharing of life. Turn them loose and they will try to make ecumaniacs out of all of us." Please do not respond in that way without first hearing me out. The perspective embraced here rests upon three simple but firmly held convictions: (1) The Scriptures call Christians to wholeness in all of its marvelous dimensions. (2) Religious life is about responding to this call to wholeness in an especially com-mitted way. (3) The ecumenical movement is fundamentally about restoring wholeness to the entire family of God's people. I agree with Michael Kinnamon who, in various recent talks, tenders his conviction that unity is at the very heart of the Good News. It is not one among many themes, nor is it peripheral; it is central to all that the gospel stands for. In the plan of God, shared life is the norm, and it is division that needs explanation. Sharing life to the fullest is what I mean by wholeness. In turn I think of the ecumenical move-ment as promoting the sharing of life. This is a positive idea and an ideal toward which the Scriptures constantly call us. As per-vasive as brokenness may be in our experience, it is still a depar-ture from the norm. Brokenness is something to be deplored, not something to be taken for granted, much less accepted. For reflec-tive sages of centuries past, it was very disconcerting to find our world full of conflict, pain, and suffering. This needed an expla-nation. They concluded that it could not have come from God and is not part of God's original plan. Broken bodies lack wholeness. Divided families lack whole-ness. Communities split apart by dissension and conflict lack wholeness. The church, fragmented into thousands of denomi-nations, lacks wholeness. All of these are in some ways similar to the pieces of a puzzle still in the box. Everything that is needed to complete the picture is there, but until they are put together in their proper relationships, the puzzle just is not a complete pic-ture. It lacks wholeness. I would like to explore this scriptural call to wholeness in somewhat greater detail. The first image I offer for considera- 676 Review for Religious tion is one from the Book of Genesis. What do we find there? We find the creation story, a story about bringing harmony out of chaos. Consider the elements in this image: ¯ the earth was without form and void; ¯ darkness was over the face of the abyss; ° a mighty wind swept over the surface of the waters. We have an image of darkness, formlessness, emptiness, tur-bulence. Enter God bearing gifts: ° light in regulated rotation for night and day; ¯ the ordered relationship of water and dry land; ¯ fertility, resulting in fresh growth, seeds, fruit, young animals, and children; ¯ water, teeming with countless creatures and moistening the dry earth; ¯ an enormous diversity of plants and animals sharing life in harmony: fish for the seas, birds for the air, animals for the land; ° the human species, man and woman, sharing their life in their own wonderful diversity; ¯ the harmonious ordering of all things, each in its own designed relationship to all other creatures. A primary image of the entire story is that of shared life in all its goodness. God shares the divine life through creation; all crea-tures share the divine gifts with each other. Shared life is the norm. Conversely, death, confusion, shame enter when life is no longer shared. Adam and Eve decide to take what is not theirs, and the rest is history. The Hebrew Bible and Jewish tradition to this very day are rich in their contributions to this theme, as is evidenced by that remarkable document entitled "Guidelines for the Catechetical Presentation of Jews and Judaism in the New Testament" issued in 1986 by the United States Catholic Conference. A few pas-sages will suffice to illustrate the point: The Jewish understanding of God's reign is of universal harmony and wholeness (shalom), in which all the peoples of the earth will gather to worship God. This understanding of the End toward which all human history is oriented pro-vides a constant and present challenge to Christians and Jews (for example, Is 2:11 and Is 25; Mi 4:4). (Dr. Eugene September-October 199Y 677 Weisenbeck * Ecumenism a So4pture Mandate for Religious J. Fisher and Rabbi Leon Klenicki, In Our Time, p. 64) This sense of wholeness and unity is intended to mark both the hearing of God's word in the synagogue and the festive Sabbath meal in the home (p. 65). The great Jewish festivals underscore in different ways this constant journeying toward wholeness (p. 65). Elizabeth Johnson echoes these sentiments when she com-ments on both the Hebrew tradition and the New Testament: At the heart of [Jesus'] preaching was the symbol of the reign of God. Taken from the Hebrew tradition, this sym-bol signifies what the state of affairs will be when God is recognized as the One on whom everyone sets their hearts, when God finally reigns . The reign of God is the situ-ation that results when God's will is really done. VV-hat is God's will? As revealed in Jesus, God's will is our well-being. God wants the wholeness, the healing, and the salvation of every creature and of all of us taken together. The reign of God, then, involves justice and peace among everyone, heal-ing and wholeness everywhere, fullness of life enjoyed by all. It is what the Scriptures call the situation of shalom, peace experienced not only as the absence of war but peace as the fullness of life. (Consider Jesus, pp. 51-52) When an ecumenist quotes Scripture, especially the New Testament, one normally expects that John 17:20-23 (Christ's famous prayer for unity) will be cited. It is, of course, a beautiful and appropriate prayer. However, it is not the only New Testament passage with ecumenical significance. I would like to suggest that John 10:10 is also very much to the point. Christ says, "I have come that humankind may have life, and may have it in all its fullness." This statement is set in sharp contrast to the work of the thief who comes to steal, kill, and destroy. It is within this context--that we may have life in all its full-ness- that Jesus' preoccupation with healing must be understood. One of the most pervasive images of the gospel is that of Christ engaged in healing. This includes not only physical healing, but also the healing of minds and hearts and souls. The stories of the woman at the well, of Nicodemus, of the forgiveness of sins, and of the resurrection itself are all instances of the healing of minds, hearts, and souls. Living life and sharing life to the fullest are the norm; it is brokenness ~nd division that are the exceptions and departures from the norm. 678 Review for Religious This naturally brings us to my second firm conviction, namely, that religious life is about seeking wholeness. For religious life is about living the Gospels in the most perfect way possible. We call it responding to the evangelical counsels. We take this so seriously that we make public vows to God to do so. We respond to the call to bring wholeness into our own personal lives and to bring wholeness to a very broken world. During the past couple of years I have been involved with a project at the Cathedral of the Assumption in Louisville, Kentucky, called Caring for the Soul of the Community. This ecumenical project explores spirituality from a wide range of per-spectives, and it leads me to conclude that, for almost all people, spirituality is an attempt to get in touch with ultimate goodness. It is a desire to possess life in all its fullness, the life which Jesus promises us. It is that yearning for wholeness. Is that not what religious life also is about? And what stands in the way of possessing life in all its fullness is the same today as in the Garden of Eden--the refusal to share life. It is the incli-nation to take for ourselves what does not entirely belong to us or to keep for ourselves what is designed to be shared. We live out our lives in community, not only the immediate community of our religious sisters and brothers, but the larger communities making up our church and ultimately the entire fam-ily of God. Consequently, our concern for wholeness must extend beyond ourselves to the various circles of larger communities of which we are a part. Individually we can never be fully whole unless the entire community is whole. Our call, then, is to seek wholeness for the entire community. This brings us to my third basic conviction, that the ecu-menical movement is a response to the call to seek wholeness for the entire Christian community we call the church. The church is broken, fragmented, divided. Healing this brokenness, this frag-mentation, this dividedness and bringing wholeness to the church are what the ecumenical movement is all about. This has to be a matter of grave concern to those who take the gospel seriously. Members of religious communities may not take the broken-ness and the dividedness of the church for granted any more than we may take poverty and injustice for granted. The entire church suffers, and the people for whom the church is a sacrament of Christ's love suffer, when doctrinal differences and other dis-agreements divide members of the church one from another. Septe~tber-October 199Y 679 Weisenbeck ¯ Ecumenism a Scripture Mandate for Religious A divided church is both a scandal and a handicap. It is a scan-dal because persons professing the kind of conversion required by baptism prefer to go their separate ways rather than to continue in dialogue and prayer until irreconcilable church-dividing con-troversies are settled. It is a handicap because the life of the church and the life-giving powers of the church are not fully and mutu-ally shared both by its members among themselves and with those who need the church that they may live life to the fullest. Is not a failure to reach out in love to those separated from us in some sense a failure to live our vow of poverty to the fullest? We keep for ourselves what should be shared with others. Is not our failure to attempt to enter into relationship with other Christians who are not in communion with us a kind of disre-gard for our vow of chastity? Instead of observing celibate chastity for the sake of freeing ourselves to cultivate the numerous other relationships required for a healthy Body of'Christ, we retreat into a celibacy of aloneness in which shared life is seriously inhib-ited. And our vow of obedience: here is where the prayer of Christ for unity is disregarded if we fail to take seriously the mandate to work for unity both within and among the Christian communities. If a divided church is both a scandal and a handicap, then also a religious not concerned for the unity of the Body of Christ is an anomaly. Life cannot he lived to the fullest without sharing life. Promoting unity among Christians is both a mandate of the Sacred Scriptures and an integral part of the very fabric of reli-gious life. Kansas Sunflower bright and bold nodding in the breeze splash of color; smile of God sunshine for the road. Mary E. Penrose OSB 680 Review for Religiou~ BERNARD SEIF Too Deep for Dogma ~otnieS y oenalry bfeivfoe rme itlhees afowuanyd ainndg foofu onudre do wasn r elictetlnet lmy oasn a1s9t8e6ry, .j uAst bit of divine synchronicity, I often wondered--now I know it was much more than just a bit, it was a gloriously large dose. The juxtaposition of the two communities has led to great joy and new life for many people, clear signs of the intervention and presence of our Creator. I always knew the ashram, which is what I will call Arsha Vidya Gurukulam for purposes of simplicity, was nearby, Ashram is a generic term for a spiritual community in the Hindu tradition, much like a monastery in the Christian tradition. A gurukulam, more specifically, is a very special Hindu community where one or more gurus (also called swamis) live and teach, passing on the wisdom of revelation, holy scripture, the practice of meditation, and so forth. Not only did I know that the ashram was nearby, but I knew that it resonated with what seemed to be an ageless long-ing within me for a deeper experien.ce of Eastern traditions. Thomas Merton's love of the East had long nourished a similar love within me. Dom l~ede Griffiths' many years of living and guiding Shantivanam Ashram in south India, wherein Christian and Hindu traditions meet without loss to either tradition, but rather enrichment, long fascinated me. My own energies in more recent years have been spent largely in the foundation and running of the Salesian Monastery. I had, Bernard Seif SMC wrote for our July-August 1992 issue. He continues living .his monastic life and sharing it with others through the practice of clinical psychology and spiritual direction, with part-time ministry at the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth. He may b.e addressed at the Salesian Monastery; HC 1, Box 455, Frantz Road; Brodheadsville, Pennsylvania 18322-9630. Septentber-October 199Y 681 Seif ¯ Too Deep for Dogma however, wandered onto the property of the ashram a few times during those years, but did not get too far. Most of that was due to my own timidity. On one reconnoitering I spoke with a teenage boy who had stopped on his bike for some reason along one of the paths. We felt a warm and lively connection. We chatted for five or ten minutes and then both of us left, happy for the encounter. The only prob-lem was that the boy was speaking Hindi and I was speaking English. Neither of us understood, on a surface level, a word of what the other was saying. Deep in our hearts, however, we knew that there was a connection. Such is the kind of connection or dia-logue which I would like to present and encourage in this all too brief. Once when one of my sisters, who is a Sister of St. Joseph of Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia, was visiting our monastery with a mutual friend, another Sister of St. Joseph, we traveled over to the flea market situated on the grounds of a drive-in theater across from the ashram. My hidden agenda was to get the three of us over to the ashram and explore it a bit. After purchasing some discount cereal and dented cans of decaffeinated coffee, we walked across the road and onto the property. This time I caught a glimpse of the top of the temple on our way and was able to fol-low the paths which lid to it. Peering in the windows we could see a few hundred people sitting peacefully on the floor. I was hooked. I needed to be in there. As we went to an entrance, a smiling man with an Indian accent welcomed us and encouraged us to go into the temple. Before I knew it we all had our shoes off, had left our recently purchased items out in the hall, and were sitting on the floor before a man dressed in orange robes who spoke in English and every once in a while sang something in Sanskrit which the community repeated. I was mesmerized. My sister, on the other hand, was mesmerized by the hole in my white running sock. The gathering began to break up for lunch; I wanted to stay but knew I had my visitors to attend to, and so we left to con-tinue o.ur journey even though we were assured of a welcome at lunch with the ashram community. Tha.t night as I sat quietly reviewing the day, thinking and praying about its events, I picked up some of the literature I had taken from the ashram. There was a sheet of paper announcing some classes being given by Swami Tadatamananda with a little picture of him printed on it. Mthough I had never met him, did not even know if he spoke English, I 682 Review for Religious knew at some very deep level that we would become good friends, and so it has come to be. After a weekend students' class, which the Sunday morning lectures are called, I introduced myself to "Swami T," as people affectionately call him. There was an immediate smile of recog-nition when I mentioned who I was. He had read about our monastery in the newspaper a year or two before and had saved the article to look us up one day. Knowing how precious the gift of time is, I am always cautious about taking up the time of another and thought of keeping our encounter brief. The swami, however, made me feel so wel-come that we sat down and had coffee and talked for a long time. The upshot of that meeting is that our community is graced with his presence on a regular basis, coming to us several times a week for Evening Prayer (and sometimes Eucharist), dinner, chapter, and some private time together. During this time I tutor the swami a bit in counsel-ing (I am a clinical psychologist), and he teaches me Vedic chant-ing. We have shared our spiritual journeys with one another and experience an ease and honesty which brings joy to our hearts. Both of our communities are supportive of our relationship. The other monastics and our associate members enjoy the swami's presence, and the sharing of our spiritual heritages (which often is experienced as one heritage) is mutually enriching. In fact, Swami T has now become an associate member of the monastery. More recently Swami Dayananda, founder of the ashram and a venerated teacher throughout the world, asked me to come and speak at a Christmas gathering in their community about Christ and Christmas. What a thrill it was to offer the Good News in an atmosphere of mutual dialogue and respect. No one was or is trying to convert the other. We are simply shar- Before I knew it we all had our shoes off, had left our recently purchased items out in the hall, and were sitting on the floor before a man dressed in orange robes who spoke in English and every once in a while sang something in Sanskrit which the community repeated. September-October 1995 683 Seif ¯ Too Deep for Dogma ing our experience of the sacred and finding a profound unity therein. Such is the experience of a group that has long been dia-loguing on this deeper level of prayer, rather than on dogma, called the Monastic Interreligious Dialogue.~ This group is made up primarily of Hindu, Buddhist, and Catholic monastics from throughout the world. My friends and my spiritual director tell me that they see my excitement as I talk about this part of my spiritual journey. They see the life that it brings to me and others. I sometimes expect them to say something like "What next?" yet they encourage me to continue on in the way that the Lord is leading me these days. With a grateful heart I must admit that I too wonder "What next?" Yet what does it matter? My recent spiritual experiences have helped me to live, better than ever, in the spirit of our Salesian charism peacefully in the present moment. The day that manifested the reality of East-West dialogue which is carried on at a level deeper than dogma occurred shortly before Christmas when the Salesian Monastery and the ashram held a joint puja (Hindu worship service) at the monastery. The form was totally Hindu and the content totally Christian. The service enacts the welcoming of an honored guest. Oil lamps blazed in the oratory as incense and flowers were offered. We chanted the doxology in Sanskrit. Hindu and Christian alike touched foreheads to the ground before the Blessed Sacrament. Even the newspaper reporter eventually took off his shoes, respecting the holy ground on which we stood. The presence of God was palpable in the oratory, and I saw tears glisten in the eyes of my friend at one point. There was absolutely no division among us. We were all experiencing the same God. In conclusion, I encourage fidelity to one's faith tradition as well as all forms of dialogue, but I believe that we cannot wait to hammer out agreements on paper. Praying and meditating together is a form of dialogue which bonds us without any need to leave the tradition one comes from. Nor does it create a hybrid religion. When one is properly grounded, there is no threat of these things happening. Rather, it takes us deeper into the won-der of who we truly are to the Source from which we all come. Note ~ A bulletin is available; write Bulletin of Monastic Interreligious Dialogue; Abbey of Gethsemani; 3642 Monks Road; Trappist, Kentucky 40051. 684 Re~v~ iew for Religious CURT CADORETTE Catholicism in the Social Order of a New Era On I0 April 1995 Newsweek, a weather vane of American middle-class sensibilities, displayed a close-up picture of Pope John Paul II on its cover. The pre-Holy Week edition fea-tured an analysis of the pope's recent encyclical, Evangelium vitae, a lengthy and important document that calls into question the ethical assumption of the developed world or, from John Paul's vantage point, the lack thereof. Calling for the creation of "a cul-ture of life" rather than "a culture of death," the pope criticizes the materialism of the developed world, birth control, abortion, euthanasia, and capital punishment. The encyclical is unprece-dented in its intensity and cohesion. Social analysis, characteris-tic of his early encyclicals such as Laborem exercens, is linked with reflection on personal and social ethics, a theme in his more recent writings. In the pope's estimation, we stand on the brink of catas-trophe, tempted by nihilism and violence that already claim mil-lions of victims every year and may destroy us all if left unchecked. In Evangelium vitae John Paul is a social analyst and social ethi-cist. He calls on individuals and societies to reflect deeply on their behav, ior and the contemporary social order, affirming what is good and rectifying what is deficient in the light of humankind's innate dignity and transcendence. His plea is that we see and treat each other as God-given gifts rather than as opponents or objects and thus counteract the destructive violence that afflicts us. Curt Cadorette NIM holds the John Henry Newman chair in Roman Catholic Studies at the University of Rochester. His address is 430 Rush Rhees Library; University of Rochester; Rochester, New York 14627. September-October 199Y 685 Cadorette ¯ Catbolicis~n in the Social Order The common wisdom that Roman Catholicism is nothing more than its hierarchy, or even the dominant Christian church in the Western world, is wrong, both theologically and demographically. The reactions to the encyclical were equally predictable, from "challenging" to "monstrous." Some critics pointed to the pope's nai'vet4 about free-market economics and the inevitability of casu-alties in a rough-and-tumble world. Some members of the pro-choice movement characterized the encyclical as another exercise in Catholic misogyny. Since the encyclical's critics had to read and analyze 198 pages of heavy prose in just a few days, we can assume that their analyses require further refinement. In any event, Newsweek proves that the title of this article is germane. Catholicism is a national and international part of the social order. Some rejoice, some lament, but none can deny that a religious insti-tution with nearly a billion peo-ple is a significant force in the contemporary world. However one assesses the current papacy, (and prudent analysts are advised to wait several decades before deciding its historical fate) there can be no doubt that John Paul II has helped make the Catholic Church a more significant interlocutor in social dis-course. Beyond the shallow categorizations of John Paul's ideas lie a great deal of thought, analysi;, and passionate concern about the modern world. Of course, many people, including loyal Catholics, disagree with some of his ideas. H+ speaks from a Eurocentric vantage point and understands the institutional church in a profoundly hierarchical way. Like all of us, he has his contradictions. He feels others' pains but refuses to deal with aspects of the institutional church that sometimes cause pain. Although he is a student of modernity, he is essentially a medieval man. The memory of Christendom seems to control his imagi-nation and make him deeply wary of post-Enlightenment plural-ism. He questiofis a civilization predicated on materialism, convinced that a return to Christian values can somehow rem-edy our global ills. Although many people resonate with his crit- 686 Review for Religious icism of modernity, many also question his vision of Christendom, in large part because of the historical record of the church itself. Institutional Catholicism suffers from a credibility problem. Fortunately, the question of credibility is being addressed by ordi-nary Catholics who are remaking the church to which they belong. We need to focus on these people as much as on the papal persona to understand what contemporary Catholicism is really all about and how it affects the social order. "Real" Catholicism Media images of Catholicism, of course, are only marginally accurate. In today's world, news has been commercialized. It is sold in package form to consumers who pick and choose accord-ing to their tastes. More troubling, however, is the erroneous assertion that what the media calls Catholicism is Catholicism. Impression to the contrary, popes, bishops, and priests, as well as the church in the United States, are only a tin.y part of what is now one of the most culturally, linguistically, and politically diverse rgligious institutions in the world today. The common wisdom that Roman Catholicism is nothing more than its hier-archy, or even the dominant Christian church in the Western wo~ld, is wrong, both theologically and demographically. Such assumptions have been incorrect since the 1960s when the center of gravity in Catholicism moved from the developed to the devel-oping world. The bishop of Rome now presides over a religious community that is more African, Asian, and Latin American than American and European. Catholicism is undergoing profound internal change as millions of non-Western people, most of whom are economically poor and politically marginalized, enter its ranks as full members. In effect, Catholicism is becoming more catholic with all the growing pains and confusion such expansion entails. The "in" words these days among Catholic theologians are con-textualization and inculturation, that is, how to take the basic insights of the Catholic tradition, translate and then transplaht them in the different soil of the developing, non-Western world. Contextualization and inculturation are well under way. New vari-eties of Catholicism are emerging that are making the Catholic community, locally and globally, a stronger, more credible force. To understand correctly the role Catholicism plays and will play in the social order it is imPerative to look beyond its leaders September-October 1995 687 Cadorette ¯ Catholicism in the Social Order and institutional structures. The heart and soul of Catholicism has been and always will be the people who make up the Catholic community. Today that means hundreds of millions of people in the developing world whose culture, economic values, and polit-ical traditions are vastly different from people in the developed world. In 1979 Karl Rahner, the great Jesuit theologian, tried to assess the significance of Vatican II, a council he helped shape more directly than any other theologian. Rahner recognized that Vatican II, great achievement that it was, really marked the end of the "second age" of the church. In his mind, one of the greatest achievements of the council was the fact that it gave license to non-Western peoples to create new forms of Catholic thought and life consonant with their diverse histories, cultures, and approaches to the sacred. Rahner was convinced that Catholics in the developing world would be able to do new things with their faith that would reen-ergize Catholics in the developed world. Indeed, by the year 2000 almost 70 percent of the world's Catholics will live in the south-ern hemisphere. (In the United States 50 percent of American Catholics will come from so-called minority groups, largely Hispanic and Asian.) This means that Catholicism is about to enter a new "third phase" marked by an unprecedented internal diversity. The globalization of Catholicism is now a fact whose consequences have already altered its internal and external life. New ways of understanding and explaining the Catholic vision have emerged, forever altering theological discourse. Institutional structures, more and more the responsibility of lay women and men, are being recreated. The way the Catholic community responds to its social environment has changed dramatically. In a church made up largely of poor and oppressed people, prophetic challenges to injustice and its corollary, martyrdom, have become commonplace. I want to focus the rest of this article on these changes and what they mean on a deeper level for Catholicism, both internally and as a institution that is part of a global social order. As a postscript we will focus on the American Catholic church and its place in the global scheme of things. Modes of Theologi, cal Discourse Theology was understood in early Christianity as reflective living rather than verbal or written discourse about faith. By the 688 Review for Religiolts third century, however, Christian thinkers were busy devising a sophisticated mode of theological discourse that relied on Hebrew and Christian Scripture as well as classical philosophical language. Isaiah and Jesus, as it were, met Plato and Aristotle. Augustine and Aquinas systematized Christian thought in impressive ways and had a profound impact on Western history. Their theology is structured, logical, deductive, and dualistic. This type of theo-logical discourse has legitimacy, but it also has limitations. Few people can fol-low it other than trained intellectuals and, like all professional languages, it often becomes an end in itself. The problem of Western theological language becomes more acute when non-Western people are involved. Because their cultures and histories are different, Western theology rarely meets their needs. Their faith is strong, but their patience with imported theological discourse is limited. They recognize the difference between the medium and the message and insist on their right to cre-ate theologies that reflect who they are culturally and historically. Perhaps one of the most significant decisions of Vatican II was the. decision to encour-age non-Western Catholics to use their own language and expe-rience to explain their beliefs. This may seem like an innocuous and abstract shift, but it really is quite revolutionary, theologi-cally and politically. Abstract theological language is being replaced by context-specific discourse about faith done by people who confront grinding poverty, injustice, and violence. Suddenly~, theology has become the voice of the voiceless, something it has not been for centuries. It is intellectually and existentially provoca-tive, as well as socially engaged. Since the council grass-roots theological discourse in the developing world has burgeoned. It is now impossible to keep up with the vast amount of theological literature coming out of Latin America, Africa, and Asia. Just as intellectually sophisticated as European and North American material, third world theology nonetheless displays special characteristics, most notably rooted- Perhaps one of the most significant decisions of Vatican II was the decision to encourage non- Western Catholics to use their own language and experience to explain their beliefs. September-October 1995; 689 Cadorette ¯ Catholici~n in the Social Order ness and passion. It draws on many provocative sources--the Hebrew prophets, the Beatitudes, Catholic social teaching, and the day-to-day experience of ordinary people. It is contextualized intense reflection on how faith can help transform society. This new theology, often called liberation theology, is no threat to the integrity of Catholicism. To the contrary, it is a vital component in its survival. It enriches an ancient tradition with a new vocab-ulary and point of reference. As Gustavo Gutidrrez has put it, liberation theology is dis-course on Christian faith done from "the underside of history," a part of the world inhabited by most Catholics, past and present,l Indigenous Catholics in the Andes are beginning to create a the-ology that speaks of their great reverence for the earth, the Pachamaraa, a symbol which speaks of the feminine side of God and the sacredness of the earth as the common womb of life. Korean Christians have incorporated concepts like ban, or trauma-induced anger, and minjung, a word that connotes the spirit and genius of the poor and oppressed, into their theological writing and liturgical life.2 These are signs of energy that instill hope. Western theology will not disappear, but in the third millennium it will be seen as part of a larger whole, one vocabulary and set of images among many. More important is the fact that Catholic theology now reflects the experience of people heretofore over-looked and victimized. Their history and hope are thus kept alive in a social order that often disregards and even kills them. Ecclesial Evolution and Political Society Not only will theological discourse be different in third-mil-lennium Catholicism, community structures and leadership will be too. As peoples create their own varieties of Catholicism they will construct new types of community. For centuries, most Catholics have thought of Catholicism as something that flowed from the top down--from pope, to bishop, to pastor, to parishioner. This model, however, is beginning to change. For more and more peo-ple in both the developing and developed world, Catholic iden-tity is not something conferred by infant baptism, but rather something a person acquires as an adult who enters a believing community, assimilates the tradition, and begins to see him- or herself as part of a larger Catholic whole. Today base communi-ties and even large parishes are made up of people whose self- 690 Review for Religious understanding as Catholic is more intense and articulate. Engagement within the community and the community's rela-tionship to the larger social whole are therefore more focused and consequential. Catholic identity, defying the laws of history and hierarchy, increasingly flows from the bottom up, changing the self-under-standing of the church and its social role. In many parts of the developing world, the Christian community is a real political force. Committed to an incarnational spirituality which insists that God is present in history and nature, members of base com-munities struggle for justice and social transformation in soci-eties scarred by violence and oppression. The Christian churches in South Africa were at the front of the struggle against apartheid struggle. In Haiti base communities provided refuge for the per-secuted and food for the hungry despite military repression. Precisely for this reason, of course, prophetic individuals and committed communities have faced the wrath of the mighty who often brand them as subversive. The label, in fact, is correct since Christianity lived well is subversive. What is really remarkable, however, is the depth and commitment of many Catholic Christians who are willing to risk their lives for their faith and the world they live in. Saints and martyrs abound in contemporary Catholicism. Most of these saints and martyrs are ordinary, name-less people, and that frequently overlooked fact may be the most important political datum in the history of contemporary Catholicism. Their sanctity was gained in Catholic communities intent on doing justice and transforming history. Spirituality As a central part of a person's identity rather than a religio-cultural label, Catholicism serves as a vision or spirituality that helps people achieve a more integral and respectful understand-ing of their own selves as well as a more engaged and positive relationship with the larger world. The incarnation, as central Christian symbol, speaks of God's love and commitment to all human beings, women and men with particular languages and cultures. This symbol validates their specificity. In a world marked by a violent preiudice against the other as inferior by dint of race, class, gender, and culture, the incarnation is both an indictment of such violence and a call for transformation in the institutional Septentber-October 1995 691 Cadorette ¯ Catholicism in the Social Order church and in society. Despite the fact that millions of human beings are deemed nonpersons by oppressive economic and polit-ical systems, a truly Catholic spirituality insists that each of them is a gift because of the incarnate God it believes in. It denounces injustice and makes justice real by accepting these people in all their specificity. Liberating spirituality is not developed abstractly but rather in a living community that is dialectically engaged with the larger world. Base communities address people's brokenness and chal-lenge their members to transform those economic and political forces that oppress them. Much of liberation spirituality revolves around the central symbol in Jesus' life and mission, the reign of God. As contemporary scripture scholars have pointed out, Jesus understood God's reign concretely. It was not a future event or abstraction for him, but something he saw happening in first-century Palestine. Even today, when a broken person is healed, when a community celebrates Eucharist in the midst of oppres-sion, or when a believing community helps bring about even mod-est social change, we see signs of God's reign transforming history. Spirituality is really a synonym for visionary political holiness.3 As the poor and oppressed begin to understand themselves as graced, an insight that oppressive social systems try to deny them, they have a powerful impact on their social environment. Great tech-nical skill is required to transform society. Social technology alone, however, is mute and unappealing. It requires a human voice and poetic imagination. A spirituality aimed at integral justice must also include stories, song, and dance--lessons people in the devel-oping world teach eloquently through their spirituality. Beauty is as much an antidote to iniustice as economic and political plan-ning. It is an unequivocal no to deforming violence. Given its multicultural makeup, contemporary Catholicism can play a vital role in forging a liberating spirituality. By affirming the beauty of many people it can be a living embodiment of political holiness. A U.S. Catholic Postscript The history of Catholicism in the United States is a fasci-nating story of disenfranchised immigrants coming to life, By hanging on to and affirming their religious identity, Irish, German, Polish, and Hispanic immigrants managed to gain a foothold in a largely Protestant society and eventually make a significant con- 692 Review for Religious tribution to the United States. Their success would not have been possible without parochial schools and neighborhood parishes. By the 1960s American Catholics were part of the mainstream, and the United States was the better for it. As full members of the middle class, however, United States Catholics run the risk of forgetting that they were once the "other" and forgetting the "other" in their midst. Luckily, the American Catholic church is not static. New Hispanic, African, and Asian Catholics are mak-ing the American church more diverse than ever before. Many of these groups are poor and politically powerless. Their experi-ence of oppression cannot be overlooked. If Catholics cannot understand and defend their fellow Catholics, then what good is American Catholicism? Middle-class Catholics cannot hide in suburban parishes and satisfy themselves with a type of "Catholicized" civil religion. In a country separated by racial and class divisions, they are called to exemplify inclusion and real justice, virtues that are central to Catholicism and a democratic political system. Given their place in the world, American Catholics also have to remind themselves that they have "made it" in an empire and that this empire unfortu-nately is responsible for a great deal of suffering in the world. They need to keep in mind that their tax dollars have trained third-world dictators in the School of the Americas, some of whom have murdered committed Catholics and non-Catholics in the developing world, and even American missionaries. They need to tell themselves that as people with voice and vote they can do something about their country's foreign and domestic policy. American Catholics have to raise hard, responsible questions about national policy and the way we wield our enormous might. That is a right and obligation American Catholics have towards their fellow Catholics and their country. Real patriotism requires responsible th6ught about our national and international policy--something Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, and more recently the American bishops have said with eloquence. Many political analysts have pointed out that Middle-class Catholics cannot hide in suburban parishes and satisfy themselves with a type of "Catholicized" civil religion. September-October 199~ 693' Cadorette ¯ Catbolicis~t in the Social Order we are in the midst of a deep national crisis. We need people of vision, men and women with a deep spirituality and commitment to the public realm, to find our way out of the cul-de-sac we find" ourselves in. Squabbles between liberals and conservatives have become meaningless. We need people with vision and integrity who defy political categories. American Catholics can make a sig-nificant contribution in political discussion as representatives of an American Christian denomination that embraces more social classes and races than any other and a religious community of global proportions. The pluralism of American Catholicism is its greatest asset. It has much to contribute to the debate about who we are as a nation and our role in the international arena. The Catholic community does not have all the answers nor does it pretend to, but it is hardly shy on experience, wisdom, or com-mitted people. If it can live up to its own vision and be truly inclu-sive, just, and joyful it will have made an enormous contribution to the body politic. Of course, inclusion, justice, and joy do not rain down from the heavens. They require work which heaven asks of American Catholics. There are those, of course, who do not welcome a Catholic voice or presence in the social order. Often, they are working with an erroneous understanding of what Catholicism is, rooted in a misunderstanding of what Catholicism was. As new types of Catholicism come to the fore, this prejudice hopefully will decrease. There are more astute and hostile people, however, who oppose Catholicism not for what it was, but for what it is. They recognize the subversive potential of a religious tradition based on the incarnation and universality of grace. The Catholic vision, lived deeply, threaten~ their economic and political interests. Ironically, some of Catholicism's most implacable foes call them-selves Catholics, as recent events in Latin American tragically demonstrate. One can only hope that the example of people like Oscar Romero, Dorothy Day, Ita Ford and Maura Clark will call these people to conversibn, for their own sake, that of the Catholic community, and the world at large. We must keep telling our-selves that there is ground for hope, that our religious traditions, the liberties made real by the Enlightenment, responsible sci-ence, and homespun genius can lead us out of our current quandary. The social order can and must be transformed. The question we must ask ourselves is what role we will play in its transformation. Can we and will we respond to that powerful 694 Review for Religious spirit of liberation at play in our world or will we resist it? The answer to that question is enormously consequential for each of us as individuals and for the world we all inhabit. Notes ~ Gustavo Gutierrez, The Power of the Poor in History, trans. Robert R. Barr (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1983). 2 Chung Hyun Kyung, Struggle to Be the Sun Again: Introducing Asian Women's Theology (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1990), pp. 53-73. 3 Pedro Casaldfiliga and Jos~ Maria Vigil, Political Holiness: A Spirituality of Liberation, trans, paul Burns and Francis McDonough (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1994). Listen! Listen to your life. Listen and be still. Listen to the endless fall of endless silence. Listen with the ears of the sentinel alert to the sounds of the night. Listen to the years cresting over forgotten days, soundless, breaking infinitely slow. Do not speak. Gather together your life, and let time well slowly up from your depths and collect it as you might spring water in a cool dipper. Thomas More Page CFX September-October 1995 695 RICHARD J. HAUSER Finding God in Daily Life: Ignatian Spirituality's Heart The Jesuit poet Gerard Manley Hopkins calls attention to a fact of all created being in his "kingfishers" sonnet: Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; Selves--goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, Crying I, Vhdt I dd is me:for that I came. Every created being is endowed by God with an inner nature and ac.ts accordingly--"selves"; in this it glorifies its Creator. And so with us human beings. We are endowed by God with a specific nature, indeed with the very image and likeness of God. Further we have been given God's own Spirit to assist us in expressing our inner being--the same Spirit that guided Jesus. But, unlike our fellow crea-tures, we humans need not always act according to our deepest selves. We alone of all creatures are given the choice of whether or not to follow the laws of our inner being. And so in his Spiritual Exercises Ignatius of Loyola gives us guidelines for recognizing God's movements within our hearts. He calls them Rules for the Discernment of Spirits. For Ignatius discernment is sim-ply the art of listening to our inner selves and learning to recognize (discern) movements that arise from the Holy Richard J. Hauser SJ is director of the graduate programs in theology, ministry, and spirituality at Creighton University. A comprehensive treatment of his thought on discernment can be found in his book Moving in the Spirit: Becoming a Contemplative in Action (Paulist Press, 1986). His address is Creighton University; 2500 California Street; Omaha, Nebraska 68178. 696 Review for Religious Spirit (our true selves) from those which do not. Traditionally the skill is called discernment of spi

Issue 53.6 of the Review for Religious, November/December 1994. ; Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly at Saint Louis University. by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Telephone: 314-535-3048 ° Fax: 314-535-0601 Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP ¯ P.O. Box 29260 ¯ V~ashington, DC 20017. POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ° Duluth, MN 55806. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©1994 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library, clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. for religious Editor Associat~ Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Regina Siegfried ASC Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Jean Read Joann Wolski Conn PhD Mary Margaret Johanning SSND Iris Ann Ledden SSND Edmundo Rodriguez SJ David Werthmann CSSR Suzanne Zuercher OSB Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living NO\rEMBER-DECEMBER 1994 ¯ VOLUME 53 ¯ NqOMBER 6 contents religious life 806 Befriending the Wind Doris Gottemoeller RSM raises the question of ecclesial identity for religious and the question of mission in the postmodern world. 820 Recapturing the Sense of Mystery William F. Hogan CSC suggests that fostering a sense of mystery is essential for the growth and vitality of religious. 825 A Reflection on Living between the Times Margaret Ann Jackson FSM sees her ministry in working with homeless families as a connection with the sacred at the very core of life. 832 840 847 charism Motherhood--Elizabeth Seton's Prism of Faith Betty Ann McNeil DC draws a portrait of Elizabeth Seton, a wife and mother, revealing her insights about motherhood and its impact on her faith and the development of her Marian devotion. Reclaiming Our Name Joseph F. Nassal CPPS underscores the importance of knowing a religious congregation's charism as the energy source of its identity and ministry. Revitalizing Charisms Inspiring Religious Life Maryanne Stevens RSM presents the power and blessing of charisms as that which transforms religious orders and the wider church. 86O 866 prayer Learning to Curse Gina Hens-Piazza describes the catharsis, conversion, and communion moments found in the psalms of lament. Prayer: All My Comfort Sheila Galligan IHM considers how a familiarity with the prayer life of Elizabeth Seton can enrich our own spiritual life. 802 Review for Religious 875 Autumn Leaves: Poem and Commentary Joseph Matheis enters us into his own poem through a series of reflections on its spiritual implications. 884 892 898 903 ministry Keeping Our Focus ¯ Stephen Doughty explores insights and practices from Christian spirituality which help us maintain a focused ministry amid today's many fracturing pressures. Homesteading: A Metaphor for Life Douglas C. Vest suggests homesteading as an image for life which combines movement and stability, journey and homemaking. Serving the Lost Sheep Gerard B. Cleator OP proposes some models of ministry as he reflects on his ministry to gays in Bolivia. In Malindi James Martin SJ relates his experience of a Kenyan town to reflections made by the famous Jesuit missionary Francis Xavier. 906 915 8O4 932 937 950 renewal Life in Abundance Patricia Barbernitz and Theodore K. Cassidy SM describe a spiritual renewal program for religious which is based on the process that guides Christian initiation. Towards Jerusalem: The Process of an Assembly David Coghlan SJ shares an experience of how a provincial assembly functions and then grounds the event in an organizational theory. departments Prisms Canonical Counsel: An Apostolic Exhortation to Religious: Redemptionis Donum Book Reviews Indexes to Volume 53 November-December 1994 803 prisms Recently in the city of St. Louis, Missouri, at the end of a rainy day the clouds on the west-ern horizon broke just enough to let the rays of a setting sun produce a brilliant and full rainbow. The rainbow lasted so long, the colors were so distinct, that local TV and newspaper journalists could not resist expressing their marvel. I was struck once again at how we humans are captivated by the phenomenon of light. If we want to celebrate a civic or social event, we light up the darkness of night with a dazzling array of fireworks. The beauty of a modern city is often measured by the lighting, sometimes hard and defining, at other times soft and mellow, which enhances its major buildings and mon-uments. The wonder of Christmas displays, whether sec-ular ones in store windows or religious ones in church and home, is generated by the twinkling of myriads of starlike light bulbs. We find a fascination with light, even if we are fortunate enough to live in a take-it-for-granted electric light world. Perhaps our fascination with light remains because we feel so easily oppressed by earth's darkness. In a win-ter season we endure with some dismay the shortness of daylight hours bracketed by both late-morning and early-afternoon darkness. In season and out, we suffer the dark burden of sickness and death among family and friends. Exposed to media coverage, we feel weighed down by the dark oppression of people's hatred, prejudice, torturing and killing of one another, whether it be in Bosnia or Rwanda or our own city. During the months of November and December, church tradition emphasizes two aspects of light shining 804 Review for Religious into the darkness of human experience. The sure coming of the reign of God shines out in the month of November, as we approach the end of Ordinary Time, through three distinctive feasts--~l Saints, All Souls, and Christ the King. All Souls, the commemoration of all the faithful departed, might seem at first sight to be a "dark" feast that sets the tone for this month of our remembering the dead. But the companion feastdays of All Saints and All Souls become twin lights beckoning all of us in the church on earth to struggle on in our graced efforts to let God's reign shine forth here and now. The feast of Christ the King suggests searchlight beams striding across nighttime clouds and presenting a preview glimpse of the incarnate Son's eschatological, joy as the Father brings "all things in the heavens and on earth into one under Christ's headship" (Ep 1:10). Our faith is stirred to shine through any present darkness: "We believe in the life of the world to, come." In the rainbow light of these feasts we are led again to /15rofess in word and in action the sureness of our faith's goal. Then we turn from the darkness that seems to obscure human life's purpose and direction to a darkness in which not despair and death but the beginnings of hope and life are hidden. December holds the dark tradition of centuries-long human searching and hoping portrayed in the season of Advent, which breaks forth into the pure shining beam over Jesus' birth, the cel-ebration of the nativity of our Lord. We proclaim that "a light has shone in our darkness." Celebratng Christmas we do not just remember a past event, but we enter anew into our own Christian responsibility to "shine like the stars in the sky while holding fast to the word of life" (Ph 2:15-16). As we celebrate the mystery of God's light and darkness in our liturgical year, the staff of Review for Religious prays that joy and peace--God's own gift in Christ lighten your life and witness to your faith now and into the new year. David L. Fleming SJ Nobember-December 1994 805 DORIS GOTTEMOELLER Befriending the Wind religious life Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling The wind is passing through. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their heads The wind is passing by.' This whimsical lyric by Christina Rossetti reminds us how susceptible we are to the influence of unseen forces. The wind's traces may be gentle, as in the poet's vision, or fierce. At one moment wind soothes, shapes, and guides; at another it rips and tears. It rustles leaves, lifts kites, powers sails, and supports wings. It can also destroy homes, uproot trees, and down power lines. Invisible but not silent, wind whispers and sings and sobs and roars. Wind can be fickle or frightening; it can also be life-giv-ing and renewing. Anyone who has lived apostolic women's religious life in the United States in the last thirty years knows what it is to be buffeted and shaped by powerful but sometimes Doris Gottemoeller RSM, president of the Sisters of Mercy of the Americas, gave this presentation as president of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR) at their national assembly in August 1994. The presentation was pub-lished in Origins 24, no. 14 (15 September 1994). Her address is 8300 Colesville Road #300; Silver Spring, Maryland 20910-3243. 806 Revie~ for Religious unseen forces from every side. Continuing the analogy, we could liken the pressures on us to winds from the four compass points. From the east came the expectations of the institutional church, whether Roman or American: conciliar documents, "Essential Elements," canonical requirements, diocesan policies and proce-dures. These influences helped to launch and validate our renewal. They also created tensions between our own insights and official mandates and interpretations. From the south came the winds of liberation theology. The bishops at Medellin and Puebla and our sisters missioned in Latin America sent messages of a new way of being with the poor, of doing theology, of being church. Our west winds were the forces of our own society and cul-ture. Enjoined by the Second Vatican Council to make our own "the joys and the hopes, the griefs and the anxieties of the people of this age," we adapted our lifestyles and ministries to new needs. At the same time we experienced and adapted to the revolutions in science, technology, communication, transportation, the polit-ical and social orders, popular culture and the media which char-acterized all of Western society. To the northern point on the compass we can assign the steadying influence of our own founding charisms and sound tra-ditions, newl)i researched and interpreted for contemporary life. From north, south, east, and west, then, the winds of change have carried us to this place and shaped our present reality. How can we describe that reality? Today's Reality In the decades after the Second Vatican Council the winds of change propelled us through some incredibly difficult terrain: misunderstandings without, polarizations within, loss of mem-bership, lack of resources, pastoral disappointments. Along the way we have acquired an unprecedented level of academic and professional preparation for ministry. But we sometimes confuse professional achievement with ministerial effectiveness. We have a spirituality cultivated through individual faith journeys. But we are less sure how to integrate it into a communal experience. We have highly developed skills in group participation, but less skill in calling forth and affirming in~lividual leadership. Overall, com-pared to twenty years ago, American women religious today are November-December 1994 807 Gottemoeller ¯ Befriending tbe Wind more grounded in charism, more self-aware as women, more appreciative of diversity, more aware of the interdependent causes of social ills, and as committed as ever to alleviating the suffering of the poor, the needy, and the vulnerable. Moreover, the processes of renewal have freed and empowered us. We have eliminated irrelevant and outmoded symbols and practices. We have grown into new theological, spiritual, educa-tional, psychological insights. So the moment has come to ask: What kind of future can we look forward to? The answer--our future--depends, as it always has, on the mysterious work of God's providence in our regard. But the future also depends, as it always has, on how we answer the depth questions. These are perennial questions which have to be answered in every time and place. The prospect that the upcoming synod may ask and answer these questions strikes fear in some. But there is no reason to fear. These are not questions that can be answered by a synod, or by assemblies or chapters or planning teams, no matter how moti-vated or sophisticated. The answers to these questions can only be born out of and lived within the hearts and lives of our members. Depth Questions There are only a small number of such depth questions, but in light of the theme of the 1994 LCWR meeting, charism and mission, I focus on two of them: the question of our ecclesial identity and of our mission in the postmodern world.-' The two questions are interrelated as being and action; identity is expressed in mission. Moreover, the four winds of change--messages from the institutional church, from liberation theologies, from our United States culture, and from our traditions--have given each question its distinctive form today. (I want to note that I am using the phrase apostolic religious life in an inclusive and nontechnical sense to distinguish our topic from contemplative religious life rather than from its monastic or evangelical forms.) Ecclesial Identity The question of ecclesial identity can be asked from two per-spectives: First, does women's apostolic religious life occupy an essential or unique place in the church? and second, is visible 808 Review for Religious membership and participation in the church critical to the iden-tity of women's apostolic religious life? How important are we to the church, and how important is membership in the church to us? The question of ecclesial identity seen from either perspective would have sounded absurd a few decades ago when the signs of our identification with the church were distinctive. Our dress, dwellings, lifestyles, and ministries signaled that we were a special and esteemed group in the church. The question of iden-tity had been answered along the same lines since the founding of most of our con-gregations. But one of the effects of renewal has been to lay open the question in our new context.3 First, let us examine it from the perspec-tive of our place in the church. History shows us that religious life began in the third century when disciples began to gather around the early desert solitaries. But most of our modern apostolic congregations arose after the Reformation, with the greatest number founded in the 18th and 19th centuries. Clearly, what has not always existed in the church need not always exist. Neither religious life in general nor apos-tolic religious life in the form in which we know it today is essen-tial to the constitution of the church. However, the Second Vatican Council affirmed that religious life is inseparable from the life and holiness of the ch. urch, an encomium which suggests a distinct identity.4 W-hat is that iden-tity? Generally, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church defines us as laypersons in a specific canonical state. I say generally because in one passage it says that laity are "all the faithful except those in holy orders and those in the religious state," (31) thus sig-nalling a fundamental ambigu!ty: Are we laity or not? As we know, a key achievement of the Council was to transform our under-standing of church from that of a hierarchical institution, a per- We have grown into new theological, spiritual, educational, psychological insights. So the moment has come to ask: What kind of future can we look forward to ? November-December 1994 809 Gottemoeller ¯ Befriending the Wind fect society in which religious occupy a special "state of perfec-tion," into a People of God in which all members are equally called to a life of holiness. That ecclesial vision highlights bap-tismal consecration and the significance of the lay vocation; it is less clear in affirming any distinct contribution of religious life to the church. As the years have passed, this theoretical ambiguity has grown in the practical order. How many people really believe that reli-gious life is a gift to the whole Christian community, not just to the men and women who embrace it? What are the consequences of that gift in the lives of the hierarchy, the clergy, other laity, the poor and the marginated and those in need? What difference does the presence of apostolic women religious, as a specific group rather than as single individuals, make to the life of a parish, a diocese, or an institution? It is not enough for us to assert a dif-ference. How do we live and act in a way that is unique and dis-tinctive? It seems to me that the answer to the question of ecclesial identity is that, fundamentally, apostolic women religious are lay-women who have embraced and pub!icly committed themselves to a distinctive way of following Jesus Christ. Apostolic religious life is a way of life, a phrase which connotes a depth and breadth and intensity of commitment far beyond a lifestyle. Lifestyles can be taken up and abandoned by simply changing one's economic status, leisure activities, or diet.s By contrast, a way of life consists of a constellation of funda-mental life choices having an internal coherence and consistency. One has a way of life, defined by the choices one has made about relationship to God, to the Christian community, to sexuality, to possessions, to companions, to those in need. The way of life known as religious life is a radical response to the call of Jesus who says, "I am the way." By anal.ogy, the early church described itself as The Way, a commitment to following Christ to which every other choice is subordinated (Ac 9:2). Author Judith Merlde describes religious life as a categorical choice, that is, a choice that eliminates other choices. She notes, "Religious life involves more than social action, professional excellence, or holistic living. Rather, it is a life project built on a relationship" (pp. 8, 109). Religious life is a continual call to conversion. It is dynamic, as the fundamental choices deepen and mature and the consequences of those choices are played out in different circumstances. The total- 810 Review for Religious ity of these choices, lived with visible and passionate commit-ment, clearly distinguishes us from other laity in the church and offers a unique witness. I suggest that, in the processes of renewal, our identity has been weakened because we have not tended enough to the inter-nal consistency, the congruence, among the depth choides which define our way of life. Celibacy, prayer, community, mission should all interact and contribute to the fundamental unity at its core. For example, the witness of celibate community is a power-ful expression of ministry. Ministry engenders passion in prayer; prayer purifies the heart of attachment to material things; renunciation of material things brings us closer to the poor and the needy, and so forth. Is it accurate or helpful to describe our way of life as charis-matic? Yes and no. On the posi-tive side, this designation highlights the spontaneity, the diversity, the creativity, the gra-tuity of religious life. The Pauline passages on charism are eloquent and well-known. We must acknowledge, however, that they apply to all Christians. All--bishops, clerics, laity, religious-- are called and gifted in a variety of ways. Since the Council, how-ever, the term has been appropriated by religious to refer to the grace of founding a congregation, to its characteristic spirituality, to its mission, to the gifts and graces of individual members, and to religious life as a way of life. I suggest that the imprecision of the term has greatly diminished its usefulness. The distinctive-ness of each congregation might better be identified with its tra-dition or its deep story.6 Furthermore, the description of religious life as charismatic sometimes heightens the tension between insti-tutional/ hierarchical elements of the church and the charismatic in a way which is not helpful. The reality of the church is much more profound and complex than this simple dichotomy.7 In the processes of renewal, our identity has b~en weakened because we have not tended enough to the internal consistency, the congruence, among the depth choices which define our way of life. Noventber-December 1994 811 Gottemoeller ¯ Befriending the Wind Let me move on to the second aspect of the ecclesial identity issue: How significant is public membership and participation in the church to our identity as apostolic women religious? Those who have processed a dispensation for a sister who says that she is comfortable being a community member, but no longer feels at home in the Roman Catholic Chtirch, know what this issue is. Any who experience the tension among congregational members over including--or not including--a Eucharistic liturgy within a congregational celebration recognize another aspect of the issue. We struggle with the unthinkable: Is it possible to be a member of one's congregation and not a member of the church? If we go back into our congregational histories we recognize that our foremothers sought and prized public identification with the church. Some congregations experienced painful struggles when church officials threatened to withhold recognition that founders regarded as rightfully theirs. More recently, our per-severance through the process of approval of constitutions, despite requirements that were sometimes arbitrary, insensitive, or oppressive, testified that basically we know ourselves to be and want recognition as congregations within the Roman Catholic Church. This desire persists despite the growing pain caused by the transformation of our consciousness as women and our realization that the church itself institutionalizes sexism within and fails to denounce it without. How can we justify this continued commit-ment to public identification with the church, and what does it call us to? Our commitment rests on our knowledge that at baptism we were each born again into life in Christ and into that extension of Christ's presence and work throughout space and time known as the church. Within the church we are taught, nourished, for-given, reconciled. The church is not just a spiritual concept or an individual personal experience. It is a collection of human beings from every race and nation and condition, united by the one Spirit in a visible and public community of disciples. At religious profession we renewed our baptismal commit-ment and thus signaled that membership in 'the church is intrin-sic to the way of life we were choosing. The choice for a life in union with Christ is a choice for a life within Christ's church. The choice of membership in the church is part of that constel-lation of fundamental choices which define a way of life. 812 Review for Religious Sometimes this is not an easy place to be. We share member-ship with those who are flawed, confused, limited in many ways. In our more honest moments we recognize flaws and limitations in ourselves. Furthermore, within the church there is a differen-tiation of roles, responsibilities, and gifts. To paraphrase St. Paul, "Not all are apostles, prophets, teachers, workers of mighty deeds" (1 Co 12-13). But the greatest gift, the one that is the hallmark of a Christian and the criterion by which all else is judged is love. It is our love for Christ and for the community united in Christ which impels and sustains our commitment to membership. To allow ourselves to be alienated from the church is to surrender our birthright; it is to deprive ourselves of life-giving nourish-ment; it is to be exiled from our true home. Furthermore, public estrangement from the church deprives its other members of the witness of our love, our truth, and our fidelity. To summarize the first part of these reflections: Apostolic religious life is a distinct way of life within the Christian com-munity characterized by a complex of fundamental choices. Among these choices is the choice for explicit membership in the Catholic Church. Religious congregations, because they exist to facilitate and promote the way of life of their members, also have a public identity within the church. The Mission of Apostolic Religious Life Our second depth question is: ~What should be the mission of apostolic women's religious life today and in the future? Our world today is very different from that in which "our missions were first articulated. The immigrant poor of the 19th century have moved up the economic ladder. Many of our traditional works have become public responsibilities; the rest of the laity have expanded their role in ministry. Still the way of life we have espoused is radically for others. We have made a life-long commitment to mission within the context of our individual congregations. Therefore we need to reexamine and, if necessary, restate our mission for this new time and place. This is a work for each con-gregation, but I suggest that the mission apostolic women religious are called to today should be integral to our way of life, prophetic, global, and corporate. Mission as integral to a way of life. Each of our religious con-gregations was founded to express some facet of the church's mis- Noventber-December 1994 813 Gottemoeller * Befriending the Wind sion. Mission is at the heart of our self-understanding, an expres-sion of our identity. The choice to be "in mission" is part of that constellation of fundamental life choices which constitute our way of life. As self-evident as this seems, the identification of mis-sion with our way of life has been eroded from several sides. For example, David Nygren and Miriam Ukeritis in the Future of Religious Life Study describe the "parochial assimilations" of reli-gious life: Religious are regarded as interchangeable parish work-ers, without any significance attached to their identity as religious (p. 3 7). The sense of mission as integral to a way of life has also been weakened as a result of financial pressures. Sometimes a "job"--anything thatpays an adequate salary--seems like the only possible choice of work. The sense of mission is weakened from still another side when, in the absence of a strong commitment to prayer or community, an individual allows her world to be wholly defined by work. Professional ambition and workaholism can replace zeal for mission. As apostolic women' religious, our mission expresses our iden-tity as laity, as women, and as religious. I use laity here in contrast to the clerical vocation. It is true that many of our members are performing ministries which used to be the responsibility of priests. However, the fact that we are doing them demonstrates that they are expressiong of the baptismal vocation, not the priesdy vocation. Our congregations do not. have two classes of members, lay and clerical; we do not have hierarchy built into our way of life. Our radical equality as baptized Catholics is part o~f who we are within community and it makes us one with the overwhelming majority of the church's membership. Our identification with women and as women animates and shapes our' mission. With women because we have made ourselves present to other women in their hopes, fears, achievements, and struggles. We understand the needs of people for healthcare, hous-ing, education, economic justice, political representation, moral guidance, spiritual inspiration from a woman's perspective. As women because we bring to ministry our personal gifts of courage, compassion, sensitivity, honed through our own life experience. Finally, our identity as religious shapes our mission. Individual ministries are expressions of a congregational mission; they are shaped and focused by ~he congregation's tradition. But beyond that, our public identification with a distinctive way of life is itself a witness, a prophetic statement. 814 Review for Religious Mission as prophetic. To describe religious life as prophetic does not necessarily connote dramatic speeches and gestures, although some occasions do call for them. Rather, it signifies a transparency to the divine which is the fruit of a life focused on Jesus and which is the real meaning of prophecy--speaking of God. It is not a matter of individually prophetic persons, but of a way of life which, because it involves the deliberate, daily, and publicly identifiable following of Jesus, is prophetic by its nature.8 The notion of being publicly identifiable is a challenging one, given the absence of the former markers of public identity such as habit and proximity to a church and employment in a particular setting. It does not mean adopting these outward symbols again° Nor does it necessarily imply being recognized as a religious by every casual observer. It does not mean fading into anonymity. It means being recognizable to all who would see, who are inter-ested or who inquire. It requires a facility in drawing the gaze of the inquirer from ourselves to the Gospel which we proclaim and which animates us. Prophecy demands inculturation lest the word spoken fall on deaf ears. It leads to diverse expressions of religious life as the word is adapted to differing circumstances. Prophecy requires engagement in the public issues of the day if the Gospel is to speak to contemporary human needs. Prophecy requires that we hold our sponsored institutions accountable for the clarity of their Gospel witness. Mission as global. A prophetic mission today will also be global in its perspective and outreach. We know from personal experi-ence and observation how the poverty and suffering in one part of the world have their causes in decisions made in another part, and how the elites of the world conspire to enhance their own positions at the expense of the poor and marginalized. We kn6w that greed, lust for power, racial and ethnic animosity, and rape of the earth and its resources know no boundaries. Women and men religious constitute a worldwide network of communication and potential response to human suffering and exploitation. Many of our congregations transcend national borders. Others have mem-bers missioned in some of the remotest corners of the globe. Furthermore, we have organizational ties with religious through-out the world through the LCWR conference and through the International Union of Superiors General. November-December 1994 815 Gottemoeller ¯ Befriending the Wind The twofold test of whether a congregational mission is more than rhetoric is how effectively it shapes each member's choices and how much it contributes to the public perception of the congregation. What is sometimes lacking is an appreciation of the valuable resource we have in our information about realities around the world and creativity in making effective use of the information. As individual congregations and as a Conference we have responded to new needs and specific crises in Eastern Europe, Liberia, Somalia, Central America, Haiti, Rwanda and many other places. Can we enlarge our commitment to information sharing, analysis, and coordinated action on behalf of a truly world church? Even if the mission of one's congregation is focused on a par-ticular local church or geographic region, this potential and impera-tive for global outreach exists through the Leadership Conference as well as through relationships with other congregations. Mission as corporate. Perhaps the most challenging dimension of future mission will be its corporate character. In the FORUS study Nygren and Ukeritis claim that many individual religious and groups have relinquished the power of corporate witness for a variety of individual commitments in effective but unconnected ministerial positions. "The emphasis on indi-vidual ministry, or, at times, simply procuring a position, has eclipsed the symbolism of, and statement previously made by, corporate commitments" (p. 35). The situation of individual min-istries is not easily reversed, even if it should be. There are only two ways to do so: Either everyone is employed within the same institutional ministry or everyone is committed to the same type of service such as ministry to persons with AIDS or to street chil-dren. The first solution is possible only where the congregation controls the institution. The latter solution assumes that the type of social problem being addressed will always exist to the same degree of need. Neither solution takes into account the differing talents, energies, professional expertise of the members. 816 Review for Religious A new way to think about corporate mission is needed, one which recognizes the changing social realities, engages and focuses the energies of the members, and expresses the public identity of the congregation. It is a corporate mission that is needed, not necessarily corporate ministries. The twofold test of whether a congregational mission is more than rhetoric is how effectively it shapes each member's choices and how much it contributes to the public perception of the congregation. Concluding Reflections The characteristics of mission outlined here--integral to the way of life of apostolic women religious, prophetic, global, and corporate--will be nuanced by the tradition and fresh inspiration of each congregation. Who are we? What is our hearts' desire? How will we spend our talents and energies? Our ability to answer these depth questions about identity and mission with clarity and conviction has implications for new members, for associates, for affiliates. They deserve to know what we are asking them to invest in and to help shape for the future. The questions are our questions. They belong to us before they belong to church officials or synod participants. It is time to speak and live our truth without compromise. There is a growing temptation among religious today to believe that our choices are limited. We feel constrained by age, by diminishing numbers, by finances, by professional education, by ecclesial expectations to carry on as we are, without really encountering the depth issues. Let us take a lesson from the suc-cessful sailor who makes a friend of the wind. Buffeted by contrary breezes, he chooses a tack and sets the sails. With one eye on the compass, the sailor strains forward toward the distant shore. Despite the winds buffeting us, we too can set our direction. Our compass is Christ; our sails are woven of faith and hope, courage and love. We can face only forward. Renewal has often invited us to look backward toward the great persons and events of our past. Now it is time to look forward, to the new leaders and cre-ative deeds in our future. There was no golden age of religious life. There were only women and men, human as we are, who loved God, cared for persons in need, and dared to dream. We are as human, as flawed and gifted as they were, and still in touch with the dream. November-December 1994 817 Gottemoeller ¯ Befriending tbe Wind We began by reflecting on the four winds of change which have brought us to this place. Let us end by invoking the wind that comes from another direction, the breath of the Spirit which blows where it wills. S6metimes a zepher, sometimes a mighty gale--God's Spirit can nudge our timid choices, strengthen our frail resolve, reverse any misdirected course. Before he left us, Jesus promised the apostles that they would receive power when the Holy Spirit would come upon them, and they would be his witnesses to the ends of the earth (Ac 1:8). Later, when their time was fulfilled, they were all in one place together. "And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house in which they were., and they were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak . . . the Spirit enabled them to proclaim" (Ac 2:2-4). Now it is our time. Spirit of God, fill us and send us forth with the power and passion of your Word! Notes ~ R.W. Crump, ed. The Complete Poems of Cbr#tina Rossetti (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University, 1986), p. 42. z Joan Chittister OSB names ten critical questions which deal with "the very existence of religious life, its relationship to the church, its present character, its purpose, its spirituality and its energy" in the National Catholic Reportel; 18 February 1994. 3 The significance of this question was highlighted by David Nygren CM and Miriam D. Ukeritis CSJ in the Religious Life Fntnres Project: Executive Summary (Chicago: University Center for Applied Social Research, 1992), p. 36: "The most compelling result of the FORUS study indicates that a significant percentage of religious no longer understand their role and function in the church. This lack of role clarity can result in lowered self-confidence, a sense of futility, greater propensity to leave religious life, and significant anxiety. The younger religious experience the least clarity, and among them, women religious experience less clarity than their male counterparts . For both women and men religious, Vatican II substantially reinforced the role of laity in the church but did not clarify for religious the unique contribution of their vocation." 4 Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, no. 44. s Judith A. Merkle contrasts "life-style enclaves" with communities in Committed by Choice (Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 1992), p. 21. In the former, persons share some aspects of their essentially private lives; in the latter, they share their deeper meaning system or commit-ment. On the contrast between way of life and lifestyle see also David L. Fleming SJ, in Religious Life: Rebirth Through Conversion, ed. Gerald A. Arbuckle SM, and David L. Fleming SJ (New York: Mba House, 1990), pp. 23 and 33. 818 Review for Religious 6 Tradition is appropriate because it connotes both preservation and development, content and process. Bernard J. Lee SM suggests "deep story," a category of interpretation that comes out of structuralism, as a method for interpreting group identity in "A Socio-Historical Theology of Charism, "Review for Religious 48, no. 1 (January-February 1989): 124-135. 7 For helpful distinctions between biblical, theological, and socio-logical uses of charism see Christian Duquoc, Casino Floristan, et al., Cbarisms in the Church (New York: Seabury Press, 1978). 8 Elizabeth A. Johnson observes ". a new combination of ancient elements is beginning to define the essential character of religious life. The emerging understanding of this life is primarily that of persons and communities called to prophetic ministry embedded in a contemplative relationship to God." Review for Religious 53, no. 1 (January-February 1994): 12. Thirty Days Bruised beauty, sleep-starved struggle to be the Handmaid of the Lord. Shot silvered silken strands-- gentle kiss of your hair within my hands. And all this only a vague shadow of inner glory: outward reflection of your hidden mysterious love story. Chris Mannion FMS In September 1994 the Rwandan government confirmed the death of British Marist Brother Chris Mannion, a member of the Marist general council in Rome. He was reportedly killed by members of the Rwandan Patriotic Front while on official visitation. He had written the poem during a recent thirty-day retreat and had hoped our readers "might identify with its images and sentiments," as Brother Sefin Sammon, vicar general, wrote in his cover letter. R.I.P. November-December 1994 819 WILLIAM E HOGAN Recapturing the Sense of Mystery with a particular dominant theme that integrates different aspects of religious life. Whether or not it is stated by the authors, these works are an attempt to present a theology of religious life from a practical point of view. Such presentations offer serious reflec-tion, even though it is not feasible to champion one theological approach that will effectively embrace all religious institutes, given the uniqueness of each group from its founding charism and its particular evolution in history. Authors use a variety of starting points in their works, for example, mission, discipleship, service, justice and peace, the prophetic, the charismatic, and something could be said in favor of any of the theses or integrating themes. One can readily nod in agreement with almost every approach as it unfolds, unless the author seems to push the fundamental premise too much or dis-counts some aspect involving a conviction important to the reader. Much richness has been gained from the various presentations; insigh(s that had disappeared with the passage of time have been brought to our attention once more. To some extent one could speak of an intellectual explosion of ideas and a clearer under-standing of consecrated life since Vatican II, such that ~a person should be able to approach commitment to it more intelligently. But most gains include some loss. In this instance, the loss fac- William E Hogan CSC continues to serve in the general administration of the Congregation of the Holy Cross. His address is Casa Generalizia; Via Framura, 85; 00168 Ro~ne, Italy. 820 Review for Religious tor concerns the aspect of mystery--that which cannot be known but only experienced. The more we analyze religious life, the more we expose ourselves to the danger of taking the mystery out of the mystery of religious life or at least of losing a sense of the dimension of the mysterious. To have as many insights as possible into consecrated life is of great worth, if one is to respond to its demands and be faithful to a call. Yet over and above all the human knowledge we receive, the way God is present in rela-tionships and in the corporate journey of a group under the leadership of God when the members are serious about liv-ifig out their faith deeply is inexplicable. The particular experience of the sacred in the historical development of a community defies human understanding and categoriza-tion and is often realized only in retrospect. Every person's life experi-ence is a mystery. The people with whom we share our lives, those with whom our lives intersect, the events we expe-rience- these and other factors have a special effect that we can-not always grasp or name. Frequently through sufficient analysis we can understand some of the reasons why a life has taken a par-ticular development; but we are also confronted by many facets that cannot be fully comprehended and can, in a faith context, be attributed only to Divine Providence (or where there is no faith vision, to chance). Experience always involves an aspect of mystery. Where that experience includes God and a call of God, there will be a sense of the mystery, a living with a consciousness and conviction of mystery (the grace of the event). As Jesus is mystery, the church is mystery. Life in Christ is mystery; so too is consecrated life mystery because of the presences of God beck-oning us into ever deepening relationships. To lose or diminish a sense of the mystery opens one to the possibility of becoming deprived of some facets of a faith approach Life in Christ is mystery; so too is consecrated life mystery because of the presences of God beckoning us into ever deepening relationships. November-December 1994 821 Hogan ¯ Recapturing the Sense of Mystery to religious life, especially placing one's security in the Lord who leads us through some unknown paths on the pilgrimage of faith. Important as it is to analyze religious life and to act in accor-dance with the resulting knowledge, there is danger in too much intellectual analysis because of the tendency to fit what we discover into already established categories, thereby losing some of the uniqueness. The transcendent element eludes classification, and the dimension of transcendence is at the heart of consecrated life. Where a sense of mystery is weak, faith will be weak, and one would have reason to question the vitality of the faith journey. Our times seem to be overly characterized by a belief only in the evident, in what is verifiable. Faith ends up by being reduced to a purely human act--a cold, technical type of faith that certainly does not energize. Such an approach to faith would be death-dealing instead of life-giving for religious life. A person would not be moved toward ongoing conversion, entering more pro-foundly into the mystery of Christ wherever he would lead by the power of the Spirit. St. Paul speaks often of maturing in Christ and growing into the fullness of Christ. This message would fall on deaf ears if the faith were primarily human and the mindset one of wanting to know all that is entailed. Transcending self and transformation in Christ is not an intel-lectual process, even though knowledge is involved. Conversion occurs only with willingness to embrace the mystery. We can find ourselves living out and acting on insights concerning religious life without experiencing the life in depth, a sort of textbook approach to living without entering as a committed disciple into the unfold-ing of the adventure of following Christ. Life becomes mere for-mality and is not centered on Christ. Though the knowledge about Christ and mission may be great, Christ will not be expe-rienced; nor will there be transformation of the self into the mind and heart of Christ, nor a real passion for mission as it touches all of life's moments. There may be much activity in the name of the Lord, but it may be more professional work than ministry. Theory will have supplanted life in Christ. Unfortunately this has been the experience of some of us, something of which we remain unaware until the Lord jolts us in one way or another and we grasp the emptiness of what we have been living: an intellectualizing and a shallowness in living, at least in part because of not being pos-sessed of the awesomeness of the mystery of Christ. But our God never gives up on us and continues to call us to let God move us 822 Review for Religious to real faith in the person and mystery of Christ and to center all on Christ. In consecrated life the commitment is to the Lord and his people, not to the life in itself as an end, and not to our under-standing of the life as such. The constitutions, customs, tradi-tions, study of the elements of religious life--all have their place in helping us grasp the meaning of the life, its limits and basic norms. The commitment is made in accordance with them. Yet our pledge of self is to the Divine Persons and all the mystery therein embraced. We vow to God, not to ideas or ideals and do so in a spirit of relating to the Trinity of Persons. What is entailed in the relating cannot be spelled out or even understood, if there is a willingness to try to surrender the self to God with an openness to uncon-ditional following the divine leadership on pilgrimage. Without a sense of mys-tery we can unconsciously stop short at the juridical aspects of the vows and com-munity without meeting the God of the vows and com-munity. This happens when means are confused with the end and give rise to distortions of what the means were meant to bring about in fostering the relation with God. Recent history bears witness to this. We can define and program religious life too tightly in its many facets; mystery requires some flexibility and openness to where the Lord wants to take us and to be for his people. Our security must be in the Lord and not in knowledge, insights, research, history--and not even in the elements of the consecrated life of the institute as such. The challenge of living in Christ is to put one's trust in the Lord and to experience the mys-tery with its incomprehensibility. A leap of faith is required beyond the theory of religious life and witness. The leap of faith must be We can define and program religious life too tightly in its many facets; mystery requires some flexibility and openness to where the Lord wants to take us and to be for his people. November-December 1994 823 Hoga.n . ¯ . Recapturing the Sense of My_ste. ry made over and over again as the surprises of journeying together into the mystery of Christ keep coming along. All too frequently we do not continue to make the leaps of faith and move forward into the mystery of life in Christ. Despite the many changes that have been made, too many of us still live in a programmed way that lacks a dynamic faith response. There are still individual and community barriers between ourselves and the Christ we declare to follow in discipleship. Past formation emphasized particular patterns of response (and even non-response at times), and today we still experience the effects of that approach. Are religious being formed today to fos~ ter the sense of the mystery present in religious life and a spirit of adventure with and in Christ? History reveals that when new forms of religious life were developing, the times were charac-terized by an enthusiasm about the spirit of mystery present when what was known and accepted up hntil that time gave place to a new approach. It is only those brave leaps of faith by the power of the Spirit that broadened the charisms of consecrated life to enrich the people of God with those special gifts of the Spirit. Something of the same is occurring today in the blossoming of many new forms of Christian community. Yet we might well ask whether it is just to new groups that the Spirit of God is speak-ing today, ls there not an invitation being extended to all to recap-ture the sense of mystery with its many paradoxes? The rational/practical side of us may not like the ambiguity and cloudiness of mystery; there is a preference for clear defini-tions and limits. But the faith/believer side should, in openness to God, go beyond the known to plunge more deeply into the obscurity of the mystery aspect of experiencing and sharing life in Christ to the fullest. "1" In Memoriam "1" Mary Margaret Johanning SSND died of cancer in Jefferson City, Missouri, on 1 October 1994. Sister Mary Margaret, general superior of the School Sisters of Notre Dame from 1977 to 1987 and from 1989 chancellor of the Jefferson City diocese, was a founding member of our advisory board. Please remember her in your prayers. 824 Review for Religious MARGARET ANN JACKSON A Reflection on Living Between the Times g~'~g'~ etween the Times: Religious Life and the Postmodern ,tg-~ Experience of God," (Review for Religious, January- February 1994) by Elizabeth Johnson rang true within me. What is more, it gave me a new way to interpret and understand my own three-year experience of working with homeless families in the Missouri Hotel, a large shelter in Springfield, Missouri. Johnson rightly says: "Contemplation is a way of seeing that leads to union. It arises from an experience of connection with the sacred at the very core of life . As a result, a certain intuition arises by which one begins to know and love the world as God does" (p. 6). The Experience of Homeless Families Homeless families find themselves stripped down to the very core of life, struggling to pro, vide the basics for themselves. With few exceptions, artifice and hypocrisy are not present. When fam-ilies are forced to resort to living in a shelter, they rarely play the game of trying to convince others that this is a desirable option. Having used all the ordinary supports of their life, they are reduced to living with strangers. They have arrived at our shelter because of problems, whether one or many, but typically there are many. Margaret Ann Jackson FSM serves as the family and children coordinator in the Missouri Hotel, a homeless shelter in Springfield, Missouri, Her address is 3177 East Linwood Drive; Springfield, Missouri 65804. Nove~nber-December 1994 825 Jackson ¯ A Reflection on Living Between the Times Often it takes time for a family's deeper problems to come to the surface. The hopelessness may have its origin in chemical dependency, mental illness, or a childhood full of physical and/or sexual abuse. Some of the parents have simply never known real stability, and their children find the shelter to be one of the bet-ter places they have lived. Our shelter networks with a variety of resources aimed at dealing with these problems, often with suc-cessful outcomes. But it is all too common to find that federal or state money for this or that purpose has run out, or some do not quite fit the eligibility criteria for the resources they desperately need. As Johnson's article put it, "naming what is unjust" then becomes easy and obvious. It likewise leads one to become an advocate who evaluates proposed legislation critically from the viewpoint of the poor. Actually, those working with the poor can become more angry than the poor themselves at the upside-down values and priorities of our so-called progressive nation. When resources are available, it is equally frustrating to dis-cover that someone is not yet ready to seek or accept help for the underlying cause of their difficulties. This is perhaps the core poverty of being human. The wall of denial may have slipped far enough for the person to admit that the problem exists, but it is still too threatening to tackle or even let others begin the pro-cess. The homeless are not alone in this experience; in fact, they are just like the rest of us in this regard. This experience of entering into the problems and frustra-tions of homeless people is further intensified when it is the chil-dren who urgently need the help that is not welcome. At times this can be an excruciating experience of powerlessness. The cross is certainly present, both in me and in them, when I am powerless to give what they do not want to receive, and it seems certain that their lives will continue on an unmanageable and chaotic path. Those who suffer the most are not the parents making these decisions, but the children who have no choice of their own to make. As a professional, I know that I must not identify too closely with my clients in feeling their pain, but neither do I want to become immune and uncaring. Prayer and Contemplation as Response As a woman, as a religious, as a child of God, I must bring all this to prayer. I complain to God. More often I just sit there with 826 Review for Religious it and with God. There have been times when it has entered into and become an integral part of a deeper prayer experience. Sharing the concerns of homeless families does induce and influence con-templation, but that is an oversimplification. This kind of ministry can too easily consume all time and energy, with little of either left for contemplation. Carving out prayer time, even reflective time, is a constant struggle. In the same vein, burnout can be just around the cor-ner, along with the temptation to become a codependent, overly help-ful savior who has all the answers. A variety of human ways to counter burnout and codependency are avail-able, useful, and necessary, but even when they have gratefully become a part of one's life, they simply cannot reach as deeply as prayer and con-templation. When one is continually faced with different forms of pow-erlessness, eventually it dawns that only God can deal with it, and the more a person becomes one with God, the more one can become the presence of God to others plunged in these human situations. Some would assume that min-istry in such surroundings would be unendingly sad and depressing. I do not find it so. It is hectic and stress-ful, yes, but also rewarding. All is not hopeless, and many families make progress, move out, and sometimes return to tell us how grateful they are for the help they found with us. These success stories keep us going, but for me, it is more often when homeless fami-lies are at their lowest point that I find myself most awed and inspired. I interview the families soon after they move into the shelter, and I frequently find myself touched by their obvious sin-cerity and goodwill. When I hear what they have been through, the obstacles they have met with, and the few resources available, I doubt that I would have done as well when faced with the same When one is continually faced with different forms of powerlessness, eventually it dawns that only God can deal with it, and the more a person becomes one with God, the more one can become the presence of God to others plunged in these human situations. November-December 1994 827 Jackson ¯ A Reflection on Living Between the Times challenges. Every now and then I have a clear sense of the Holy coming through to me as they explain their predicament and their hopes and fears. It is an unmistakable flash of Goodness. Occasionally I tell them that it is a privilege to be part of their lives because this is truly a special time, even though it may not seem so to them. I do not have the boldness to say to them that it is a sacred time, but I believe that it is. Learning from the Homeless My experiences with homeless families have taught me a great deal. While what I have learned is on a personal level, I believe that it can also teach us about religious life "between the times." Thus far, I have learned two truths. First: The quality of one's presence means more than specific activ-ities. The poor are hungry for understanding and encouragement. It does not take them long to figure out whether someone is with them or against them. If they know a person truly cares about them, they will forgive all kinds of mistakes, including impatience and forgetfulness and grouchiness. They free me to be human just like them. And they somehow receive what they need, even when I do not know what it is I am giving. A mildly retarded young man taught me about this one day. He was grieving over his recently deceased mother, even though she was an alcoholic who often abused him. He was very upset, and it seemed to me that it would be helpful for him to verbalize his feelings about his mother. So I took him to a quiet prayer room, and in the context of a rather vague prayer invited him to. close his eyes, remember his mother and talk to her. Then I sat there holding his hand, watching his face wrinkle. Evidently some-thing was going on, but I did not know what. I wondered whether I should say something. Fortunately, I kept quiet. Then he opened his eyes and said: "She came. She came and told me everything will be OK." He hugged me and then left the room transformed into his usual cheerful self. There was also the family who stayed in our shelter while trying to learn how to better cope with two sons with attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder and a teenage daughter who had a~ttempted suicide. Eventually they got on their feet financially, moved out and seemed to be doing fairly well. Then one day the mother showed up to tell me that her husband had gone to inpa- 828 Review for Religious tient treatment for alcoholism, a problem which he had success-fully hidden from our staff. She asked for my help in explaining her predicament to the food pantry which had helped her in the past, for she feared that they would not understand that their needs had changed now that his paycheck would be missing for a month. She said: "I came to you because you never judged me." Moving past the apostolic era of religious life does not mean there is nothing left to do. Instead the emphasis is on how we do whatever we do, how we are brother and sister to one another. Brother and sister are not titles of honor that situate us at a level in society. Instead they become true relational realities. Second: Having nothing is not that bad. There is quite a differ-ence between a newly poor and homeless family and one that has been that way for some. time. The new ones are tense and fearful about being in a shelter for the first time. At some point they nervously tell me that they have only ten or twenty dollars left, and they just do not know what they will do when it is all gone. The ones who have been poor and/or homeless for much of their lives are calm and relaxed compared to the new ones. These are the survivors. They know how to work the system to get the basics they need from complex bureaucratic agencies that are not par-ticularly "user friendly." They often do not have two dimes to rub together, but it is no big deal, because they know how to get by on nothing. They ask for what they need, readily share with others reduced to nothing, and more or less roll with the punches that life gives them. I suspect that most religious congregations are very much like the first group, the newly homeless. Because we have become so used to being solidly middle class, we can find ourselves in a I suspect that most religious congregations are very much like the first group, the newly homeless. Perhaps we need to reflect upon what it was that formerly gave us a sense of security and why we now feel threatened. November-Deconber 1994 829 Jackson ¯ A Reflection on Living Between the Times demoralized, even frantic state of mind. We nervously count up our members, especially the dwindling active ones and the few new vocations. And we wonder what will happen to us, what threatening snowballing effect may yet lie in store for us. We do not know how to handle being reduced to nothing. Perhaps we need to reflect upon what it was that formerly gave us a sense of security and why we now feel threatened. Can we learn from the second group, the homeless who are survivors? Can we let go of our anxious defenses and accept the poverty that is becoming part of our lives? I have not yet made that transition, but I do have hope that ~eventually we as religious will find that it is no big deal, because we will have learned how to get by on nothing, just like our foundresses and founders did. They asked for what they needed; they readily shared with oth-ers reduced to nothing, and they more or less rolled with the punches that life gave them. They were happy and holy people who trusted in God to provide while they were busy answering the Lord's call as they heard it in the lives of the poor around them. And God did indeed provide. I think of my own foundress, Mother Odilia Berger who arrived in St. Louis with four companions and five dollars. They immediately began caring for smallpox and cholera victims. A few years later she sent thirteen of her small band of thirty-one sisters to other cities to care for victims of yellow fever. Five contracted the illness and never returned; undaunted, she continued. The Changing Idea of God Elizabeth Johnson does get to the heart of the matter when she asks how our idea of God is changing. While I cannot speak for religious life as a whole, my own idea of God has changed considerably throughout my life and continues to be influenced by my experiences. For some time now the image of God or Jesus as King has not appealed to me. I am not even sure what glorious means when applied to God. I can relate a glorious sunset to the glory of God, whatever that glory may be. But much that is con-sidered glorious and impressive in our American culture is little more than a glitzy sham quite unconnected to God. The idea of an omnipotent war-making God is the opposite of my experience. Our God is a God of conversion and transformation, but not by force and violence. The Berlin Wall was kept in place by force 830 Review for Religious and violence, but now it is gone. Why? Because only when peo-ple change does real change happen. The ethnic struggles in the former Soviet Union and the former Yugoslavia show us clearly that military force was a fleeting kind of power that made no sig-nificant change at all, for it did not reach people's hearts. I have seen the negative power of a lack of love. I have seen individuals who will probably be able to function at only a min-imum level the rest of their lives because of the physical and sex-ual abuse that surrounded them in their formative years. "Love one another" is powerful indeed. If I could wave a magic wand and make one change worldwide, I would choose to eradicate abuse and its terrible aftermath, for it would surely transform the entire world. For me, God is the Compassionate One who is always with us in all our difficulties. This God lets us learn from the conse-quences of our actions, which is both the hardest and the surest way of learning. This God is the Patient One who waits and waits until we are ready. Were we to "play God," we would operate quite the opposite, for we would push and force things along, ready or not. God is the Mysterious One who understands all that happens and seldom shares the final answer we want to know. God works with whatever is happening in order to draw good from it, good that often seems to lie beyond our horizon. God is definitely not like the television dramas that are resolved with a thrilling climax in the last ten minutes of a sixty-minute show. I yearn to become one with this God, for then "a certain intuition arises by which one begins to know and love the world as God does." Noventber-December 1994 831 charism BETTY ANN MCNEIL Motherhood-- Elizabeth Seton's Prism of Faith Bishop Simon Brut4 SS cited devotion to the Blessed Virgin as one of the halhnarks of Elizabeth Seton's spiri-tuality. 1 As one biographer observers, "It was the bond of motherhood that helped Elizabeth comprehend the coln-passion of Mary [and] her role as co-redemptrix, even before it had been taught to her" (Dirvin 8). Inherently open to newness, "motherhood involves a special com-munion with the mystery of life."-' Who was this woman who professed that she "would gladly make every sacri-fice., consistent with my first and inseparable obligations as a mother?''3 Wife and Mother--Steps to Sanctity Born an Episcopalian in New York, Elizabeth Ann Bayley (1774-182 i) married William Magee Seton (1768- 1803) in 1794. Their marriage was blessed with three daughters (Annina, Rebecca, and Catherine Josephine) and two sons (William and Richard). Healthy, happy, and enjoying the comforts of social status and prosperity, the young family soon encountered bankruptcy because of Betty Ann McNeil DC holds a Master of Social VVork degree from Virginia Co~mnonwealth University and has served in var-ious social worl~ roles in Virginia, Maryland, and the District of Columbia. Currently involved in fund development for the Emxnitsburg province of the Daughters of Charity, she may be reached at Saint Joseph's Provincial House; Emmitsburg, Maryland 21727-9297. 832 Review for Religious financial reversals in their business. When Wil!jam became ill with tuberculosis, he and Elizabeth and their eldest daughter Annina embarked on a sea voyage in a desperate attempt to regain his health. Upon arrival at the Italian Rivera, the family was quar-antined in a damp, dark lazaretto which was but a dramatic pref-ace to Elizabeth's widowhood at the age of twenty-nine. The Filicchi family, William's business associates, befriended Elizabeth and extended gracious hospitality to the young American widow and her daughter. During their stay in Leghorn the Setons learned about Roman Catholicism from the Filicchis. After return-ing to the United States, Elizabeth converted to Catholicism (1805), struggled unsuccessfully to support her family in New York, and then moved to Maryland (1808) at the invitation of Reverend William Dubourg SS, to begin a school in Baltimore. Through the generosity of a benefactor, the school relocated (1809) to rural Emmitsburg where the Sisters of Charity, the first religious institute founded in the United States, was established. For her sisters Mother Seton adapted the Common Rules of the Daughters of Charity developed by Saint Vincent de Paul (1581- 1660) and Saint Louise de Marillac (1591-1660). Elizabeth championed the cause of justice and charity in health care, social works, and education, especially for women. Like Our Lady, Elizabeth became a model of faith and commit-ment as wife and mother, and her maternal journey through the joys and sorrows of life led her into deeper discipleship with Jesus Christ.4 Canonized in 1975, Elizabeth Ann Seton became the first native-born American declared a saint by the Roman Catholic Church. From Daughtei" to Mother Elizabeth craved mothering herself as a child but truly became the "mother of many daughters''5 as the religious foundress called Mother Seton. She herself acknbwledged that "the bonds of nature and grace all twined together. The parent offers the child, the child the parent, and both are united in the source of their being, and rest together in redeeming love" (Dirvin, 75). If Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton were to describe her relationship with Mary, the Mother of God, she would do so in the first per-son using her own words. Her account might be based on the events and reflections that she herself recorded in her numerous letters November-December 1994 833 McNeil * Motherhood and journal entries. Elizabeth would convey her own powerful feelings as she retold her inspiring story about the challenges and opportunities she encountered in Italy, New York and Maryland. The narrative style of this article now changes to first per-son, using quotations from Seton's letters and other writings woven with words of my own creation. By this process I hope to describe her prism of faith from her own experience of mother-hood and how that drew her to Mary. The resulting bonds united these maternal hearts and generated a wellspring of Marian devo-tion for Elizabeth.6 Heartache in Italy . One of my dearest remembrances is feeling called to "full confidence in God" when the "Ave Maria bells [rang] as we entered the port of Leghorn while the sun was setting." As an Episcopalian I came to know Miriam of Nazareth through read-ing my Bible. Later in life she played an important role in my own journey of faith, and I referred to her as "the first Sister of Charity on earth." I endured piercing pain and heartache in Italy. Having five children myself, I felt a special closeness to the joys and sorrows of Mary's maternal heart. After my husband's tragic illness and death in Italy, my cross seemed so heavy. While I was staying in the Filicchi's home,7 "I looked up to the blessed Virgin appealing to her that as the Mother of God, she must pity me, and obtain from him that blessed faith of these happy souls [the Filicchi fam-ily] around me. I then noticed a small prayer book open on the table and . . . my eye . . . fell on Saint Bernard's prayer to the Blessed Virgin Mary--How earnestly I said., that Memorare." Acknowledging my pent-up grief, I soon confided rather poignantly to my "soul-sister" Rebecca Seton8 that: God would stirely refuse nothing to his mother. [and] that I felt really I had a mother [now] which you know my fool-ish heart laments to have lost in early days--from the first remembrance of infancy I have looked in all the plays of childhood and wildness of youth to the clouds for my mother, and at that moment it seemed as if I had found more than her, ~ven in tenderness and pity of a Mother-- so I cried myself to sleep on her heart. The Filicchi family introduced Annina9 and me to their 834 Review for Religious beloved Catholic faith. In Florence we visited the lovely Church of the Annunziata where I experienced a deep sense of peace, despite my grieving heart. "I sank to my knees in the first place I found vacant, and shed a torrent of tears . " In the church of San Lorenzo by the Medici chapels, my heart simply burst. "A sensation of delight struck me so forcibly that as I approached the great altar. I prayed 'My soul doth magnify the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my savior.' These words., came in my mind with a fervor which absorbed every other feeling." Later at the church of Santa Maria Novella the large painting of the Descent from the Cross "engaged my whole soul. Mary at the foot of it expressed well that the iron had entered into her--and the shades of death over her agonized countenance so strongly contrasted the heavenly peace of the dear Redeemer's that it seem[ed] as if his pains had fallen on her--How hard it was to leave that picture." For hours after I left it, ". I shut my eyes and recall[ed] it in imagination." At the Shrine of Our Lady of Grace in Montenero, I reflected that "I am a mother, so the mother's thought came also. How was my God a little babe in the first stage of his mortal existence in Mary?" Since she was the mother of Jesus, I intuitively felt her maternal solicitude for nay bereaved situation. That thought drew me into deeper relationship with her who was "always, every-where, in every moment, day and night, conscious [that] she was his mother." Discernment in New York When I returned to New York on 4June 18041 was discern-ing my future--how could I provide for my darling children? I yearned for Jesus in the Eucharist and felt drawn to Mary, his mother. My Episcopal communion did not condone Marian devo-tion, and I wondered how I could believe that the "prayers and litanies addressed to the Blessed Lady were acceptable to God." I was earnestly searching for the true faith. I was an "uncertain soul" and hesitated to teach my children the Hail Mary in our Protestant milieu. I still fondly recall that August evening in 1804 when Annina coaxed me to lead "our first Hail Mary in our little closet." I was saying night prayers with the children "when Nina said, 'Oh, Ma, let us say Hail Mary.' 'Do, Ma,' said Willy. And the Hail Mary we all said with little November-December 1994 835 McNeil ¯ Motherhood Bec looking into my face to catch the words she could not pro-nounce, but in a manner which would have made all laugh if Mother's tears had not fixed their attention." "I asked my Saviour why should we not say it [the Hail Mary], if anyone is in heaven his mother must be there . . . so I begged Mary our mother with the confidence and tenderness of her child to pity us and guide us to the true faith, if we were not in it, and if we were, to obtain peace for my poor soul, that I [might] be a good mother to my poor darlings . So I kissed [Mary's] picture that [Amabilia] gave me, and begged her to be a mother to us. I saw faith [as] a gift of God to be diligently sought and earnestly desired. So I prayed to Mary to help me. I begged. God to look in my soul and see how gladly I would., joyfully show [his mother] every expression of reverence., if I could do it with that freedom of soul which flowed from the knowledge of his will." After my decision to become a Catholic,1° my doubts were replaced by an abiding love of the true church and devotion to the Blessed Mother. I was easily moved, and so I expressed my reli-gious sentiments warmly and impulsively. I took Mary as my con-firmation name to "sort of fill out the trio of mothers" already honored by the name Elizabeth Ann. I recognized that my life, like Mary's was really grounded in the paschal mystery with all its struggles, grief, and hope. This realization helped me to discern God's will. I often found peace through praying the Memorare. I found strength in contemplating the suscipe of Jesus in his crucifixion, primarily in the painting by the Mexican artist Jos~ Vallejo that hung in Saint Peter's in my native city. Vision in Maryland Finally I came to Maryland on a mission. In Emmitsburg, where I founded the Sisters of Charity, I came to a deeper under-standing of the Glories ofMa~7. I saw her as my model and teacher in the spiritual life, particularly in herfiat and feminine resilience as a courageous woman of faith. I often reveled about the ". virtues of Mary--the constant delight of the blessed Trinity--she alone giving them more glory than all heaven together. Mother of God! Mary! Oh, the purity of Mai'y! The humility, patience, love of Mary!" I tried to imitate her as much as possible and believed that "our best honor to Mary is the imitation of her virtues--her 836 Review for Religious life a model for all conditions of life--her poverty, humility, purity, love--and suffering." Mary's example led me to discover "Jesus in Mary, Mary in Jesus in our prayers--her name so often in the divine sacrifice. Like Mary, our blessed mother, we will possess Jesus. born for me, lived fir me, died fir me, and now stays on earth to be with me as my father, my brother, my com-panion and friend--to be . . . near me in the holy Eucharist. and as certainly to come to my heart as he came to. the arms of his Virgin Mother." Prayer taught me "how sweet to entreat Mary who bore him in the bosom of peace to take our own case in hand. If she is not heard, who shall be?" I realized that "Jesus delighted to receive our love embellished and purified through the heart of Mary, as from the heart of a friend." I never slept without "my crucifix under my pillow and the Blessed Virgin's picture pressed on the heart . " Mary's divine motherhood touched and moved my own maternal heart. So often grieved by separation and loss, I forged a strong spiritual bond with her and reflected that "We honor her continually with our Jesus. his nine months within her., what passed between them., she alone knowing him-- he her only tabernacle Mary, fidl of Grace, Mother of Jesus." I pondered in my journal about "the infancy of Jesus--in her lap-- on her knees . . . caressing, playing in her arms. Jesus on the breast of Mary feeding. How long she must have delayed the weaning of such a child!" I identified even more with Mary as a sorrowful mother when I cared for my dying daughter Annina. During the stark days of darkness after her death, I found myself "begging, crying to Mary to behold her son and plead for us, and to Jesus to behold his mother--to pity a mother, this poor, poor mother." When "with a quiet satisfied heart" I reflected on Mary's com-passionate presence in the "thousand encounters with the cross" that had been my lot. "It seemed as if our Lordstood continuously by me in a corporeal form to comfort, cheer, and encourage me I identified even more with Mary as a sorrowful mother when I cared for my dying daughter Annina. November-December 1994 837 McNeil ¯ Motherhood in the different weary and tedious hours of pain. Sometimes sweet Mary, also, gently coaxing me . I sat with my pain in order to accept it as my share in the paschal mystery and discovered "how generous is our Lord who strengthened my poor soul." In our small chapel I prayed to know God's will. My painting of Our Lady of Guadalupe11 hung there and I often commended my sons in the navy to the care of Mary, Star of the Ocean, when they were at sea. Likewise, I asked Mary, Queen of Apostles, to intercede for the needs of the clergy, especially for my dear friend and confidante Father Brut& Conclusion My passion for seeking God's will often moved me to encour-age my religious daughters to greater spiritual vitality, challeng-ing them to be women of prayer. "Sisters of Charity, your admirable name must excite in you every preparation to do justice to your vocation." Together we reflected: "Jesus is as a fire in the very center of our souls ever burning. Yet, we are cold because we do not stay by it. How can we honor the mysteries of our Jesus without honor-ing Mary in them all?" Truly "How happy the earth to possess [Mary] so long--a secret blessing to the rising church. I thank God for having made me a child of his church . My deepest desire for you is that you always 'Be children of the church! Be children of the church!'" Notes l Brut~ listed the following characteristics of Elizabeth Seton's spir-ituality: "the Church, the Blessed Sacrament, prayer for herself and her children, the Blessed Virgin and the priestly character." See Joseph I. Dirvin CM, The Soul of Elizabeth Seton--A Spiritual Portrait (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1990), p. 37. 2 John Paul II, "Motherhood---~rginity," On the Dignity and Vocation of~Vomen (1988), Article 18. 3 Ellin M. Kelly, Ph.D., and Annabelle Melville, ed., Selected IVritings of Elizabeth Seton, (New York: Paulist Press, 1987), p. 274. 4 John Paul II, "Behold Your Mother," Mother of the Redeemer (The Vatican, 1987), Article 20. s Elizabeth Ann Seton to Cecilia Seton, 6 October 1808. Quoted in Annabelle Melville, Elizabeth Barley Seton, (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1951; rev. ed. St. Paul, Minnesota: Carillon Books, 1976), p. 189. 838 Review for Religious 6 Quotations from Seton's letters and other writings used in the fol-lowing sections of this article are taken from Kelly, Selected l~Vritings, Dirvin, Soul, and Celeste, VVoman of Prayer. To maintain the flow of the narrative, no specific references are cited. 7 Having arrived in Leghorn 19 November 1803 the Setons were quarantined in the lazaretto, until 19 December. After their release they went to a rented home in Pisa where William Magee Seton died 27 December 1803. Elizabeth and her daughter Annina became the guests of Antonio and Amabilia Filicchi, business friends of the Seton family. They remained at Leghorn with the Filicchis until April 1804 when they left for the United States. They were accompanied by Antonio Filicchi on the return voyage. 8 Elizabeth Seton often referred to her sister-in-law as her own "soul's sister." Rebecca Seton (1780-1804) was a younger half-sister of William Magee Seton. 9 Anna Maria Seton (1795-1812), the oldest child of Elizabeth Ann and William Magee Seton, travelled to Italy with her parents in 1803. She was called Annina and also Nina. ,0 On 14 March 1805 Elizabeth Seton made her profession of faith in the Roman Catholic Church at Saint Peter's Church (Barclay Street, New York) in the presence of Antonio Filicchi and Reverend Matthew O'Brien. 1, Matthias O'Conway, a Spanish translator in Philadelphia, gave this painting to Mother Seton. It hung in the sisters' chapel and later in the novitiate. His daughter, Cecilia O'Conway, was among the first women to join Elizabeth Seton's new sisterhood in Baltimore (7 December 1808). Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distri-bution, advertising, or institutional promotion or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will be consid-ered only on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. November-December 1994 839 JOSEPH NASSAL Reclaiming Our Name ~naeltx kto d aolwl tnh eth ne aamisele b orfa na dgsr oocfe aryn ys tpoarert aicnudl anro ptircoed tuhcatt, there are also some generic items. Generic brands are more eco-nomical and promise to give the same quality as the more expen-sive name brands. But walk into a store of religious life and you will notice this: There are no generic brands, only name brands. When an interested "shopper" takes one of those name-brand r~ligious congregations off the shelf, he or she is advised to read the label carefully. Religious life shoppers are given time to sam-ple the contents to see if this brand name is what they are look-ing for to be a healthy, happy, and holy human being. The candidate is given time to explore carefully whether this particu-lar congregation lives up to its name. And the community will do the same. In religious terms, we call this formation. There is, of course, the basic Christian spirituality that under-scores all we do. But founders of religious communities were inspired by the Spirit to give flesh to particular aspects of Christian spirituality by responding to specific needs in the church and world of their day. From the galaxy of gifts spun like stars from the hand of the Holy Spirit, various individuals were charged with the challenge to meet these needs. This does not mean that the charism of the Vincentians is more important than the charism of the Jesuits or that the Dominican charism is a higher calling than the charism of the Precious Blood. What it does is under-score that at the particular time these congregations were founded, Joseph Nassal CPPS is involved in retreat and renewal ministry for the Congregation of Missionaries of the Precious Blood. His address is Schaefer Mission House; 2110 Hughes Road; Liberty, Missouri 64068. 840 Review for Religious the church and the world were pleading for the Christian truth carried in these charisms. Many religious communities died, once a particular need was addressed, changed, and fulfilled. This is the dramatic and dan-gerous reality confronting many in religious life today. Some con-gregations are barely hanging on, and the crisis they are engaged. in has less to do with the lack of members and more to do with the lack of meaning or lack of clarity about charism. Some commu-nities linger on well after their original purpose has been exhausted. As in the case of invited guests who stay too long and wear out their welcome, one important dimension of religious life is to have the courtesy, good sense, and timing to know when to leave. To know when to die. Otherwise, we might linger to the point when our host, who is the Holy Spirit, whispers: "I'm going to bed. The last one out, turn off the lights." I know men and women in religious communities whose greatest fear is that they will be the last one left in their congregation. Clarity about charism is essential to any refounding efforts taking place in religious life today. If a community is not trans-parent in its identity and purpose, it should not wonder why it is not attracting candidates to its community. Instead, it should worry about why it is existing at all and begin to make the nec-essary arrangements for a ritual of dying. That is why it is impor-tant for candidates and community members alike to read the label carefully and check the expiration date. Charism as Energy Part of the process of reading the labels and forming com-munity is to tell the stories of our spirituality. When we tell the stories of our common life, we tap the energy source of our com-munity: our charism. I have always liked the description of charism as energy. Like a shooting star against the dark night of injustice and ignorance, founders of religious communities lit up the landscape with a burst of hope. Their energy source was the charism given them by the Holy Spirit; their passion was the spirituality they lived, a spirituality sparked by the charism. In the charism that captures the founder's commitment, there is potential for life. Our respon-sibility is to discover what that energy is for us today. It is the charism that calls us into being. November-December 1994 841 Nassal ¯ Reclaiming Our Name We are to be involved in the kinds of apostolates our founders would be involved in if they were alive today. In my own case, I am a priest of the Congregation of the Most Precious Blood founded by St. Gaspar, del Bufalo in Rome on 15 August 1815. "For this I am a priest," Gaspar wrote, "to proclaim the merits of the Precious Blood of Jesus Christ." A couple of years ago I.was giving a day of recollection for our can-didates in formation, and I spoke about Precious Blood spirituality for three conferences. One of the semi-narians asked me, "All you talk about is Precious Blood spirituality. There are other spiritualities, you know. Why do not you ever mention them?" "Because," I said, "I am a Precious Blood priest! And you are studying for a congregation imbued with the spirituality of the Blood of Christ. It is important in our discernment that we know who we are, what we believe, and what motivates us in our apostolic and communal life." The charism granted to the founder of a religious congregation was not given for his or her personal devotion or pri-vate use. The gift was meant for others. Though our times may be vastly differ-ent from our founder's, the same energy source is present: It is the Spirit of God enabling us to respond to the situation of these times by using our charism for the service o]~ others. Pope Paul VI said that the charism of the founder must remain in the community and be the source of life for the com-munity. If not, then we may be doing good work; we may be pur-suing lives of holiness, hope, and hospitality; we may be living in community and caring for each other with compassion. But unless we are animated and energized by the spirit of our founder, we are not living the name, the vision, or the spirituality for which we were founded. Our identity is found in our charism. The charism does not change. The energy source that sparked St. Gaspar is the same today as it was in 1815 when he founded the Society of the Precious Blood. What changes is our response that is shaped by the currents of history. In the pursuit of our original passion--the return to the 842 Review for Religious sources called for by the Second Vatican Council--some in my community would have us go back all the way. For example, preaching missions and giving retreats were the primary means by which Gaspar lived his charism. In a letter to Msgr. Nicola Mattei on 2 July 1820, Gaspar wrote: "Missions and retreats., are the two means of reform for the world." But at the present time, there are very few members of the congregation in North America who are involved in retreat and renewal ministry. Most of our members are involved in parish ministry. Some are in hospital work or campus ministry or other specialized ministries. History changed the expression of our charism. Though we were founded in Italy, it was a group of German-born priests and brothers who brought the community to the United States. They came to minister to German-speaking immigrants in Ohio. They became parish priests which explains why, in the United States at least, many of our current members still minister in parishes. Returning to our original charism does not mean we have to abandon parish ministry and have all our members involved in retreat and renewal ministry. But it does mean that in whatever apostolate we find ourselves, we are to be faithful to our charism and must be about the work of reconciliation and renewal that captured Gaspar's life. Adapting the Charism The criterion is .this: We are to be about the work of the founders. We are to be involved in the kinds of apostolates our founders would be involved in if they were alive today. It is my personal bias that Gaspar would still be preaching missions and giving retreats. I believe this not only because I am presently involved in this ministry but because in reading about Gaspar's life and times, I have come to the eerie conclusion that our present age is not much different from his time. Of course we are more tech-nologically advanced, but the roots of the problems Gaspar preached about in his time are still with us today. Gaspar lived at the time of the French Revolution. He went into exile rather than accede to Napoleon's request to take an oath of allegiance to the emperor. When he returned to Rome after Napoleon's defeat, the city was in chaos. Gaspar was called to preach missions to revive the citizens of Rome. He went to the streets, carrying the crucifix (still our official religious habit), November-December 1994 843 Nassal ¯ Reclaiming Our Name We need to answer the question, "What is the energy that inspires me and gives me life?" and preached the reconciliation won for us in the blood of the cross. He invited others to find safety in the shadow of the cross. He encouraged the people to whom he spoke to find healing in the wounds of Christ. Gaspar, like the apostle Paul before him, sought to "bring others near through the blood of Christ." Our world today screams for reconciliation. In the United States, we live in the aftermath of the Reagan Revolution. Depending on where we stand, we can char-acterize the fallout of the last two decades in various ways. But that is the point: We stand apart, often divided by barricades of mistrust and militarism, greed and economic exploitation, racism and sexism. In our multi-cultural society today, we are afraid to stand near each other. Our church reflects this same reality. In our diocesan newspaper a few years ago, two articles on the same page exemplified how separate we are. One of the articles was Leonardo Boff's moving letter about why he had to resign from the priesthood and his religious community. The other was a state-ment from Pope John Paul II reaffirming the hierarchical model of tkie church. We live in an age of clashing ecclesiologies. Sometimes the noise is so loud we hardly hear the music playing in each other's hearts. Now I must ask myself what impact these divisions, the sense of separateness, have on my own understanding of the spiritual- ' ity and charism of my congregation? I respond by believing that to be faithful to Gaspar's vision, I will do my best to listen to those voices of women who feel alienated and left out by a male-dominated, hierarchical church. (The example of Boff, whose writings and witness I greatly admire, begs the ancient question: What is the best way to change the system--from within or from outside the structure?) If I am faithful to my founder's vision, I will do my best to be inclusive and collaborative in my words and in my witness. If I am faithful to Gaspar's dream, I will seek to live a spirit of reconcil-iation that brings peoples together. I will listen to those who chal-lenge structures and rules and regulations that imprison rather than free the human spirit. I will speak out against injustice in 844 Review for Relig4ous society as well as the church while always seeking to live in the spirit of the Blood of Christ. This is how my father Gaspar lived. He had the words of Paul's letter to the Ephesians imprinted on his soul: Now in Christ Jesus you who were once far off have been brought near through the blood of Christ. It is he who is our peace, and who made the two of us one by breaking down the barrier of hostility that kept us apart (Ep 2:13-14). The Gospel of Jesus Christ is the only authentic vision Christians claim. My founder, St. Gaspar, reflected this vision but highlighted the particular aspect of reconciliation. No one can claim the whole vision, but each religious community claims a part of it even as we seek to live all of it. In doing so, we artic-ulate in the language of our lives not only the vision of Jesus but the charism of OUR founder. The ingredients--the Gospel of Christ and the charism of the founder--become the norms for our ongoing personal and communal renewal. When we live the vision and capture the charism of our founder in the everyday stories of our lives, then the founder's dream becomes our own. And when the founder's passion becomes known in the natural expression of our commitment, we know who we are. We know our name. We know where and with whom we belong. Most importantly, as the losses keep mounting around us, we know why we stay. Rediscovering Our Identity To discover again what this charism is for us today, we need to answer the question, "What is the energy that inspires me and gives me life?" In reflecting on the charism of our congregation and the particular gifts I bring to the community's enterprise, I must tap my own potential. This means I ask myself what is it that motivates me, excites me, moves me? A few years as director of formation for my province, I was asked by my provincial to accompany one of our former priest members in the process of returning to the community. As part of this process, the provincial, vice-provincial, and myself met with the former member and a facilitator. At one point the facilitator asked each of us to answer these questions: "Why did you join this community? Why do you stay?" The questions forced me to look honestly at my commitment November-December 1994 845 Nassal ¯ Reclaiming Our Name to this congregation. I knew that I began studying for the com-munity because I wanted to be a priest and at that time (Sth grade), any community would do. But as the years of formation went by, I knew I wanted to belong to this community because of the people--the ones who taught me and mentored me; the ones who inspired me and befriended me; the ones who challenged and consoled me. But I also knew at the moment he asked the question, that these people were not the reason I stay as a member of the Congregation of the Most Precious Blood. When my best friend in the community left a few years ago, his leaving shook my com-mitment as well. His leaving forced me to ask myself why I stayed. I stay because of the spirituality. I stay because of the passion I feel in my bones for the charism of Gaspar. I know I could live this spirituality as a lay person. I know I could reflect this charism in others ways as a priest. But right now in my life, I know in my soul why I am a priest: to proclaim the Blood of Christ. That is the energy source that gives meaning to my life as a missionary of the Congregation of the Most Precious Blood. Gaspar's life, his ministry, his call were colored by the Precious Blood. The redeeming power of the Blood was why he did what he did. It is also the reason I do what I do. It gives shape to who I am and meaning to my life. It gives me my name. Petition God-man, enduring helplessness on Adam's tree, help those whose daily cross it is enduring me! Judith Powell 846 Review for Religious MARYANNE STEVENS Revitalizing Charisms Inspiring Religious Life ere is little doubt that religious orders of priests, sisters 1l and brothers in the United States have been in transition over the last thirty years. Called by the Second Vatican Council to "a constant return to the sources of the whole of the Christian life and to the primitive inspiration of the institutes, and their adaptation to the changed conditions of our time,"' they have examined every aspect of their lives: their prayer, work, dress, daily horarium, relationships with one another, the church, and society. One result is a major paradigm shift accompanied by the emotional and spiritual difficulties associated with massive change. Many members who had developed a fairly rigid lifestyle in their order of prayer, work, and recreation found it difficult to rethink even the smallest of details. Others, encouraged by a call freeing their gifts and talents from serving only in schools and hospitals, brimmed~w~ith possibilities for, new services to the impoverished. Some, either disillusioned by the changes or in recognition of a different calling, left their communities. No superficial innovations were involved here. Every aspect of life in religious orders became the subject of intense discussion both within the communities and within the church at large. A period of experimentation with new forms of ministry, community, and prayer ensued, and finally constitutions were rewritten and sub- Maryanne Stevens RSM has edited Reconstructing the Christ Symbol (Mahwah, New Jersey: Paulist Press, 1994). She is associate professor of theology at Creighton University. Her address is 2500 California Plaza; Omaha, Nebraska 68178. November-December 1994 847 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Cbarisms Inspiring Religious Life mitted to the magisterium. The form of religious life is clearly different today than it was thirty years ago. Contemporaneous with the call to religious orders to rethink their presentation of themselves in the world was the church's reassertion of the Biblical understanding that the "Spirit of God distributes special graces among the faithful of every rank" thus making them "fit and ready to undertake the various tasks or offices advantageous for the renewal and the upbuilding of the church.''2 The church called all the faithful to rethink their response to baptism. What had become a tripartite hierarchy of ministers--cleric, vowed religious, and layperson--was abolished with the church's recognition of all baptized believers as sharers in the mission and in the function of the Christ. The revised Code of Canon Law, published twenty years after Vatican II, described Christ's faithful as "those who, since they are incorporated in Christ through baptism, are constituted the people of God . They are called, each according to his or her particular condi-tion, to exercise the mission which God entrusted to the church to fulfill in the world.''3 That is, we all have a vocation. Family life, religious life, the diocesan priesthood, the desire to remain single, the response of the lawyer, the doctor, the firefighter, the home-maker-- each is its own gift to building up the communion, the body of Christ. Today, the number of women and men entering religious orders has declined considerably, and the number of women and men not in religious orders serving as ministers within the church has mushroomed. Many believe religious life is dying. But such assertions are not easily proven, despite the rise in median age and the lack of new membership. In fact, a recent plethora of studies on various facets of religious life indicate a phenomenon baffling to the social sciences. Declining personnel and financial resources coupled with a lack of role clarity should indicate a death toll. Yet other factors which usually signal a dying organi-zation such as centralization of authority, fear of risk, loss of morale, cynicism, and an unwillingness to adapt to changing con-ditions are not present in large measure in religious orders.4 Some say the numbers would go up if the form of religious life prevalent before the Council was readopted. Even the official magisterium appears concerned about what the Council set in motion. The retrieved and rearticulated correlations between baptism and ministry coupled with the renewal of religious orders 848 Reviezv for Religious did precipitate a crisis for religious orders, a crisis I prefer to call a "new opportunity," but the crisis is not about what form religious life should specify nor about the type of dress a sister or brother should wear, or what kind of daily schedule one should follow. It is not even about whether feminism should be allowed to influence women religious or whether they should pledge obedience to the ecclesiastical authorities. Form is never the first question; function is. The real crisis for the church is about the function of religious orders. The role of religious orders seemed clear enough in the United States prior to the post World War II prosperity of American Catholics. The exten-sive emigration of eighteenth-century Europeans to the United States, coupled with the enslav-ing throes of the industrial rev-olution, found U.S. bishops calling on men and women reli-gious to provide the Catholic immigrants with health care, education and social services. By the 1950s, largely because of the educational opportunities of the post World War II GI bill and the great work of Catholic religious orders in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, Catholic Americans were no longer an anomaly within a society dominated by white Anglo-Saxon Protestants. There was less and less need for a massive labor force to help ghetto outsiders meet their needs within a strange culture. U.S. Catholics had, by and large, "arrived"; they were understood as contributors to the American way of life. They were ready for the call of the Second Vatican Council. In fact, the 1929-1959 heyday of the lay apos-tolate movement in the United States is the harbinger of the church's reaffirmation of all baptized believers as called to min-istry, s The church affirms the assertion of the Second Vatican Council: All baptized believers are called to ministry; all baptized believers are called to prayer; all baptized believers are called to What is the function or the purpose of religious life in our church and in our society today? Is religious life necessary? November-December 1994 849 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Cbarisms Inspiring Religious Life holiness. Why, then, might our church, a family, or a parish encourage women or men in their midst to enter a religious com-munity? The Serra Club and inany vocations committees in parishes are organized ~o promote vocations to the diocesan priest-hood and religious life. Clearly the diocesan priesthood is central to the availability of Eucharist, but why religious life? What is the function or the purpose of religious life in our church and in our society today? Is religious life necessary? Are Charisms of Religious Communities Still Prophetic? Implicit in the confirmation of a particular charism or gift of a founder or foundress of a religious order by our church is an affirmation on the part of the church of the purposefulness of the gift. Religious orders are groups of men or women who have come together because of the inspiration of a charismatic person, that is, a person who had a gift for understanding and responding to a particular need within the church or society. (Charismatic here does not mean that special quality of leadership that cap-tures the popular imagination, as in naming a populist politician charismatic.) Charism, when used theologically, indicates a free gift of grace emanating from the Spirit of God. Church tradition affirms the necessity of charisms or divinely granted gifts to bear witness to the nature of the church. The church is holy because of the actual faith and love of God in its members, and faith and love are the result of the Spirit's action within us. As holy, the church compels faith and is a reason for faith in its outward appearance, but it could not do and be such without the freely given gifts or charisms of the Spirit. All the baptized share in many of these gifts--the gifts of patience, peace, ioy, and kindness. Yet there are some specially given--the gift of teaching, the gift of tongues, the gift of tongues in.terpreted, the gift of prophecy. In addition to these special charisms familiar to us from the epistles, the church teaches that an essential feature of the church's holiness is the appearance of charisms in con-stantly new forms to meet new situations. Our church has rec-ognized the evangelical counsels of poverty, celibacy, and obedience as charisms ordered to the upbuilding of the church and the good of the world. It has further confirmed as God-given the gifts of particular founders or foundresses of religious corn- 850 Review for Religdous munities through which the evangelical counsels of poverty, celibacy, and obedience traditionally have been focused. Thus we speak of the charism of Francis of Assisi, of Ignatius, of Catherine McAuley, of Benedict, Clare, and Elizabeth Seton. The confir-mation of these charisms is an acknowledgment on the part of the church that the insights fueling the passion of these great men and women are needed gifts if the church is to be church. Indeed church tradition presents the indestructibility of the church as due in part to the charisms continually given to it.6 For exam-pie, in confirming the gift of Francis of Assisi by pontifically char-tering the Franciscan community, the church said we, the church, need the witness of outrageous self-chosen poverty if the church is to be church. Or by confirming the charism of a Benedict and a Clare, the church said we, the church, need the gift of contin-ual prayer if the church is to be church. The memories of the social and cultural situations of these great men and women testify to the prophetic character of their gifts. Walter Brueggemann argues that prophecy in the Old Testament included the twin roles of criticizing and energizing. "The task of prophetic ministry is to nurture, nourish, and evoke a consciousness and perception alternative to the consciousness and perception of the dominant culture around us.''7 Isaiah, Jeremiah, and, paradigmatically, Jesus, did not just address specific public crises. They addressed the enduring and resilient crisis of the domestication and co-option of the vocation to contribute to a world of no more war, no more tears, a new heaven and a new earth. In nurturing a Christian vocation, one must assert that false claims to authority and power cannot keep their promises (criticize) and at the same time bring expression to new realities (energize). The role of a Dominic in denouncing the fourteenth-century church's heresy and at the same time forming an order of preach-ers, the role of a Catherine McAuley calling attention to the plight of poor women in the eighteenth-century Irish church were suc-cessful attempts to criticize the then present practice of the church and to awaken it to a new aspect of what the call of Jesus entailed in a particular historical circumstance. By confirming (albeit reluctantly) the gifts and charisms of these religious orders, our church confesses their necessity. Furthermore, canon law charges the religious order with the pro-tection of the legacy of their founding inspiration, what Paul VI termed their "constancy of orientation.''s Canon 578 states, "The November-December 1994 851 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Cbarisms Inspiring Religious Life The function of religious life is precisely the protection of the orientation, the founding insight which the church needs so it might remain true to its mission. intention of the founders and their determination concerning the nature, purpose, spirit, and character of the institute which have been ratified by competent ecclesiastical authority as well as its wholesome traditions, all of which constitute the patrimony of the institute itself, are to be observed faithfully by all.9 The function of religious life is precisely the protection of the orientation, the founding insight which the church needs so it might remain true to its mission; the function of religious life is not to preserve a specific form of life for the future. It is this function that Vatican II recognized when it asked religious orders to adapt their "primitive inspiration" to the changed condition of our time. Theologian Johannes Metz refers to this function when he describes religious orders as the "shock-treatment" of the Holy Spirit within the church, an institution-alized form of a "dangerous mem-ory." Dangerous memory is a term used by Metz to denote those memories which challenge and make demands on us, as opposed to those memories in which the past becomes a paradise or refuge.1° Religious orders, if true to their charismatic and prophetic role, should challenge us to new understandings of our role as baptized believers and energize us with hope in God's promises. To take our church or Metz seriously is to realize that nostalgia for a past form of religious life which attracted great numbers to serve the educational and other social needs of an immigrant church is to dull the proper role of reli-gious orders. This is not to imply that there are not others within the church who might shock us into remembering our role as disci-ples of the Christ. In fact, there is a cloud of witnesses, among them Dorothy Day, Martin Luther King, John Howard Griffin, and Penny Lernoux. But just because others function in a similar 852 Review for Religious fashion does not mean that the church does not need to designate particular groups (historically, religious orders) to fulfill the role of awakening us to the potential domestication of our call to fol-low Jesus. Such a reflection on religious life and its proper role in the church gives rise to at least one question which must be openly faced by religious orders and by the church. Is the traditional vowed life well suited to incarnate these prophetic charisms within the church today? I would like to outline the beginnings of the conversation about this question and then conclude by calling attention to several challenges religious orders face if they are to aid the impulse of the Spirit in protecting these special charisms in our church. Is the Vowed Life Suited to Prophetic Ministry Today? My initial answer to this question is, "yes, but . " The vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience are well suited to prophetic ministry today, but focusing one's discipleship of Jesus through the life of a figure whose charism has been confirmed by the church does not necessitate the vowed life. In other words, the charismatic insight of the founders and foundresses of religious orders does not belong to those within religious orders, even though a par-ticular religious order's legacy and responsibility involves atten-tion to the continuance of the charism. The originator of the charisms is the Holy Spirit and thus, a particular prophetic impulse belongs to the whole church (the Roman Catholic church included), to all who are claimed by the passion of a particular figure. There may be others who are called to focus their disci-pleship through the prism of a particular special charism who are not at the same time professed in the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. This is what I understand to be the basis for the rise of programs for non-vowed associates of religious orders today and for the energy behind mission integration programs in institutions sponsored by religious communities.11 But what of those thrice-vowed? Are they, as groups, suited to continue the needed prophetic ministry today? Certainly poverty, chastity, and obedience, if lived with integrity, do nor hinder one from calling attention to the claims of discipleship within the contemporary world. An adequate theology of the vows is yet to be articulated. However, the history of religious orders attests to November-December 1994 853 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Cbarisms Inspiring Religious Life self-chosen poverty, chastity, and obedience as sources for the development of strategies for being in and for this world to encourage the liberation of all persons from the tyranny of that which hinders Jesus' vision. Because the original impulse for religious orders has been overshadowed in recent history by the prevailing norms of clois-ter and the industrial-age demand for labor, it is possible that the proper role of a religious order within the church has not yet been fully understood either by religious orders themselves or by the church at large. Indeed, the indication that a significant per-centage of religious no longer understand their role and function in the church was one of the most compelling results of the recent Nygren-Ukeritis study on the future of religious orders in the United States.12 This finding, however, should not surprise those aware of what historian David J. O'Brien terms "the most impor-tant single fact about our contemporary historical situation:" We must choose who we are going to be?3 The world of our fathers and mothers has died. The social institutions and cultural symbols that once provided security, legitimacy, taken for grantedness--in short, role clarity, not just for religious, but for mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, politicians, bankers, teachers, and clerics--have been eroded. Self-conscious choice is the norm for the smallest of our decisions, and it is necessary because of the awesome power we have made our own. Thus, we must think through our choice of diets, schools, and liturgies and agonize over assisted suicide, abortion, and nuclear power. Analogously, those in religious orders must decide how to use their power to affect the church. If these special charisms are necessary to the church's con-tinued holiness (and I think they are), then canon law rightly places a special responsibility on the religious orders who have been claimed by the particular charisms. Two particular chal-lenges must be borne in mind as religious orders seek the revi-talization of these special charisms. The first is the retrieval of the concept of vocation; the second is education about the charisms of religious orders. How Do We Retrieve the Concept of Vocation? First, the word vocation must be retrieved as a valid way of speaking about the focusing of one's discipleship of Jesus. One who possesses a charism that can be traced back to a great person in 854 Review for Religious the church does not become a member of a prophetic club; one is claimed by the Spirit for a purpose not fully defined by oneself. Words matter or, as Michael Bucldey notes, "words have an effect like architecture.''~4 Language either expands our percep-tions or limits them, as the buildings we inhabit allow us to see certain spaces in certain ways. Language is our means of com-munication with each other and the vehicle through which we think about ourselves, about others, and about God.Is New words are not coined just because new ways of seeing the world occur to us; new words or sets of words themselves have the power to transform reality. As Rebecca Chopp argue.s in The Power to Speak, "language can birth new meanings, new discourses, new signify-ing practices.''~6 On the one hand this can be most helpful; we need new meanings, new discourses, and new signifying practices that attend to those heretofore overlooked on the margins of our society and church. For example, the use of inclusive language in liturgical discourse makes it possible for women to know them-selves as addressed by God and as fully invited to worship of God in public. Or, we may need to suppress certain language patterns, such as the association of dark cake with "devil's food" and white cake with "angel's food" for the sake of people of color. However, changing words and expressions can be a double-edged sword. The risk of choosing new words to help dismantle an old order often means the lose of the valuable as well as the invaluable in the old. While the church did well do abandon use of such phrases as "you have a vocation," which often reduced the great mystery of responding to God to a possession of the elite, the substitution of member and membership to indicate par-ticipation in a community whose common self-understandings flow from a prophetic passion is a poor substitute. The word member indicates a juridical relationship defined by rights and responsibilities of a person in relation to an institution. We talk about being members of automobile clubs or other such groups to which we pay dues in return for services. Membership implies an exchange mentality where rights are honored only if one lives up to one's responsibilities. Vocation is a more adequate word to indicate the mystery of being claimed by a charism of the Holy Spirit and committing oneself to respond accordingly. The word vocation, to be called, is used in both religious and nonreligious circles to properly describe the mystery of finding oneself continually compelled to perform November-December 1994 855 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Charisms Inspiring Religious Life a certain function or enter a certain occupation. In specifically .religious circles vocation indicates the mystery of knowing one-self as called to throw one's talents and gifts behind a certain way or ways of manifesting the Gospel message. Although one may find the reception of such a call problematic or even confusing, demanding a certain receptivity, reflection, and discernment, the word itself points clearly to the reality indicated, whereas mem-bership does not. By arguing for a retrieval of the word vocation to indicate the mystery of call and response to a particular charism confirmed by the church, I am not suggesting a return to a two-story Christianity, where nuns and pri.ests were given privileged status or assumed to be somehow closer to God. The Baltimore cate-chism, familiar to many Catholics over the age of 35 and popular in United States Catholic catechesis from the late 1800s through the 1960s, implicitly taught an understanding of vocation with its first two questions. The questions "Who made you?" and "Why did God make you?" proclaimed a belief in all of us as called to work out our lives in tandem with the mystery of God's life within us. M1 of us must give shape to the strength and talents we have received as gift; all of us must allow our contribution to the fullness of God's dwelling in our midst to unfold. Implicit in the Baltimore catechism questions was a belief in vocation--one's personal purpose is not completely determined by oneself. We are here for a reason, for a meaning not completely of our own making. Self-conscious choice is only part of the story. Our lives are purposeful even when or if we cannot ascertain their purpose. Our purpose, our reason for being here at this time and in this place, in this body with this identity, is bound to a call beyond us, a call from the ultimate mystery of mysteries, our God. My desire is not to restrict the use of the word vocation; it is rather to suggest to those in religious orders to continue to use the word to express the reason for their affiliation with a partic-ular community and to suggest that those not in religious orders adopt the language to speak about their self-understanding of the call to all baptized believers to contribute to Jesus' mission. How Do We Educate about the Necessity of Charisms? Traditionally we educate about that which we deem important or valuable. For example, if we think table manners important to 856 Review for Religious one's acceptance by others, we teach them to children. Or, if we think Shakespeare valuable to one's understanding of Western civilization, then we encourage the reading and dramatization of his works. Thus, it would follow that if we considered the power of the charisms inspiring religious orders important to the church, we would educate those within the church about them. Those in religious orders need to anticipate, encourage, and be willing to respond to questions such as "Who is a Sister of Mercy?--a Jesuit?--a Benedictine?" Responses to these questions ought to be common knowledge within the church, and religious orders bear special responsibility not only for answering the ques-tions, but for encouraging such queries. Correlative questions are "Who is Catherine McAuley?--St. Ignatius?--Elizabeth Seton?" and "What does it mean to say this is a Jesuit institution?--a Charity hos-pital?" If religious orders recognize the need for these charisms to inspire our future church, then edu-cation about them must become as routine and ordinary as education in computer skills has become in our parishes, hospitals, schools, and social service agencies. Historically, education of chil-dren was the premiere work of religious orders in the United States. Today, the work of education in faith is much more com-plex and more urgent than it was when the Baltimore catechism flourished and the parish was a primary agent of socialization. If historian Patricia Bryne is correct in naming the dual challenge confronting church education in the United States today as the assimilation of Vatican II (which implies a criticism of the cul-ture) and the construction of a religious identity not linked to cultural separatisms,~7 religious orders might reflect upon how they have assimilated Vatican II and constructed a religious iden-tity not linked to the cloister, a form of cultural separatism. Religious orders met this challenge in general by focusing on If we considered the power of the charisms inspiring religious orders important to the church, we would educate those within the church about them. November-December 1994 857 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Cbarisms Inspiring Religious Life their founding charisms and considering how to adapt them to the signs of the times. It is the power and blessing of the charisms that transformed religious orders; perhaps their power and bless-ing can continue to transform our church. Our society needs the good works of religious orders, their efforts in health care, education, and social services. The church needs the charisms of these communities. Unfortunately, the legacy of the necessary adaptation of the charisms to the signs of the times is their present invisibility within the church.18 These charisms if known, celebrated, and claimed by those thrice-vowed and allowed to be engaged by those other than the thrice-vowed, are the key to the continued renewal of the church. Their power should not be underestimated, nor should the responsibility of the religious orders for their continuance be neglected. Notes * "Decree on the Up-To-Date Renewal of Religious Life," #2. All Vatican II quotations are from Abbott, Walter M. (ed.), The Documents of Vatican H (New York: America Press, 1966). 2 "The Constitution on the Church," #12b. 3 Canon 204, 1. see James A. Coriden et al (eds.), The Code of Canon Law: A Text and Commentary (New Jersey: Paulist Press, 1985). 4 See in particular Helen Rose Fuchs Ebaugh! Women in the Vanishing Clo

Issue 51.2 of the Review for Religious, March/April 1992. ; Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly at Saint Louis University, by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Telephone: 314-535-3048. Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Correspondence about the "Canonical Counsel" department: Elizabeth McDonough OP ¯ 5001 Eastern Avenue ¯ P.O. Box 29260 ~,¥ashington, D.C. 20017. I}OSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional offices. SUBSCRIPTION RATES Single copy $5.00 includes surface mailing costs. One-year subscription $15.00 plus mailing costs. Two-year subscription $28.00 plus mailing costs. See inside back cover for subscription information and mailing costs. ©1992 Review for Religious for religious Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Assistant Editors Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Michael G. Harter sJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe David J. Hassel SJ Mary Margaret Johanning SSND Iris Ann Ledden SSND Se;in Sammon FMS Wendy Wright PhD Suzanne Zuercher OSB Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living MARCH / APRIL1992 ¯ VOLUMES1 ¯ NUMBER2 contents 166 182 191 2O6 217 229 236 ministry and ministries The Spiritual Exercises as a Foundation for Educational Ministry Walter J. Burghardt SJ reflects on the vision and values given to educational ministry when it is permeated by the spirituality of Ignatius Loyola's Spiritual Exercises. Going the Distance, Sustaining the Gift Melannie Svoboda SND suggests some concrete ways that people can joyfully exercise their ministry over the long haul. Newman's Living the Oratory Charism Halbert G. Weidner CO explains the Oratory foundation of Philip Neri in order to highlight values significant to John Henry Newman's life. theology and spirituality The Resurrection Kernel Dennis Billy CSSR outlines the basic principle of the doctrine of the resurrection in order to show its influence in our way of living. The Fragile Connection between Prayer and Suffering Matthias Neuman OSB speaks from his own experience of how human suffering affects our prayer. To Choose Jesus for My Heaven Donald Macdonald SMM finds Julian of Norwich's insights into the maternal love of Jesus expressed in the Blessed Sacrament. religious life and renewal Seeing in the Dark Janet Ruffing RSM finds light in John of the Cross's description of the Dark Night for understanding the current turmoil in reli-gious life. 162 Review for Religious 249 260 267 Memories of the Future Thomas McKenna CM shows how eschatology as a style of thinking provides understanding for the renewal efforts in reli-gious life. Integrating Postmodernity and Tradition Reid Perkins OP encourages the greater use of narratives in reli-gious life to connect us to the tradition and at the same time to help us overcome the obliviousness of postmodern life. Religious-Life Issues in a Time of Transition John A. Grindel CM and Sean Peters CSJ summarize the results of various studies of U.S. religious life funded by the Lilly Endowment and point to issues still to be dealt with. living religiously 276 Cultivating Uselessness Rose Hoover RC proposes that in the very experience of useless-ness and foolishness lies the gift of religious life to a pragmatic society. 282 Therapy for Religious: The Troublesome Triangle Joyce Harris OSC offers some suggestions for a collaborative rela-tionship among therapist, the individual religious, and the com-munity and its representative. 289 294 Prenovitiate: Theory and Practice Anthony Steel SSG believes a prenovitiate program can help meet the challenges of contemporary cultural attitudes toward religious life and outlines the plan for his community. report U.S. Hispanic Catholics: Trends and Works 1991 Kenneth Davis OFM Conv reviews the various events and writ-ings in the Catholic Hispanic experience. departments 164 Prisms 303 Canonical Counseh Hermits and Virgins 309 Book Reviews March-April 1992 163 prisms Teilhard de Chardin in The Divine Milieu observes that the larger half of our lives is made up of what happens to us. His observation comes home to us each year as we celebrate the great high holy days of Christianity-- Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and Easter Sunday. Paradoxically Jesus accomplishes the work of redemption, his life's purpose, in what happens to him in his suffering, death, and resurrection. We enter into this paradox by our celebration of these days. We cannot change history, we cannot undo what has happened. Our celebration allows us in our own time to enter into what happened to Jesus and to be with him, to stand alongside, to feel com-passion- as helplessly as we listen to someone tell of being tortured by a totalitarian regime or as we sit at the bedside of a dying loved one. No activity of ours changes the event; compassionate presence is the difficult but precious gift we can give. Of course it is also our privilege to share in some-one's joy and happiness, as we do when we celebrate the res-urrection victory of Jesus. Despite the fact that so many of us are spectator-sports people, whether in the stadium or in front of the TV set, we are not comfortable being spectators of an evil we can-not eliminate and sometimes even of a happiness which lit-tle touches our lives. We may find other people's parties empty of fun for ourselves, and we may dread visiting a neighbor in the hospital.We would rather not drive through derelict inner-city neighborhoods, we would brush past the homeless person sleeping over heating grates in our down-towns, or we would switch TV channels if the images of starving Sudanese children with distended stomachs are too graphic. The problems seem too large for our efforts to make a difference. Our activity and our emotions seem 164 Review for Religious frozen. Even though we are members of the Body of Christ, we often choose not to see and not to hear. When hostages return exuberantly to waiting families, when a comatose girl revives to the joy of her parents, when government agencies extend unemployment benefits for those hurting in a reces-sion economy, how often do we feel a thrill and utter a prayer of thanks to God? Too often we keep ourselves emotionally distant even from the joys of others around us, probably because they just "happen" and leave us personally unaffected. St. Paul could state, by analogy with our human bodies, that if one member suffers all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members share its joy. The Easter events challenge us always in what we do and in what happens to us. If God is truly the God of our life, then we find the opportunity of meeting God both in what we set out to do and in what happens to us. Jesus' crucifixion confronts the activist in each of us to question our judgment about our most valued "work." All of our dyings become not the entropy of exhaustive waste, but graced moments of freedom to embrace another givenness of life from our God of life. When St. Paul challenged death--"Where is your sting?"--he did not close his eyes to the evils and losses which all the forms of dying represent. He trumpeted the Easter message that the Christ-redemption event changes not only our attitude but also our ability to value the whole of our life--its successes and accomplishments, its apparent waste matter of sin and failure. As Gospel models, Mary Magdalene (who may have confused sex and love) and Peter (who has grabbed for success and lied for survival) are the first among the evangelizers of this new creation event. Pope John Paul's appeal for a new evangelization takes form in us by our renewed attempt to integrate the active and passive aspects of our daily life. By living faith-lives as "other Christs" we make a dif-ference in what we do and in what we suffer. The call to a new evan-gelization invites us to explore further the struggles of justice and poverty and human living both at our doorstep and in our larger world. Making a difference often seems like planting seeds and hav-ing to wait for things to happen. Easter faith stirs us up in hope, moves us out in action, and integrates us in a compassionate patience. This Easter may the risen Lord embrace us anew with the grace of his passion for life. David L. Fleming sJ March-April 1992 165 WALTER J. BURGHARDT The Spiritual Exercises as a Foundation for Educational Ministry ministry and ministries To speak of basing an educational ministry on the Spiritual Exercises is something of a paradox, an apparent contra-diction. Two things simply do not seem to fit. Are not the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola an experience of the spirit, a thirty-day or eight-day retreat centered on the movement of the Christian soul to heaven, conducted in solitude, far from hustle and bustle, and preferably in silence? And is not a university or college a citadel of the intellect, where the stress is on knowledge, on books, where minds meet in constant conflict, where ideas clash, where noise is in the air, where silence is reserved for a corner of the library? I am not saying that the Spiritual Exercises and the groves of academe are interchangeable terms, that a col-lege or university is a retreat experience, that the class-room is a chapel, that learning is worship. My thesis is that the Spiritual Exercises can be, indeed should be, an exciting foundation for education Jesuit-style. More specif-ically, I see the Spiritual Exercises as a process of conver-sion which in an educational institution aims at altering in students, faculty, and staff (1) their world of learning, the Walter J. Burghardt SJ is director of the Woodstock Theo-logical Center Project Preaching the ffust Word. This article retains the flavor of its original oral presentation made at Creighton University in Omaha, Nebraska, in April 1991. Father Burghardt's address is Manresa-on-Severn; P.O. Box 9; Annapolis, Maryland 21404. 166 Review for Religious life of the mind; (2) their world of loving, their human and reli-gious imagination and affection; (3) their world of living, the life of social realities. Let me explain what I mean in each of these three cases. First, the Spiritual Exercises should alter your world of learn-ing, that is, the life of your mind. You see, basic to the life of the mind, at the root of a university's existence, is a momentous mono-syllable: Why? Why study art and the arts, physical science or political science, law or business or medicine? Now Ignatius does not ask that question in those terms. But "spiritual exercises" he defines as "every way of preparing and disposing" ourselves to remove "all disordered attachments and, after their removal, of seeking and finding God's will in the way we direct our lives.''1 And there definitely are disordered approaches to the life of the mind, strange reasons why some go to college or university or professional school. I am not thinking of the more superficial reasons--college as a four-year Hammer dance2 interrupted by class. I am thinking of an approach to business education guided by a powerful principle: what makes the world go round is economics, and what makes the economy work is greed, the almighty dollar. I am thinking of gifted music and drama students whose aim is fame, the lust for applause, even the TV laugh machine. I am thinking of political-science students whose primary purpose is political power, the thrill in manipulating other men and women. A heart-rending example in this area is Lee Atwater, the manager of George Bush's 1988 presidential campaign who almost single-handedly turned the tide against Dukakis. Not long before his death at forty from a brain tumor on 29 March, this gifted man~ with an incredible instinct for the jugular made this poignant confession: The '80s were about acquiring--acquiring wealth, power, prestige. I know, I acquired more wealth, power and pres-tige than most. But you can acquire all you want and still feel empty. It took a deadly illness to put me eye to eye with that truth, but it is a truth that the country, caught up in its ruthless ambitions and moral decay, can learn on my dime.3 Not that money, fame, power are immoral in themselves; they are not. Without money a university would have little to offer to anyone. Fame makes it easier for the deprived to know you, to beg for the crumbs that fall from your table. Political power makes March-April 1992 167 Burghardt ¯ The Exercises for Educational Ministry possible not only a Persian Gulf war but legislated housing for the poor. Ignatius forces on the retreatant that insistent mono-syllable: Why? Even more radically, the Spiritual Exercises can keep you from segregating learning into a pigeonhole of its own, divorced from the thrust of the spirit towards God. I do not mean that all of learning becomes a religious enterprise. Vatican II made that quite clear. With Vatican I, it distinguished "'two orders of knowl-edge' which are distinct," declared that "the Church does not indeed forbid that 'when the human arts and sciences are practiced they use their own principles and their proper method, each in its own domain.'" In consequence, the council "affirms the legiti-mate autonomy of human culture and especially of the sciences.''4 My point is, the life of the mind is perilously impoverished if knowledge does not lead to wonder. Not sheer questioning: I wonder if Israel should continue populating the West Bank. In the grasp of wonder I marvel: I am surprised, amazed, delighted, enraptured. It is MaW pregnant by God's Spirit: "My spirit finds delight in God my Savior" (Lk 1:47). It is Magdalen about to touch her risen Jesus: "Master!" (Jn 20:16). It is doubting Thomas discovering his God in the wounds of Jesus. It is Michelangelo striking his sculptured Moses: "Speak!" It is Alexander Fleming fascinated by the very first antibiotic, America thrilling to the first footsteps on the moon. It is Mother Teresa cradling a naked retarded child in the rubble of West Beirut, a crippled old man in the excrement of Calcutta. It is the wonder of a first kiss. Such, sooner or later, should be your reaction to the life of learning, such the wonder that should permeate the life of your mind. Not a new methodology for biology or psychology; simply awe in the presence of a fascinating four-letter reality: life. The multifaceted, myriad miracle of life. Amazement at what breadths and depths there are to being alive--from the architectural artistry of the ant and the grace of a loping panther, through the blind-ing speed of a white marlin and the majestic flight of the bald eagle, to the beating heart of a unique fetus, the inspired imagery of Shakespeare, the fantastic forty-eight measures of Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker," the transforming insight of Einstein. With such wonder you may hope to touch the pinnacle of knowledge. For, as philosopher Jacques Maritain discovered, the height of human knowing is not conceptual; it is experiential. Man or woman feels God. Yes, feels" God. 168 Review for Religious Am I ignoring Ignatius? Have I been distracted from his Spiritual Exercises? Quite the contrary. The Spiritual Exercises are an adventure in experience, in wonder. With all the power of your mental faculties, you enter the kingdom of contemplation--what contemplative William McNamara called % long loving look at the real." The real: all there is--the things of God, the people of God, God's very self. And the high purpose of all this? To be struck, surprised, stunned by the wonder of it all--from the ecstasy of Eden unspoiled, through sin's rape of the earth and earth's dwellers, to the unique love of God-in-our-flesh pinned to a cross, and our rebirth in his rising from the rock. The net effect? Ignatius's final contemplation, the acme of the Exercises: Learning to Love Like God. Here you touch the heart of Ignatius, his awareness of the ceaseless presence of Christ to our earth--now. "Consider," he counsels, "how [Christ] labors for me in all creatures.''s Not a vague, ultrapious generality. Christ behaves like a worker, a laborer, in each and every creature of his creation. How is it that the Rockies still rise in breathtaking splendor, Venus shines brighter than any star, and oil gushes from the fields of Nebraska? Because a risen Christ gives them being. Not once for all; continuously, day after day. How is it that forsythia can herald the approach of spring, corn turn into hot buttered popcorn for your theater, giant red-woods stalk the California sky? Because an imaginative Christ gives them life. How is it that your Irish setter can smell the game beyond your ken, gulls scavenge your ocean, the shad ascend the waters? Because a sensitive Christ gives them senses. How is it that you, this wondrous wedding of molecules and spirit, can shape an idea or send a skyscraper soaring, unveil mystery in a microscope or telescope, join with another--man or woman or God--in deathless oneness? Because Christ labors in you to give you intelligence and love--intelligence that mimics the mind of God, love that stems from a cross on the outskirts of Jerusalem. A thing of beauty and a joy for ever, this life of the mind. But only if the arts and sciences, if professions like law and medicine and business, that legitimately engross you open you to the still richer reality that surrounds you, invades you, transcends you, gives fresh life to the mind you treasure so rightly, the mind you The life of the mind is perilously impoverished if knowledge does not lead to wonder. March-April 1992 169 Burghardt ¯ The Exercises for Educational Ministry accept so lightly. Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises are not the only "way to go." But for openers in two senses--a beginning and an opening--as a basis, a foundation, for the life of the mind, the Spiritual Exercises are an experience difficult to exceed. Second, the Spiritual Exercises should alter your world of loving, that is, your human and religious imagination and affec-tion. Basic to this affirmation is a realization: The life of the human spirit is not circumscribed by reason, by your ability to grasp ideas, to draw conclusions from facts and premises. If your intellectual existence is simply a model of Cartesian clarity, you are limping along on one leg. What is the lamentable lacuna? Imagination. What is this strange creature we call imagination?6 To begin with, what is imagination not? It is not the same thing as fantasy. Fantasy has come to mean the grotesque, the bizarre. That is fan-tastic which is unreal, irrational, wild, unrestrained. We speak of "pure fantasy": It has no connection with reality. It is imagination run wild, on the loose, unbridled, uncontained.7 What is it, then? Imagination is the capacity we have "to make the material an image of the immaterial or spiritual.''8 It is a cre-ative power. You find it in Rembrandt's self-portraits, in Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, in the odor of a new rose or the flavor of an old wine. You find it in dramatists like Aeschylus and Shakespeare, in poets from Sappho to Gerard Manley Hopkins, in storytellers like C.S. Lewis and Stephen King. Now, when I say "capacity," I do not mean a "faculty" like intellect or will. I mean rather a posture of my whole person towards my experience.9 It is a way of seeing. It is, as with Castaneda, looking for the holes in the world or listening to the space between sounds. It is a breaking through the obvious, the surface, the superficial, to the reality beneath and beyond. It is the world of wonder and intuition, of amazement and delight, of fes-tivity and play. How does imagination come to expression? Let me focus on specifically religious imagination. I sketch five ways. 1. A vision. I mean "the emergence either in dreams, trance, or ecstasy, of a pattern of images, words, or dreamlike dramas which are experienced then, and upon later reflection, as having revelatory significance." 10 Examples? Isaiah's vision of the Lord in the temple (Is 6); Moses and Elijah appearing to Jesus and the disciples on the Mount of Transfiguration (Mt 17:1-9); Joan of Arc's "voices"; St. Margaret Mary's vision of the Sacred Heart. 170 Review for Religious 2. Ritual. The form of ritual is action--public, dramatic, pat-terned. A group enacts the presence of the sacred and partici-pates in that presence, usually through some combination of dance, chant, sacrifice, or sacrament.11 3. Story. I mean a narrative, a constellation of images, that recounts incidents or events. As Sallie TeSelle put it, "We all love a good story because of the basic nar-rative quality of human experience: in a sense any story is about ourselves, and a good story is good precisely because somehow it rings true to human life . We recognize our pilgrimage from here to there in a good story.''12 For the religious imagina-tion, three types of stories are particularly impor-tant: parable, allegory, and myth; the parables of Jesus, Lewis's "Chronicles of Narnia," and the Creation myth.13 4. The fine arts. I mean painting and poetry, sculpture and architecture, music, dancing, and dra-matic art. I mean da Vinci and John Donne, the "PietY" and Chartres, Beethoven's "Missa Solemnis," David whirling and skipping before the Ark of the Covenant, the mystery dramas of the Middle Ages. I mean films. 5. Symbol. What symbol means is not easy to say, for even within theology it does not have a univocal sense. Let me define it, with Avery Dulles, as "an externally perceived sign that works mysteriously on the human consciousness so as to suggest more than it can clearly describe or define." 14 Not every sign is a sym-bol. A mere indicator ("This way to the art museum") is not a symbol. "The symbol is a sign pregnant with a depth of meaning which is evoked rather than explicitly stated.''is It might be an artifact, a person, an event, words, a story--parable, allegory, myth. The importance of symbols, of imagination, in a university? I make three points. First, imagination is not at odds with knowl-edge; imagination is a form of cognition. In Whitehead's words, "Imagination is not to be divorced from the facts; it is a way of illuminating the facts.''16 True, it is not a process of reasoning; it is not abstract thought, conceptual analysis, rational demonstra-tion, syllogistic proof. Notre Dame of Paris is not a thesis in the-ology; Lewis's famous trilogy does not demonstrate the origin of evil; Hopkins is not analyzing God's image in us when he sings Imagination is not at odds with knowledge; imagination is a form of cognition. Marcb-April 1992 171 Burghardt ¯ The Exercises for Educational Ministry that "Christ plays in ten thousand places, / Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his / To the Father through the features of men's faces.''17 And still, imaging and imagining is a work of our intellectual nature; through it our spirit reaches the true, the beautiful, and the good. Second, imagination does not so much teach as evoke; it calls something forth from you. And so it is often ambiguous; the image can be understood in different ways. Do you remember the reporters who asked Martha Graham, "Miss Graham, what does your dance mean?" She replied: "Darlings, if I could tell you, I would not have danced it!" Something is lost when we move from imagining to thinking, from art to conceptual clarity. Not that imagination is arbitrary, that "Swan Lake" or the Infancy Narrative or "Hamlet" or the Transfiguration is whatever anyone wants to make of it, my gut feeling. Hostile to a valid imagina-tion is "the cult of imagination for itself alone; vision, phantasy, ecstasy for their own sakes; creativity, spontaneity on their own, without roots, without tradition, without discipline.''1~ Amos Wilder was right: "Inebriation is no substitute for paideia.''19 And still it is true, the image is more open-ended than the con-cept, less confining, less imprisoning. The image evokes our own imagining. Third, religion itself is a system of symbols. As sociologist Andrew Greeley saw, "religion was symbol and story long before it became theology and philosophy and., the poetry of religion was not inferior to its prose but rather anterior to it and, in terms of the whole human person, in some ways superior to it.''2° Biblical revelation is highly symbolic. Skim the Hebrew Scriptures: a burning bush, the miracles of the Exodus, the theo-phanies of Sinai, the "still small voice" heard by Elijah, the visions of the prophets and seers. Scan the New Testament: the circum-stances surrounding Jesus' conception and birth, the descent of the Spirit in the form of a dove, the transfiguration, Calvary, the res-urrection. Take key themes like the kingdom of God, its expres-sion in Jesus' proverbial sayings, in the Lord's Prayer, in the Gospel parables. The kingdom is not a clear concept with a uni-vocal significance. It is a symbol that "can represent or evoke a whole range or series of conceptions or ideas.''21 Turn from Scripture to the Catholic-Protestant problematic. Greeley's research persuades him that "the fundamental differ-ences between Catholicism and Protestantism are not doctrinal or 172 Review for Religious ethical" but "differing sets of symbols.''22 Take the central symbol: God.23 The classical literature of the Catholic tradition assumes a God who is present in the world, disclosing Himself in and through creation. The world and all its events, objects, and people tend to be somewhat like God. The Protestant classics, on the other hand, assume a God who is radically absent from the world and who discloses Herself only on rare occasions (especially in Jesus Christ and Him cruci-fied). The world and all its events, objects, and people tend to be radically different from God.24 Even more concretely, Greeley insists, their different images of God account for different religious behavior between Catholics and Protestants. In the Protestant imagination God is perceived as distant (father, judge, king, master); in the Catholic imagination God is perceived as present (mother, lover, friend, spouse).2s Another crucial example: two approaches to human society shaped by different imaginative pictures. The Catholic tends to see society as a "sacrament" of God, a set of ordered relationships, governed by both justice and love, that reveal, however imperfectly, the presence of God. Society is "natural" and "good," therefore, for humans and their natural response to God is social. The Protestant, on the other hand, tends to see human society as "God-for-saken" and therefore unnatural and oppressive. The indi-vidual stands over against society and not integrated into it. The human becomes fully human only when he is able to break away from social oppression and relate to the absent God as a completely free individual.26 A final example from Greeley's sociological research: The image that most sharply distinguishes the Catholic tradition from other Christian traditions is Mary the mother of Jesus. No one else has Madonna statues in church. MaW is essen-tial to Catholicism, not perhaps on the level of doctrine but surely on the level of imagination, because she more than any other image blatantly confirms the sacramental instinct: the whole of creation and all its processes, especially its lifegiving and life-nurturing processes, reveal the lurking and passionate love of God.27 Once again, have I been distracted from Ignatius and his Spiritual Exercises? Not really. The Exercises, for all their appeal to the Christian intelligence, are not a head trip. They are first and foremost an experience. An experience of Catholic symbols: Adam and Eve and Eden, angels and Satan, hellfire, a virgin and a crib, March-April 1992 173 Burghardt ¯ The Exercises for Educational Ministry The events of Jesus" earthly existence must be seen as a 'today." Egypt and Jerusalem, the transfiguration, bread and wine, blood and water from the side of Christ, nail marks in risen hands, an ascension into heaven. But the experience is not cold reason. Take the experience of sin's devastating impact on angels and humans, sin's ravishing of God's good earth. When you go through the Spiritual Exercises, you do not simply define sin, recall a traditional definition: any thought, word, or action against God's law. Your senses get into the act: you smell sin's stench. Even more importantly, you see sin's cost, image it, weep over it; for sin's cost is a cross, the pierced hands of a God-man. The God-man. The Exercises are a constant contemplation--contemplation of Christ. Never abstract theology, though theology informs it all. In Bethlehem's cave you are a servant; you not only listen to Mary and Joseph, you "smell the infinite flagrance and taste the infinite sweetness of the divinity.''28 You flee with that unique family into Egypt, feel what it means to be a refugee in the Middle East. In a decisive meditation you not only contrast "two standards," two scenarios for orienting your life. The standards take flesh in two persons: in a Satan who inspires "horror and terror," who makes you lust for riches, for honor, for pride; and in a living Christ who attracts you to poverty, insults, and humil-ity.: 9 It is not only Jesus who is tempted in the wilderness; you wrestle with your personal devils, sweat through the temptations that jolted Jesus: Use your powers, your gifts, your possessions just for your own fantastic self, for the sweet smell of success. Like the sinful woman, you wash our Lord's feet with your tears, feel your sins forgiven because you too have "loved much" (Lk 7:47). And so into Christ's passion, which you no longer study with scholarly detachment, comparing different traditions, reconcil-ing inconsistencies. Ignatius wants you to feel: grief and shame indeed, "because the Lord is going to his suffering for [your] sins,''3° but even, if possible, the kiss that betrayed him, the nails that held him fast. And finally, joy in the risen Christ. Not sim-ply a sense of relief; rather your whole being bursting with new life, his life, as you share his rising with his Mother, try to touch him with Magdalen, munch seafood with him and the Eleven. This is not simply your own picture show, on a level with 174 Review for Religious Kevin Costner "Dancing with !/Volves.''31 Ignatius playing with your capacity to imagine is attempting something terribly signif-icant psychologically and spiritually. This "application of the senses" goes back to a medieval tradition that reached Ignatius through a book he read while convalescing from cannon wounds back at Loyola.32 The unknown Franciscan author had written: If you wish to draw profit from these meditations., make everything that the Lord Jesus said and did present to your-self, just as though you were hearing it with your ears and seeing it with your eyes . And even when it is related in the past tense you should contemplate it all as though pres-ent today. VChy is this highly significant for an intelligent spirituality? Because you are no longer looking at the life of Christ sheerly as history, something that took place in the past. The events of Jesus' earthly existence must be seen as a "today," the historical hap-penings drawn into your own world here and now. That is how you achieve not abstract knowledge but what the medievals called "familiarity with Christ," an understanding that takes hold not only of discursive reasoning but of the whole person. Imagination leads to love--a direct experience of love. Ignatius films in living color what Aquinas phrased in attractive abstraction: There are two ways of desiring knowledge. One way is to desire it as a perfection of one's self; and that is the way philosophers desire it. The other way is to desire it not [merely] as a perfection of one's self but because through this knowledge the one we love becomes present to us; and that is the way saints desire it.34 Third, the Spiritual Exercises should alter your world of liv-ing, that is, the life of social realities. Here three facets call for clarification: social realities, the Exercises, and you. What do I mean by social realities? I mean the life of a soci-ety, the life that moves beyond the individual in isolation to com-munity, people interacting, impacting one on another, human persons depending on one another. How do the Spiritual Exercises touch social realities? After all, did not Ignatius himself describe the Exercises as "every way of preparing and disposing" ourselves to remove "all disordered attachments and, after their removal, of seeking and finding God's will in the way we direct our lives"?3s This sounds rather indi-vidualistic, does it not? Or, at best, quite vague. March-April 1992 175 Burghardt ¯ The Exercises for Educational Ministry I am aware that in 1975 the 32nd General Congregation of Jesuits declared, "The mission of the Society of Jesus today is the service of faith, of which the promotion of justice is an absolute requirement.''36 And it went on to assert a bit later: Every sector of our educational works should be subjected to constant review, so that they will not only continue to form young people and adults able and willing to build a more just social order, but do so ever more effectively. Especially should we help form our Christian students as "men [and women]-for-others" in a mature faith and in per-sonal attachment to Jesus Christ, persons whose lively faith impels them to seek and find Christ in the service of their fellow men [and women]. Thus we shall contribute to form-ing persons who will themselves multiply the work of world-wide education.-~7 But our specific question remains: Granted that our colleges should prepare women and men to construct a more just social order, how do the Spiritual Exercises lay a foundation for the social-justice component of Jesuit education? Almost a half century ago, a young Jesuit who had not yet taken his final vows in the Society was asked by his provincial to direct the annual eight-day retreat for the Jesuit theology stu-dents at Alma in California. In the course of the retreat, director Father George H. Dunne reflected on a number of social issues. Dealing with the Sermon on the Mount, for example, and the two great commandments, he "talked about poverty, peace, war, not in the abstract but in the concrete." He "talked about anti- Semitism, Hitler's holocaust, racial segregation, the rat-infested tenements in New York, the exploitation of migrant farm work-ers, the Spanish Civil War, the anguish of the world's poor . -38 Not long after, he received a letter from the representative of the Jesuit superior general for the American provinces during World War II. Father Zacheus J. Maher charged Father Dunne with substituting for the Spiritual Exercises a series of "brilliant talks on social subjects." "Such subjects," he declared, "have no place in the Spiritual Exercises.''> Let us make an admission: Our neighbor, the wider society, is not explicit in the text of the Exercises.4° Not surprising; for the Exercises "are addressed to individuals, and they seek to enable a person to have the interior freedom to serve God . -41 But if you delve more deeply, you discover how profoundly social, societal, the Exercises are. 176 Review for Religious You see, the Ignatian meditations point you ceaselessly to Christ, to the Christ of the Gospels, in that way to absorb the mind of Christ. And so you focus on the programmatic scene in Nazareth's synagogue, where Jesus makes his own the announce-ment in Isaiah: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, for he has anointed me. He has sent me to preach good news to the poor, to proclaim release for pris-oners and sight for the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, and to proclaim the Lord's year of favor" (Lk 4:1 8-1 9).42 Through the Exercises that program ceases to be pecu-liarly Jesus'; it becomes your own. What Second Isaiah announced to the people of his day Jesus announces to the poor and impris-oned, the blind and deprived of his day. And this is what Christians in the mold of Ignatius announce to the downtrodden of their day. With Ignatius in the final Contemplation for Learning to Love Like God, you ponder profoundly how Christ "labors for [you] in all creatures on the face of the earth, that is, he behaves like one who labors. In the heav-ens, the elements, the plants, the fruits, the cattle, [man and woman], he gives being, conserves them in existence, confers life and sensation, and so on.''43 And you ask to labor with Christ as he ceaselessly creates, recreates, redeems a fallen world. Last Easter a Catholic professor of history ended his regular column in a diocesan newspaper with two puzzling sentences: "When Jesus rose from the dead, he did not go about lecturing on the social problems of his day. Instead he manifested himself in glory to his disciples in a manner that empowered them to go forth as his courageous emissaries.''44 But neither did the risen Jesus go about celebrating the Eucharist and fingering his rosary. And what did he empower them to go forth to do? To baptize indeed; to preach what he preached. But did he not preach loving your sisters and brothers as Jesus loved you? Does such loving have nothing to do with war on the womb or war in the Middle East? Nothing to do with inhuman poverty or child abuse? Nothing to do with racism or the rape of the earth? What you should experience through the Exercises is that by God's design and initiative human existence is fundamentally social, societal:4s we are "we" before we are "I" and "thou." This By God's design and initiative human existence is fundamentally social, societal. March-April 1992 177 Burghardt ¯ The Exercises for Educational Ministry is central in Christian revelation and of primary importance for our contemporary culture of individualism, where we think first of self and then how we can join with others in community--as though community did not precede the individual genetically, psychically, socially, and spiritually.46 Even Catholic social teach-ing frequently fails to position this fact front and center, because it lays down as primary in its social ethics the "dignity of the human person, who is made to the image of God." From there the teaching argues to the God-invested rights of the individual which other individuals and institutions must respect. This misses the point of the Genesis story (on which it is often based) that the "Adam" who is given such dignity is not an individual but "the hmnan," our whole race in personification.47 How does all this touch us? Very simply, a university or col-lege ought to be not only the seedbed of learning and imagination; it should be the boot camp of our societal existence. The Jesuit educational ideal is not the intellectual mole who lives almost entirely underground, surfaces occasionally for fresh air and a Big Mac, burrows back down to the earthworms before people can distract him. No. A college is where young men and women who may one day profoundly influence America's way of life touch, some for the first time, the ruptures that sever us from our earth, from our sisters and brothers, from our very selves. Not simply in an antiseptic classroom, for all its high importance for under-standing. Even more importantly, experience of rupture: experi-ence not only of ecology but of an earth irreparably ravaged, not only abstract poverty but the stomach-bloated poor, not only the words "child abuse" but the vacant stare of the child abused, not only a book on racism but the hopelessness or hatred in human hearts. To yearn for such experience, I know no better introduc-tion than experiencing the Christ of the Spiritual Exercises, the conversion consequent on seeing Christ more clearly, loving him more dearly. Can you get a 4.0, be learned, a scholar, without such a con-version? Undoubtedly. Can you make megabucks in business or law, in medicine or government without such a conversion? Undoubtedly. Can you marry well, raise two and a half children, treat them to an Ivy school education without such a conversion? Undoubtedly. Can you be deliriously happy without such a con-version? Undoubtedly. Can you live an integrated human and Christian existence without such a conversion? I doubt it. 178 Review for Religious Notes i Spiritual Exercises 1; translation partially mine. 2 Reference to a type of dancing currently in high favor with the young and involving amazing hyperactivity. 3 Thomas B. Edsall, "GOP Battler Lee Atwater Dies at 40," Washington Post, 30 March 1991, 1 and 7. 4 Second Vatican Council, Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, no. 59. s Spiritual Exercises 236. For Christ as the "creator and Lord" of this contemplation, see Hugo Rahner SJ, Ignatius the Theologian (New York: Herder and Herder, 1968 / San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1991), p. 134. 6 Here I am drawing largely, but not entirely, on material in nay book Preaching: The Art and the Craft (New York/Mahwah: Paulist, 1987), pp. 19-25. 7 I am aware that fantasy does not have to mean the bizarre; I am speaking of a com~non current usage. The development was concisely expressed in l/Vebster's New International Dictionary of the English Language (2nd ed. unabridged; Springfield, Mass.: Merriam, 1958), p. 918: "From the conception of fantasy as the faculty of mentally reproducing sensible objects, the meaning appears to have developed into: first, false or delu-sive mental creation; and second, any senselike representation in the mind, equivalent to the less strict use of imagination and fancy. Later fan-tasy acquired, also, a somewhat distinctive usage, taking over the sense of whimsical, grotesque, or bizarre image making. This latter sense, however, did not attach itself to the variant phantasy, which is used for visionary or phantasmic imagination." See also Urban T. Hohnes III, Ministry and Imagination (New York: Seabury, 1976), pp. 100-103. ~ Holmes, ibid, pp. 97-98. Here Holmes is a&nittedly borrowing from Owen Barfield, Saving the Appearances: A Study in Idolatry (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, n.d.). 9 See Holmes, ibid, p. 88. 10 Theodore W. Jennings Jr., Introduction to Theology: An Invitation to Reflection upon the Christian Mythos (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), p. 49. 1~ See ibid, p. 52. 12 Sallie M. TeSelle, cited by Holmes, Ministry and Imagination, p. 166, from the Journal of the American Academy of Religion 42 (1974): 635. ~3 Lest the reader be unduly disturbed, myth is not opposed to fact or to fancy. Its raw material tnay he fact or it may be fancy; in either case it intends "to narrate the fundamental structure of human being in the world. By the concreteness of its imagery, the universality of its intention, its narrative or stoW form, the myth evokes the identification and par-ticipation of those for whom it functions as revelatory" (Jennings, Introduction to Theology, pp. 51-52). ~4 Avery Dulles SJ, "The Symbolic Structure of Revelation," March-April 1992 179 Burghardt ¯ The Exercises for Educational Ministry Theological Studies 41 (1980): 55-56. Dulles studies the five dominant approaches to revelation: the propositional, historical, mystical, dialecti-cal, and symbolic--with greatest stress on the symbolic. He asks how in each theory revelation is mediated and what kind of truth it has. He con-cludes that in Christ the five aspects coalesce in a kind of unity, but insists that the first four are reconciled and held in unity through the symbolic facet. ~s Ibid, p. 56. 16 A. N. Whitehead, The Aims of Education and Other Essays (New York: Macmillan, 1929), p. 139. 17 Gerard Manley Hopkins, "As kingfishers catch fire. ," Poem 57 in W. H. Gardner and N.H. Mackenzie, eds., The Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins (London: Oxford University, 1970), p. 90. ~ Amos Niven Wilder, Theopoetic: Theology and the Religious Imagination (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), p. 57. ~') Ibid, p. 67. ~,0 Andrew M. Greeley, The Catholic Myth: The Behavior and Beliefs of American Catholics (New York: Scribner's, 1990), p. 37. 21 Norman Perrin, Jesus and the Language of the Kingdom (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), p. 33. ~2 Greeley, The Catholic ~Vlyth, p. 44. 23 Here Greeley (p. 45) admits his dependence on David Tracy's The Analogical Imagination (New York: Crossroad, 1981). 24 Greeley, The C)ttholic Myth, p. 45. ~5 See ibid, p. 55. 26 Ibid, p. 45. Hcre, too, Greeley is indebted to David Tracy. Note Greeley's warning to his readers that the word "tend" is "used advisedly. Zero-sum relationships do not exist in the world of the preconscious" (ibid). -,7 Ibid, p. 253. See p. 254: "I argue., that the obvious functional role of Mary the mother of Jesus in the Catholic tradition is to reflect the mother love of God." For detailed presentation of the origins and func-tion of the Mary symbol, see Greeley's The Mary Myth (New York: Seabury, 1977). 2~ Spiritual Exercises 124; text from Louis J. Puhl sJ, The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius (Chicago: Loyola University, 195 I), p. 55. 29 Spiritual Exercises 140, 146 (Puhl, pp. 60, 62). 30 Spiritual Exercises 193 (Puhl, p. 81). 31 A current fihn that made off with a number of Academy awards. 3~ The book was Meditationes vitae Christi, long attributed to St. Bonaventure but actually composed by an unknown Franciscan of the fourteenth century; see Rahner, Ignatius the Theologian (n. 5 above), pp. 192-193. Quoted from Rahner, ibid, p. 193. 180 Review for Religious 34 1 have not been able as yet to document this text. 3s Spiritual Exercises 1 ; translation partially mine. 36 Documents of the Thirty-second General Congregatio,z of the Society of Jesus, 2 December 1974--7 March 1975 I, 4 (Washington, D.C.: Jesuit Conference, [1975]), p. 17. 37 Ibid, I, 4, pp. 35-36. 38 King's Pawn: The Memoirs of George H. Dunue, s.J. (Chicago: Loyola University, 1990), p. 70. 39 Ibid, pp. 69, 70. q0 See useful material in Dean Brackley SJ, "Downward Mobility: Social Implications of St. Ignatius's Two Standards," Studies in the Spirituality of Jesuits 20, no. 4 (January 1988): 53; also in Thomas E. Clark SJ, "Ignatian Spirituality and Societal Consciousness," ibid, 7, no. 4 (September 1975): 127-150. 4~ Brackley, "Downward Mobility," p. 12. 42 On this episode see Joseph A. Fitzmyer SJ, The Gospel according to Luke (I-IX) (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1981), p. 529: "Luke had deliberately put this story [4:16-30] at the beginning of the public min-istry to encapsulate the entire ministry of Jesus and the reaction to it." 43 Spiritual Exercises 236; translation partially mine. 44james Hitchcock in St. Louis Review, 29 March 1991, p. 11. 4s See Clarke (n. 40 above), pp. 128-129, for the advantages of the adjective "societal" over "social" in reference to apostolate and ministry. "Social" efforts "seek immediately and personally to alleviate the misery of those individuals who are deprived." "Societal" activity "concerns itself immediately with the healing and transformation of those human struc-tures, institutions, processes, and environments which draw persons into misery or make it difficult for them to emerge from it." 46 See Matthew Lamb, "The Social and Political Dimensions of Lonergan's Theology," in Vernon Gregson, ed., The Desires of the Human Heart (New York/Mahwah: Paulist, 1988), p. 270. 471 owe this paragraph to notes of James L. Connor sJ, director of the Woodstock Theological Center, Washington, D.C., prepared for the inau-gural retreat of my project Preaching the Just Word, an effort to move the preaching of social-justice issues more effectively into the Catholic pul-pits of the United States. March-April 1992 181 MELANNIE SVOBODA Going the Distance, Sustaining the Gift an one of her newspaper columns, Ellen Goodman describes pheno~nenon called "compassion fatigue." This occurs when people who are normally sensitive and generous get "tired of caring." Most Americans, Goodman maintains, are very caring in emergencies. She writes: "We are great at performing the one-night stands for causes. Christmas dinner for the poor, collec-tions for victims of fire or flood or famine." But if the emergency situation becomes chronic, many of us find it difficult to sustain our initial level of concern. When compassion fatigue sets in, says Goodman, "A gift can begin to feel like an obligation, generosity can turn into resentment, and sympathy can turn hard." I think Goodman's article has definite implications for those of us involved in ministry in the church. Let us face it: most of us are in ministry not for a one-night stand. We are in it for years, maybe even for life. The problems we deal with every day--igno-rance, poverty, injustice, sickness, violence--will not go away overnight--or even in a matter of a few years. So the question we have to ask ourselves is: How do we keep our compassion alive over the long haul? How do we fan the flame of enthusiasm for a lifetime of service in the church? Before I suggest some ways of doing this, I would like to say a few words about why. For everything I say is based on the premise Melannie Svoboda SND, with whom our readers are well acquainted, resides at Notre Dame Academy; Route One, Box 197; Middleburg, Virginia 22117. 182 Review for Religious that coinpassion and enthusiasm are essential for ministry in the church. Without them, ministry is at best a mere show and at worst a perversion of the very Gospel we claim to proclaim. To illustrate this fact, I tried to come up with an image of ministry as compassionate, generous, and enthusiastic--and not something performed out of a sense of obligation and even with resentment. The image I came up with may appear an unlikely one: feeding chickens! But let me explain. Feeding Chickens I was born and raised on a small goose farm in Willoughby Hills, Ohio. That rural "initial formation" continues to influence my outlook on life. On our farm we had hundreds of white Emden geese. It was my father and brothers who had the job of feeding them. But we also had a couple dozen chickens, and the task of feeding them usually fell to my mother, my sister, or me. Now what is the connection between feeding chickens and ministering in today's church? Simple. The way I see it, there are three essential elements to proper chicken feeding (and, I might add, to proper church ministry). First, there is the feed itself--the corn, the mash, whatever. The feed is the gift we bring to the chickens. More than that, it is their source of nourishment, of life itself. Without too much of a stretch of the imagination, we can say that the chicken feed is the "good news" we bring each day to our chickens. The second element of chicken feeding involves calling the chickens. We have to get their attention, alert them to the feed we have for them. But a good chicken feeder goes beyond merely calling the chickens. He or she establishes a relationship with them. The feeder talks to the chickens, even thanking them for the fine eggs they have been laying. For a good chicken feeder (like a good church minister) is always aware of being a receiver as well as a giver. The third element of chicken feeding (and of ministry) is the actual broadcasting of the feed. How does an experienced chicken feeder broadcast the feed? Eagerly, generously, unsparingly. Now that is an image of ministry at its best, ministry with compassion and enthusiasm. Ministry at its worst would be the person who sets out to feed the chickens grumbling and mum-bling the whole way to the chicken coop. "I have got to feed those March-April 1992 183 Svoboda ¯ Going the Distance stupid chickens--again. I just fed them yesterday. They're never satisfied. All they do is eat, eat, eat. What good are they, any-way?" Such a feeder might not even call the chickens, thinking: "If I don't call them, maybe they won't come, and then I won't have to feed them." But, of course, the chickens do come, called or uncalled. And how does this kind of feeder broadcast the feed? Perhaps sparingly: "A kernel for you, a kernel for you . " Or angrily, throwing handfuls of feed down on the ground in dis-gust. Or hastily, dumping the whole pail of feed in one spot, just to get the job over with. That is an image of ministry when compassion fatigue has set in. I maintain that ministering in such a way is a contradiction of the Gospel. For we are called to proclaim the good news, not the "ho-hum" news, not the "halfway decent" news. We are called to love the people to whom we minister, not "put up with" them or view them as a nuisance. If we can no longer minister with gen-uine compassion or with vibrant enthusiasm, then maybe we should not be ministering. Years ago I had a Scripture teacher who made this point very clear. He said that on a given day we might wake up crabby, dis-couraged, depressed, mad at the whole world and every human being in it. On such a morning, maybe we should call the office, the school, or the parish and say in all honesty and humility, "I won't be in. I cannot in conscience represent the Gospel today." The suggestion, though perhaps a little extreme, does make a salient point: an anti-sign to the Gospel is probably worse than no sign at all. In other words, if our words, attitude, and whole bear-ing contradict the Good News we represent, then maybe we should not be representing it. Compassion and enthusiasm are requisites for effective min-istry. What, then, are some ways we can "go the distance" and "sustain our gift" of ministering? There are, no doubt, many ways. Here, I suggest four. Retaining the Big Picture The first way is to retain the big picture. Sometimes we lose enthusiasm for our ministry because our perspective becomes too narrow, our vision myopic. We lose sight of the big picture and get enmeshed in the near at hand, the petty, the nitty-gritty. In his book The Art of Choosing, Carlos ~Galles SJ reminds us how impor- 184 Review for Reli~4ous rant it is in life to have a sense of direction. He describes "a lovely little habit" that Ignatius had of stopping himself physically in the middle of a hall and asking himself, "Where am I going? And what for?" That habit was one way Ignatius had of connecting a seemingly insignificant action--going to the dining room to eat, heading for chapel to pray, or walking down the hall to a meet-ing-- with the bigger picture of ministering to God's people. The practice is a good one: regularly and consciously to make ourselves see our daily small actions as part of a greater whole. Recently I watched an artist painting a large mural of a sunrise. I noticed how frequently she stepped back from her work to gain a broader perspective. Then she would step forward, add a few more strokes with the paint roller, and step back again for another look. We must do the same thing in our ministry. Sometimes God seems to provide us with opportunities to do this: after a suc-cessful activity, after an apparent failure, at the time of a transfer or change in ministry, or during a serious illness. But we can also do this more regularly: during an annual retreat or a monthly day of recollection, in the morning before we begin our day, or in the evening before we crawl (or fall) into bed. The habit of ask-ing "Where am I going (or where have I been today) and what for?" will put us in touch with the real zvhat and v:hatfor of our ministry, thus enabling us to catch at least a glimpse of how our "daily chores" fit into the big picture of God's grand design. Seeing Babies A second way of retaining our compassion and enthusiasm I call: seeing babies and not diapers. A priest told me once that a young mother came to him very discouraged and worn out. "I'm sick and tired of changing diapers," she cried. The priest thought for a moment and then gently suggested, "Next time don't change the diaper. Change the baby." He was not being "celibately sar-castic." He was pointing out to her a lesson in perspective. We have to see the tasks we do in relation to the individual human beings for whom we do them. During a retreat another priest told this true stoW. A teenage boy was seriously injured in a car accident. When the parish priest was notified, he immediately went to the hospital to see the boy. When the priest walked in, the boy said, "Father, if you've come here for God's sake, then for God's sake, get out! But if you have March-April 1992 185 Svoboda ¯ Going the Distance come here because you think I am worth it, then please stay." The priest stayed. Maybe for too long we overemphasized "All for the greater honor and glory of God." That phrase certainly encapsulates a marvelous truth, but, like most truths, even that one needs another truth to balance it. In our ministry we do not bypass the human beings we serve. We do not overlook them. We do not use them to win God's favor. We must remember, we minister not to parishes, schools, hospitals, or dioceses. We minister to individ-ual human beings--to Vera, Frank, Carlos, Heather--and each of them is worth it. Getting Support A third way we sustain our gift of ministry is: We get sup-port. The venerable tradition of rugged individualism that helped found this great nation will not "cut it" in ministry. The truth is, we cannot "go it alone." Fortunately, our contemporary times, with its emphasis on support groups, reminds us of this truth. I came to appreciate the importance of support groups when I became a flee-lance writer. Before that I had been a full-time high school teacher for many years. As a teacher I had a built-in support group: the other teachers on the faculty. But when I seri-ously began to write as part of my ministry, I suddenly felt terri-bly isolated and alone. It became difficult for me to sit in front of my typewriter (and later tny computer) for two or three hours a day and write, for I would recall working for hours on a piece only to have it fizzle into nothingness. Or I would send out arti-cles and stories enthusiastically only to have them lost, mutilated, or rejected. Finally I knew I needed support in my ministry--and more than the occasional acceptance letter offers. So I attended some writers' conferences and hooked up with a few other people who write for publication. I rely on these friends for the under-standing and encouragement that only a fellow writer can give. In his book The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis writes beautifully about the origin of a friendship. He says a friendship originates when two people, often engaged in a common task, disclose some-thing of their inner selves to each other. They turn to each other in amazement and say, "You, too?" We in church ministry need to experience that "you-too?-ness" with others who are engaged in the same or similar ministry. 186 Review for Religious Being More than a Minister A fourth way we can go the distance in our ministry is to be more than a minister. We probably all agree that we are more than we do, and that we are far more valuable than what we pro-duce. But an effective minister does more than give intellectual assent to that truth. He or she makes decisions based on it. He or she takes time to be more than a minister, knowing how pathetic it is if a minister's identity is restricted to a particular job or title. There is always a danger of turning even church work into an end in itself. Workaholism is alive and well in most business organizations and (we have to admit with sadness) also in our church. The problem is, workaholism, though a real addiction, looks a lot like dedication. If a minister in the church is addicted to alcohol or gambling or food or sex, chances are someone (or someones) sooner or later will intervene to help that person. But if a minister is addicted to work~staying up all hours of the night, never taking time for a break or vacation, never socializing with people in a nonwork setting--we sometimes let him or her go on. Or even worse, we praise that person, thus encouraging the addiction. In this regard, we should recall that the primary biblical image of heaven is not an office, not a school, not a parish. It is a party, a banquet. If all we do our whole life is work, work, work, chances are we are going to feel extremely out of place in heaven. We will not know what to do, how to let go, how to have fun. No, we ministers should learn how to be party people while we are still here on earth--even as we minister. We work hard, yes, knowing full well that our ministry cannot always be restricted to certain office hours. But we also know how to get away, how to enjoy people and have fun. The Cross, the Cost So far we have looked at four ways to help prevent compas-sion fatigue in our ministry. But there is one more word I wish to say about compassion fatigue: sometimes it is the cross we bear, the cost we pay. Our fatigue is not always a sign that we are doing something wrong. Sometimes it is a sign that we are doing some-thing right. Our periodic fatigue and occasional discouragement put us in touch with our limits. And experiencing our limits is vital to effective ministry. Otherwise we run the risk of living in March-April 1992 187 Svoboda ¯ Going the Distance illusion, of beginning to think that we are responsible for the good we do or that we are the "good news" we proclaim--and not Jesus. Our ministry, in order to be authentic, must cost us some-thing-- in time, in energy, in love. I am reminded of that seem-ingly insignificant incident in the story of David at the end of the second book of Samuel. David, nearing the end of his life, goes to a man named Araunah and asks to buy his threshing place in order to build an altar there for the Lord. Araunah tells David, "Take it, Your Majesty." And he offers to give several oxen, too, all free of charge. But David refuses to accept Araunah's gifts. He insists on paying for everything, saying, "I will not offer the Lord my God sacrifices that have cost me nothing." At times we all get weary in our ministry. Our fatigue, loneliness, or discouragement are part of the cost of our love and service of others, part of the sacrifice we make regularly to God for the privilege of serving in the church. The Ministry of Jesus How does all of this relate to the person of Jesus? How did he remain loving and alive throughout his ministry? First of all, Jesus had the big picture. He possessed an amazingly expansive view of reality. He looked at a crude fisherman and saw a great leader. He observed the birds in the air and comprehended God's provident care. He beheld a sinful woman and recognized her as a woman who loved much. Jesus was always ready to adjust his perspective, to align it ever more closely with that of the Father. Nowhere is that more clearly seen than in Gethsemane. Jesus' initial reaction to his impending crucifixion was "Please let this pass!" But by let-ting go of his limited perspective, he could say, "Your will be done"; in other words, "I embrace your point of view." Jesus saw babies and not diapers. That is, he focused on indi-vidual people and not on the immense task he had to perform. The Gospels show Jesus speaking to large crowds, of course, but more often they show him relating to individuals: the twelve apos-tles, the man with a withered hand, a centurion, a demoniac, Simon's mother-in-law, a particular deaf man, a grieving widow, an epileptic, Jairus, Nicodemus, Mary and Martha, and so forth. The clear impression is that Jesus ministered to individuals. Even more important, individuals were his legacy. Jesus did not leave 188 Review for Relig4ous behind a spiral notebook on how to run a church. He did not write a curriculum nor even one encyclical. Instead, he left behind people--individuals--whose lives he touched and radically altered. Maybe we have to ask ourselves: How do we measure the effectiveness of our ministry? By the number of reports we fill out? By the neatness of our office? By the thick-ness of our files? Or by the individuals we have ministered to and with--and those we have allowed to minister to us? Jesus liked support groups. In fact, he even started one: the apostles. He also went outside that group for the kind of support that those dozen men could not give him. He seemed to need and appreciate the feminine encouragement of a Mary and a Martha, the unique devotion of a Mary Magdalene. The Gospels show Jesus enioying people. He was not always preaching or teaching or giving workshops. He was relaxing in the company of his friends and colleagues. Even in his darkest hour in Gethsemane, he did not "go it alone." He took part of his support group with him: Peter, James, and John. They disappointed him, yes, as people sometimes disappoint us, too. But Jesus understood their weakness and forgave them, knowing his ultimate support group was the Father and the Spirit. Lastly, Jesus was more than a minister, much more. Van Gogh supposedly said, "If you want to know God, love many things." One reason Jesus was so close to God was because he loved so many things, so many varied aspects of life. Jesus was perhaps a carpenter. What can we deduce from that simple fact? He had a "good eye," a highly developed aesthetic sense. He had a steady hand and knew and appreciated wood. Jesus was a storyteller, too, and a fine one. His "Good Samaritan" and "Prodigal Son" are masterpieces. 0nly a person in touch with the core of life could have spun such magnificent yarns. Jesus was well acquainted with other components of life: bread baking, barbecuing, wine making, and farming, to name but a few. He was keenly aware of the political situation of his times. He was in touch with the prejudices of his day as well as the hopes and dreams of his people. He was something of a naturalist, too, sen-sitive to the changing seasons and to the flora and fauna of his Our ministry, in order to be authentic, must cost us something.- in time, in energy, in love. March-April 1992 189 Svoboda ¯ Going the Distance immediate environment. Little wonder Jesus was so effective as a minister--for he was so much more than one. He was a person fascinated by life, and thus he became a source of fascination--and salvation--for others. Yes, Van Gogh said it: "If you want to know God, love many things." But Jesus lived it, leaving an example for all of us who would follow in his footsteps: "If you want to minister, love many things!" The Long-Distance Runner When I taught high school in Raleigh, North Carolina, in the late 70s, I had a senior girl who was a top-ranking long-dis-tance runner. Julie taught me that there is a world of difference between the sprinter and the long-distance runner. The training and techinques are vastly different. The sprinter's goal is near, often clearly visible. He or she relies on a quick burst of energy to reach that goal within a matter of seconds. Because the dis-tance is so short, the sprinter runs side by side, neck and neck, with other runners who provide an impetus for the sprinter to run hard and fast. Not so with the long-distance runner. This runner's goal is miles away, not even visible. He or she must take steps all along the way to conserve energy for the long haul. Pacing becoInes critical. Although the runners in a marathon start out together, toward the end of the race they often find themselves running alone and forced to rely on deep inner resources and not the near-ness of fellow runners to keep them going to the end. The image of the long-distance runner is an appropriate one for those of us engaged in ministry. For most of us are in ministry for the long haul. We do not want our loving service to deterio-rate into a stoic sense of duty, but to remain a joyful gift. We do not want resentment to contaminate our pool of selfless giving. Instead we want our generosity to be alive and well, our com-passion tender and strong. And we wish to carry our enthusiasm for the Good News all the way to the finish line. Thank God, we do not run alone: God, our God, goes with us--the whole distance. 190 Review for Religious HALBERT WEIDNER Newman's Living the Oratory Charism As the biographical approach to writers and thinkers pro-liferates, so does the controversy over its historical worth. I am taking a biographical approach to John Henry Newman with some trepidation because of the length of his life, his great contributions to thought, and the complexities of the issues. Still I am encouraged in the enterprise by Newman him-self, who insisted on the validity of personal influence in the pur-suit of truth) I intend in this essay first to introduce readers to the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, which Newman brought to England, and then to discuss the Oratory as important for understanding certain values in Newman's life. Newman arrived at these values and maintained them at some personal cost. That cost represents for this author, another Oratorian, the personal drama of grace and conversion of a founding father among English-speaking Oratories. The Nature of an Oratory of St. Philip Neri The first thing that should be said about an Oratory is what it is not. It is not a religious order. There are no vows, no oaths, no promises of any kind public or private. There is no Rule. You will see a Rule mentioned in the time of Newman, but actually what you have are constitutions representing the practice of the Roman house in the latter part of the sixteenth century.2 Philip Neri was a reluctant founder who refused to write a Rule or con-stitutions. Halbert Weidner CO sends these reflections from the Spiritual Life Center; 2717 Pamoa Road; Honolulu, Hawaii 96822. March-April 1992 191 This irregular founder lived from 1515 until 1595, coming to Rome as a young Florentine in 1533. He was not ordained until he was thirty-six years old. He had been a student, a hermit and mystic, and a member of a reforming confraternity which served sick pilgrims, that is, the poor who became ill while visit-ing Rome. He lived in a set of apartments with other priests as part of a complex named San Girolamo della Carit~. It was in a prayer room at this church that the crowd who could no longer fit into Philip's rooms began to gather daily at the siesta hour for prayer. It was this afternoon gathering of laity which was the first Oratory.3 Perhaps the best description of St. Philip's intent is given by Newman himself in The Idea of a University: He [Philip Neri] was raised up to do a work ahnost peculiar in the church--not to be a Jerome Savonarola, though Philip had a true devotion towards him and a tender mem-ory of his Florentine house; not to be a St. Charles, though in his beaming countenance Philip had recognized the aure-ole of a saint; not to be a St. Ignatius, wrestling with the foe, though Philip was termed the Society~ bell of call, so many subjects did he send to it; not to be a St. Francis Xavier, though Philip had longed to shed his blood for Christ in India with him; not to be a St. Caietan, or hunter of souls, for Philip preferred, as he expressed it, tranquilly to cast in his net to gain them; he preferred to yield to the stream, and direct the current, which he could not stop, of science, literature, art, and fashion, and to sweeten and to sanctify what God had made very good and man had spoilt.4 Those who gathered around Philip found a mystic, a reformer, and a humanist, but they did not find him in a cloister or in any religious order. They found him in his rooms with the doors wide open to the public and surrounded by laity. This is why the Oratory is first and foremost secular. It was this laity that formed the original gathering for prayer in a place of prayer (that is, an oratory) and these same laypersons who preached, led prayers, sang in the vernacular, and studied together each afternoon under Philip's guidance. The Congregation of the Oratory is a secondary group of secular priests and laity which gathered around Philip as the Oratory became less of a movement and more of an institu-tion. But before this, Philip carried on the ministry of prayer and reflection from 1551 until 1575, more or less activating the laity as the leaders. It was in 1575 that a secondary group of priests and brothers had gathered sufficiently to be formally organized 192 Review for Religious with papal approval. But this Congregation was without any con-stitutions and was still primarily organized for the initial group of laity,s Constitutions for the Congregation were not finished until 1612, seventeen years after Philip's death. Later the institution of the congregation became more clericalized as not only the pri-mary group of laity disappeared, but even the brothers were no longer accepted, leaving a congregation of secular priests who lived together in community. While the Oratory is unique within Roman Catholicism, its values represent a mind-set present among many reformers of the early sixteenth century. This reforming spirit is symbolized by the values St. Jerome came to represent within a church loaded down with religious orders heavy on structure and low in spirit. Erasmus had noted that, in the days of St. Jerome, "the profession of a monk consisted in no more than the practice of the original, free, purely Christian life.''6 The summary of Erasmus's thinking about the ideal religious given us in Eugene Rice's St. Jerome in the Renaissance could also be a description of the spirit animating the early Oratory of St. Philip: Monks then were men who wished only to live with willing friends in liberty of spirit close to the teachings of the Gospel. Their lives were sweetly leisured. No ceremonies or man-made regulations fettered them. No single dress was prescribed. No deference was paid to total abstinence. They studied, they fasted, and sang psalms as the spirit moved them. They took no vows.7 This being said, we can note some positive elements in the Congregation of the Oratory: A. It is a center of prayer by nature. The classical form that this prayer takes dates back to the more intimate group that gath-ered in the evening around Philip. This amounts to about a half hour of silent prayer or meditation concluded with vocal prayers. The two-hour prayer sessions led by and for the laity at the time of St. Philip have been the casualty of time. Likewise the primary group of laity called the Oratory has also passed away except for a remnant often called "the Little Oratory." This name is quite ironic since what has become "little" was in fact the biggest and the first of the founder's works, not to say the very reason behind it all. Except for a directive to somehow maintain the secular or "Little Oratory," the ministry of the Congregation is otherwise unspecified and unspecialized. Each house tends to the work at 21/larch-April992 193 The life of an Oratory is said to be built on a deep regard for "well-known faces.' hand, and assignments tend to reflect the talents of the members. Philip Neri was against centralization and so put on its own every house that wished to follow on his general pattern. He believed that duplication was impossible and that each situation called for its own approach. B. Face-to-face association is essential to the Oratory. In a phrase going back to the community's origins, the life of an Oratory is said to be built on a deep regard for "well-known faces.''8 There were no fears to be engendered in an Oratory over friendships, and such a pol-icy militated against large sizes and the anomaly of "communities" of religious who have to resort to books with mem-bers' pictures for help in identification. C. Relative permanence is an ideal even though there are no vows or any-thing else holding a person to an Oratory. Perseverance is a fundamental aspect of the house spirituality and is often prayed for aloud at community prayer. Note that members cannot be transferred from one house to another and that, if they leave a house to go voluntarily to another that has freely accepted them, they must usually transfer membership as well. This means that problems with and among members must be worked out within the house since, obviously, transference cannot be the solution. Dismissal from a house is a rare and difficult pro-cedure. D. Small numbers, then, are the consequence of Oratorian living. The Constitutions of the Congregation go so far as to say that the power of an Oratory resides in such a small membership. Large numbers would weaken a house, which is supposed to be built on interpersonal relationships. When Newman wrote The Present Position of Catholics in England, he was addressing the men of the secular or Little Oratory. Towards the end, he applies this Oratorian principle of strength despite small numbers when he tells them: Your strength lies in your God and your conscience; there-fore it lies not in your number. It lies not in your number any more than in intrigue, or combination, or worldly wisdom. God saves whether by many or by few; you are to aim at 194 Review for Religious showing forth His light, at diffusing "the sweet odor of His knowledge in every place": numbers would not secure this. On the contrary, the more you grew, the more you might be thrown back into yourselves, by the increased animosity and jealousy of your enemies. You are enabled in some mea-sure to mix with them while you are few; you might be thrown back upon yourselves, when you became many? The Oratory, then, exists to embody the ideal of koinonia, liv-ing together as a fruit of the Holy Spirit and a sign of God's rule. The Oratory is very conscious that only the Spirit can keep it together faithful to the charism and that a life of prayer and open-ness is the only way to persevere with any kind of fruitfulness. Community in this context is not a utility, but an end, the pres-ence of each person's final destiny in the communion of saints somehow present now. E. The Oratory is collegial to a unique degree. All major pol-icy decisions are made by the entire congregation of members who have finished six years. Personnel and financial decisions on a smaller scale are decided by a deputed congregation elected by the membership. The provost is the title of the "superior" who holds the office as first among equals. He is chiefly an adminis-trator and his authority rests in moral persuasion. His only clear power is that of proposal since neither the general congregation nor the smaller deputed congregation can discuss or vote on any-thing without this proposal. Since the provost serves only three years, any provost resisting the majority can only hold out for a certain time. E The Congregation of the Oratory is also juridically pon-tifical. Today each house is now part of a very loose confederation, but each is still a complete pontifical congregation. Each superior is a major superior. In Newman's time there was no confederation at all, and so each house was directly involved with the Roman Curia. This gives each small house a double relationship. They are rooted in their diocese and have a special relationship to the local church and the bishop on one hand, and yet on the other look to the Holy See for the preservation of the charism. We shall see how each of the elements of the Oratory Congregation played a role in the life of Newman. Newman and the Oratory I have chosen five aspects of Newman's life where I believe the March-April 1992 195 Oratorian charism was arrived at and purchased at some cost to him. These are: (1) the elasticity of the Oratory and Newman which was tested in his assumption of the rectorship of the Irish Catholic University, (2) the choice he had between a university apostolate and the Oratory during the Irish Catholic University founding, (3) the promotion of the laity in fields rightly theirs that had been co-opted by clericalism, (4) the resistance to foreign cultural aspects of Roman Catholicism in favor of an indigenous English religious life, (5) fidelity to community life in one place and one people. 1. The Elasticity of the Charism I have said that each Oratory has a great deal of elasticity to it as the congregation has no specific work to which its members are bound. This elasticity is from time to time tested within an individual Oratory, and Newman's assumption of the rectorship of a yet-to-be-founded university in Dublin was a very grave exper-iment in just how flexible an Oratory can be. But the flexibility had a true Oratorian origin. First, it was the result of consultation with both Birmingham and the not-yet-independent London house. Father Faber's letter indicates that the London community thought it good for the congregation that Newman assume the rectorship rather than anything less demand-ing, but less powerful.~° Secondly, it took a papal brief confirm-ing the arrangement before the attempt was made to do the impossible, that is, allow Newman to bilocate as provost in Birmingham and rector in Dublin.11 Thirdly, it was specifically for the purpose of starting a Dublin Oratory, and Newman's build-ing plans indicate he gave priority to the Oratory in that the uni-versity church built there was for the sake of a potential foundation.12 But Newman knew how precarious it was for an Oratorian to be away from his house. In a letter to Ambrose St. John he says, "I trust we shall have an Oratory in Dublin--which is the only thing I can bribe St. Philip with for coming here.''13 That it was a disaster emotionally for Newman and a serious drain on the Birmingham Oratory does not make it any less Oratorian for all that. Because of its lack of structure, it is typical of an Oratory to try to do too much rather than too little. It is easy enough to document other Oratories trying to stretch too thin. Thus we have the Oratory of Goa, India, sending Joseph Vaz to Sri Lanka at a time of persecution and in the clothing of a Hindu 196 Review for Religious holy man. There he labors with other Oratorians scattered around the countryside more like clerks regular than sons of St. Philip.14 My own Oratory in South Carolina had members scattered throughout the state during half of its history and only recently and with great difficulty has been able to return all of the mem-bers to a community life.Is During the time of St. Philip, the Oratory took on dependent missions for a while until St. Philip and the community abruptly called a halt to this development.Is So it is Oratorian to push the Oratory to the extreme and perhaps beyond. It is also Oratorian to eventually return to saner limits and the grace of a life closer to the original charism. 2. The Preference for Obscurity If Newman's acceptance of the rectorship pushed the Oratorian charism beyond limits, his fidelity to an Oratorian voca-tion is demonstrated by his resistance to a classic temptation against the life to which he believed God called him. The asceti-cism of the Oratory is a rigorous egalitarianism. Each member has one vote and all are equal and most aspects of the life are governed by the majority when not regulated by the constitu-tions. It was not uncommon among the best and brightest of St. Philip's followers to leave the Oratory, usually under papal "obe-dience," for higher positions in the church. That St. Philip him-self managed to escape or refuse such offers does not seem to be a grace extended to many of his followers. One of St. Philip's aphorisms was "love to be unknown,''17 but it is a hard saying. And it was a grace extended to Newman. Simply put, when presented with a full-time rectorship of the Irish university, Newman chose the small, obscure Oratory of Birmingham, England.I8 He was consistently resistant to any compromise on this point even though the choice seemed impenetrably obscure to both friends and foes. This disregard for the existence, rights, and potential of the Birmingham Oratory was one of Newman's great crosses. Newman complained, "Me they wish to use--me they wish to detach in every way from my own Fathers.''19 Separating an Oratorian from his community has not always been difficult, and there is evidence to indicate that some of these peo-ple thought they were doing Newman a favor by trying to detach him from the Oratory. Another fear of Newman's was the bad effect an absent provost would have on attracting new members to the Birmingham Oratory. This made the arrangement with the March-April 1992 197 university and Archbishop Cullen finally untenable.2° From inside the Oratory, the sacrifice of an outside position seems to be the heart of a vocation that embraces the asceticism of simply being one among many. 3. Maintaining the Preference for Laity The University episode also exemplifies another Oratorian principle, the importance of laicity to church and Oratory. As I have said, in the nineteenth century much of the lay character of the Oratory was atrophied. Only the little Oratory existed in some places and in some forms. Within some of the Congregations there were lay members or "brothers," for want of a better word, but as in most societies defined as congregations of priests, these brothers had no vote and seniority depended on holy orders first and seminary status second; only third came the brothers, who followed the youngest seminarians. But at a time when brothers in clerical communities of priests were treated as second-class members and even much like servants, Newman wrote to the act-ing superior of Birmingham the following directive: I am somewhat pained, my dear Edward, to hear you speak of us as 'Gentlemen--' We are not Gentlemen in con-tradistinction to the Brothers--they are Gentlemen too, by which 1 mean, not only a Catholic, but a polished refined Catholic. The Brothers are our equals . The Father is above the Brothers sacerdotally--but in the Oratory they are equal2~ This is indeed the spirit of St. Philip, whose esteem for the lay members of the congregation as well as of the religious orders was well known. But making this point about equality is still a struggle today within the congregations. In my opinion, if you ask many Oratorians what the Oratory is, they will simply say that it is a community of priests, without communicating at all the possibility of full lay membership and, since the Second Vatican Council, full voting rights. Newman's second contribution as an Oratorian to laicity was his emphasis on the secular Oratory or the Oratory as a lay move-ment. The revival of the secular or Little Oratory was "more important than anything else," at least in his own eyes. He real-ized that this was not a burning isst.e among the other Oratories, but he himself believed that, if the secular Oratory was not estab-lished, then the Congregation of the Oratory should be consid- 198 Review for Religious ered a faih~re.22 It was, as I said, for the secular Oratory that Newman wrote the lectures now called The Present Position of Catholics, and it is this volume I would call Newman's literary con-tribution to laicity. Perhaps Newman would agree with me, as he believed it in his old age to be his "best written book.''23 It is at any rate, in the opinion of Ian Ker, a popular, even Dickens-like piece of wit and rhetoric introducing the grander themes later developed in his explorations of the nature of a university.24 And, finally, it must be noted that for Newman laity meant men and women. Women had not been his-torically part of the secular Oratory, and so he petitioned Rome for a secular Oratory for women. Even though it did not develop, the rescript obtained estab-lished a new precedent.2s It was this regard for laity as essential to the religious enterprise of the Oratory that informs Newman's Idea of a University, where laicity is central to the educational enterprise. In my reckoning, this is his third contribution to laicity, but probably the best-known outside the Oratory. Newman believed that it was his struggle to appoint a lay vice-rector, to define the university as the province of the laity, and to develop self-moti-vated students with a minimum of authority which led to the ruin of the project.26 It was such "dreadful jealousy of the laity," Newman also believed, which led to the rejection of another planned Oratory at another university, this time no less than Oxford itself.27 Secularity and laicity, principles at the heart of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, made it impossible for Newman to spread the congregation when both such principles were feared and rejected by church officials who felt the church to be under siege. That the ability to act and to be respectful of church author-ity were compatible seems to be exemplified in the life of the very independent personality Philip Neri. But, when Newman wished to prove the principle by anecdote, he very cleverly chose the most authoritarian of religious societies, the Jesuits, to make his point: "Nothing great or living can be done except when men are self governed and independent: this is quite consistent with a full maintenance of ecclesiastical supremacy. St. Francis Xavier wrote Regard for the laity as essential to the religious enterprise of the Oratory informs Newman's Idea of a University. March-April 1992 199 to St. Ignatius on his knees; but who will say that St. Francis was not a real center of action?''-'s 4. Preference for the Local Culture Around an Oratory Besides preserving laicity, Newman desired also to preserve English culture within the Roman Catholic Church. St. Philip Neri's emphasis on autonomous houses or congregations was rooted in his belief that each locale had its own culture and that the needs of the place had to be met through this culture. There could be nothing more contrary to the spirit of the Oratory than for any of the congregations to see themselves as the importers of foreign customs. The Italian devotionalism of such an Oratorian figure as the famous Father Frederick Faber of London was really a misguided attempt to re-create not only another culture but also another time. Ironically, the culture and time chosen by Faber was the Baroque era--when the Oratory was spreading through Europe, but a century later than Philip's own time and work. The extravagances of Faber and some other members of the London Oratory would not have been as effective as they were without the backing of the Dublin Review (seen to be the voice of London's Archbishop Manning)29 and W.G. Ward. When Newman had a chance to defend Roman Catholicism against some charges of his old Anglican friend E.B. Pusey, there was also the possibility of distancing that same Catholicism from the foreign enthusiasm of converts like Manning, Ward, and Faber. Newman could declare: "I prefer English habits of belief and devotion to foreign, from the same causes, and by the same right, which jus-tifies foreigners in preferring their own. In following those of my people, I show less singularity, and create less disturbance than if I made a flourish with what is novel and exotic.''3° "What is novel and exotic" to many English Catholics was for the London Oratory the true renewal of Catholicism and of the Congregation of the Oratory at the same time. Father Bernard Dalgairns left the Birmingham Oratory for the London house with a condemnation of Newman and his fellow members who had adopted a position paper which has been called an "Apologia pro vita sua--Oratoriana." 3~ Newman had insisted earlier that an Oratory is "the representative of no distant or foreign interest, but lives a~nong and is contented with its own people.''~-~ The con-troversy with Dalgairns assisted the Birmingham house in defin-ing itself against the London clai~n to be normative)3 200 Review for Religious Birmingham did not issue a counterclaim as the true measure of Oratorian life, but it did insist that its own very English adap-tation to education and culture in its own time and place was cer-tainly an authentic version of Oratorian life. The Idea of a University, with its marvelous panegyric of St. Philip Neri, is the public version of these private Oratory position papers which were worked on at the same time. In short, the Birmingham com-munity saw the idea of the Oratory and the idea of the university as complementary and consistent with each other. That authority within another Oratory, authority in the English Catholic hier-archy, and authority in Rome saw this as dangerous eventually prevented Newman from a university ministry and the founding of two Oratories, the one in Dublin, the other in Oxford. If he had not been thwarted--we can ask not only what effect this would have had on the Catholic Church's presence in higher education, but also what kind of model the Oratory would have become for that presence. ~. Fidelity to One Place and Community If Newman's devotion to the Oratory as a humanistic Christian community making the best of its own time and place cost him considerable loss of influence, it also explains why Newman was always hoisted between the limitations of the local hierarchy and Roman authority. As small as an Oratory usually is, it is nevertheless a community of pontifical right. But, because the members never move out of this small community, it is inti-mately involved in the local church and becomes specially related to the bishop. This arrangement was meant to allow the Oratory to serve both worlds best, but it also means that the Oratory is vulnerable to the worst of both. And it was the worst that Newman often had to suffer. Suffering at the hands of both local officials and Curial bureaucrats was the fate of the Oratory's founder, St. Philip Neri, but it took Newman some time to realize that such was his own unavoidable fate.34 In 1856 he could be sanguine about Roman love of an English house of St. Philip ("Be sure," he wrote, "that, if we are really doing work, Rome will never be hard on us, even if we are informal, imprudent, or arbitrary").35 By the 1860s he had suffered enough to be afraid of Rome calling him to the Curia for trial of his opinions and judgments. He was so afraid that he considered such a prospect as the threat of death.36 The March-April 1992 201 bishop of Birmingham was of no help in the face of Roman threats. Newinan wrote privately in 1867 that Ullathorne "wishes to be kind to me, but to stand well with people at Rome super-sedes in his mind every other wish. So he is a coward.''37 We can be considerably grateful that the insight into the abuses of church power led him to write in 1877 the great preface to the ¼"a Media in which he developed a theology of abuses in the church. He asks us to contemplate the implications of Matthew 13 and to choose the complexities and shortcomings of a world church rather than the narrow confines and perfection of a sect. That is, for the sake of Catholicity, we must realize that sanctity will not always be an equally prominent mark of the church.3s Conclusion The burden of this short paper has been to indicate some areas where Newman cannot be completely understood without a direct reference to the Oratory of St. Philip Neri. I would say several areas have been directly touched on. First, there is the mystery Why Birmingham? Why would such a talented person remain faithful to this city when he had been born in London and had adopted Oxford and its university? If living in Birmingham is of any consequence in understanding the mystery of Newman, then only the Oratory suffices for an explanation. Newman consciously rejected the London option because his absence from Birmingham would have been the death of a community wishing to live around him.39 And it is within the mystery of a providence that settled the Oratory in Birmingham that we have the mystery of Newman's fidelity to St. Philip, a fidelity which certainly shaped the field of Newman's activities which we have now inherited. Secondly, knowing the Oratory helps us understand how Newman was able to function as pastor and theologian. He had no official standing in a seminary or a university, and his membership in the Oratory cut him off from preferments in the diocese. Yet, despite the fragility of the Oratory and Newman's vulnerability to his enemies with real power bases, he was able to accomplish much. As a pastor he was perpetually available to a local people, and as a teacher he could, in the Congregation, exercise his tal-ents and find reinforcement of his values. Thirdly, the prophetic stands which he brought to the Roman 202 Review for Religious Catholic Church found a congenial place within the tradition of Philip Neri and the Oratory. Laicity, education, and culture were not feared in the Oratory, but promoted. Certainly the Oratory could accommodate the interests of such a person as Newman, and this I think says a lot for the Oratory. Finally, the Oratory provided an emotional complementarity for Newman. Newman had written that he had "never liked a large Oratory. Twelve working priests has been the limit of my ambition. One cannot love many at one time; one cannot really have many friends.''4° The rather intimate expression of this is found in the well-known conclusion to the Apologia, but I would beg an indulgence to cite a lesser-known example found in Meriol Trevor's Life. Late in life some parishioners brought Newman a portrait of himself as a gift to the Birmingham Oratory. Newman replied to them in these words: You ask for my blessing and I bless you with all my heart, as I desire to be blessed myself. Each one of us has his own individuality, his separate history, his antecedents and his future, his duties, his responsibilities, his solemn trial, and his eternity. May God's grace, His love, His peace rest on all of you, united as you are in the Oratory of St. Philip, on old and young, on confessors and penitents, on teachers and taught, on living and dead. Apart from that grace, that love, that peace, nothing is stable, all things have an end; but the earth will last its time, and while the earth lasts, Holy Church will last, and while the Church lasts, may the Oratory of Birmingham last also, amid the fortunes of many generations one and the same, faithful to St Philip, strong in the protection of our Lady and all Saints, not losing as time goes on its sympathy with its first fathers, whatever may be the burden and interests of its own day, as we in turn now stretch forth our hands with love and awe towards those, our unborn successors, whom on earth we shall never kFIow.41 From the Oratory of Birmingham, England, Newman gives a blessing because he believed his life as an Oratorian was itself a blessing. For this reason the Oratory might merit a considera-tion when we think of Newman and what it cost him to be a Catholic and what it was like for him to rejoice as an old man after a long time not only in the Catholic Church but in the Oratory of St. Philip Neri. March-April 1992 203 Notes ~ NewInan's classical exposition of this is found in University Sermons, vol. 5, pp. 75-98, and elucidated very well by Stephen Dessain in The Spirituality offfobn Henry Newman (Minneapolis, 1977), pp. 31-55. But see this theme repeated in an Oratorian context in Newman's Oratory Paper No. 6 in Placid Murray, Newman the Oratorian (Leominster, England, 1968), pp. 215-216. -' For the documentation of the constitutional development of the Congregation, see Antonius Cistellini CO, Collectanea Vetustorum ac Fundamentalium Documentorum Congregationis Oratorii Sancti Philippi Nerii (Brescia, 1982). ~ The more detailed history of this development can be found in Louis Ponnelle and Louis Border, St. Philip Neri and the Roman Society of His Times (London, 1932), pp. 166-173. 4 Idea, Discourse 9, no. 9. ~ Ponnelle and Bordet, pp. 287-381. 6 Erasmus, Ep. 164, in Opus epistolarum Des. Erasmii Roterodami, ed. P. S. Allen, H.M. Allen, and H.W. Garrod (Oxford, 1906-08), quoted in Eugene Rice Jr., Saint Jerome in the Renaissance (Baltimore, 1985), p. 133. 7 Rice, p. 133. 8 The 1969 Constitutions of the Congregation read in no. 15: "The Congregation follows the primitive Christian community that its char-acteristic power consists not in the multitude of its members, but rather in mutual knowledge--so that there may be a regard for the well-known faces--and in the true bond of love, by which those of the same family may be bound together through the practice of daily customs." See Newman the Oratorian, p. 329, for Newman's familiarity with the con-cept of well-known faces or countenances. ~ Prepos., p. 388. ~o Autobiographical Vt~ritings (AI/V), p. 281. 11AW, p. 286. ~2 Ian Ker, John Henry Newman (Oxford, 1988), p. 433. 13 Letters and Diaries (LD), vol. 14, p. 377. ~4 See S.G. Perera SJ, Life of the Venerable Father Joseph Uaz, Apostle of Ceylon (Galle, 1953). Newman indicates a long-standing knowledge of this special case in a letter written in 1867. ~s There is no history written of this first of the Oratories in the United States, and the archives of the house are very sketchy. There is no written rationale of the house for the scattering of the members, but some effort was made to rotate them back to Rock Hill if they were some distance away. There is an article describing the Rock Hill house written by Edward YVahl, one of the earlier members, in Oratorium, Ann. III, S.I-N. 1, Ian-Iun. 1972, pp. 23-32. ~' Ponnelle and Bordet, pp. 471-474. 204 Review for Religious 17 E A. Agnelli, The Excellencies of the Congregation of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri (Venice, 1825), translated and abridged by F.A. Antrobus, London 1881, chapter 1, section V. is LD, vol. 18, pp. 478,483. 19 LD, vol. 17, p. 447. '-OLD, vol. 18, pp. 114-115. z1 LD, vol. 16, p. 267. 22 LD, vol. 14, p. 274. ,~3 LD, vol. 26, p. 115. 24 Ker, pp. 365-372. 25 LD, vol. 17, p. 137. See Newman the Oratorian, p. 311, for his appre-ciation of the Oratory and women. 26 A~17~ p. 327. 27 LD, vol. 21, p. 327. 28LD, vol. 21, p. 331. ~'9 Ker, p. 579. 3o DiffT, ii, pp. 20-21. 31 Placid Murphy calls these papers another apologia (Newman the Oratoria~l, p. 299). -~'~ Newman the Oratorian, p. 196. 33 Newman the Oratorian, p. 358. 34 The 1848 paper in Newman the Oratorian lists the persecutions Philip suffered (see p. 163). In 1862 he can compare his troubles to the founder's (see AW, pp. 256-257). 35 LD, vol. 17, p. 151. 36 LD, vol. 20, pp. 445-448. ~7 LD, vol. 23, p. 296. 38 See R. Bergeron, LesAbus de L'~glise d'apr& Newman (Paris, 1971), and the annotated edition of Newman's ~a Media (Oxford, 1990), ed. H.D. Weidner. 39 LD, vol. 13, pp. 51-52. 40 Newman the Oratorian. p. 387. 4~ Meriol Trevor, Newman, Light in I:Vinter (New York, 1962), p. 582. March-April 1992 205 DENNIS J. BILLY The Resurrection Kernel theology and spirituality Is there a fundamental principle of the resurrection? The answer to this question depends on the way in which one understands the relationship of history to the reality of the risen Christ. This relationship, in turn, depends on the stance one takes towards the possibility of a transhistorical event and the type of impact it would have on the continuities and discontinuities of historical change. However understood, the impact itself would have vast ramifications for the whole of theology. Resurrection: Distinguishing Idea from Reality At the outset, it may be helpful to distinguish between resurrection (1) as a particular item in the history of ideas and (2) as the reality experienced among the earliest fol-lowers of Christ. The former may be separated from the viewpoint of faith, compared with other ideas about the nature of the afterlife, and evaluated on a rational basis for its various strengths and weaknesses as a viable expla-nation of the nature of life after death. As a transhistori-cal event with historical consequences, the latter is intricately bound to the faith of the primitive Christian community and cannot be studied in such a detached, ana- Dennis J. Billy CSSR continues his reflections on various cen-tral tenets of our faith and their relationship to the vowed life of religious. His address is Accademia Alfonsiana; Via Merulana, 31; C.P. 2458; 00100 Rome, Italy. 206 Review for Religious lyrical manner. Any effort to formulate a fundamental principle of the resurrection must be careful to take both sides of this dis-tinction into account. The Idea of Resurrection. A well-grounded discussion of an idea should begin with an attempt to identify its most distinctive char-acteristics. With respect to its general mean-ing, one could accurately describe the term "resurrection" as a belief common among Christians that, at some point after death, an individual is transformed by the power of the Divinity on every level of his or her anthro-pological makeup--the corporeal, the psy-chological, the spiritual, and the social--and thus raised to a higher level of human exis-tence in a way that always remains in funda-mental continuity with his or her historical, earthly life. The most distinctive marks in this short yet exact account of the idea of resurrection include: (1) personal life after death, (2) in a The idea of resurrection alone safeguards the inviolate dignity of each human being on every level of existence. transformed state, (3) embracing all the anthropological factors of human existence, and (4) in a way continuous with an individual's concrete, earthly life. Each of these elements is essential to the idea of resurrection as it is used in this essay and as it exists in the major Christian traditions. These characteristics also set the idea of resurrection apart from the related idea of bodily resuscitation (for example, the raising of Lazarus, Jn 11:44), as well as from the other major philosophical and religious explanations of the nature of life in the hereafter (for example, the immortality of the soul, reincar-nation, nirvana). When these are compared, the idea of resur-rection distinguishes itselfi (1) from bodily resuscitation, in its emphasis on a transformed existence in life after death; (2) from the immortality of the soul, in its inclusion of all of humanity's anthropological factors in the nature of that existence; (3) from reincarnation, in its rupture of the cycle of time and its insistence on the fundamental continuity of life in the hereafter with a per-son's earthly existence; and (4) from nirvana, in its avowal that final beatitude does not involve the extinction of individual con-sciousness. The greatest strength of the idea of resurrection is March-April 1992 207 that, of all of the ideas about the nature of life after death, it alone safeguards the inviolate dignity of each human being on every level of his or her existence. That is to say that it alone keeps human nature eternally intact while, at the same time, saving the individual from ultimate personal extinction. Its greatest weak-ness is that, in representing the fulfillment of one of the deepest and most profound hopes of the human heart, it seems almost too good to be true, an attractive but highly unlikely possibility. For this reason, of all the ideas of life in the hereafter, resurrec-tion is the one most difficult to accept on the simple basis of faith. The Reality of the Resurrection. Rooted in the hopes of Jewish apoc-alypticism during the centuries just prior to the appearance of Christ, and promulgated during Jesus' own lifetime by the reli-gious elite known as the Pharisees, the idea of resurrection devel-oped to its present form as a result of theological reflection on the nature of the Christ event, most especially in the primitive Christian community's interpretation of the meaning of the apos-tolic experience of the risen Lord. This reflection is intimately tied to the trust that community placed in the validity of the apos-tolic witness and to the experience of faith upon which it rested. It is also the context within which one may speak of the resur-rection not as an idea, but as a reality and a hope. \Vhat precisely happened on the first Easter morning remains shrouded by the subjective awareness of the earliest followers of Jesus. That awareness probably ran the gamut of several emo-tional states--from depression and fear, to suspicion and isola-tion, to incipient faith and the lingering yearning for the retrieval of lost expectations--and most likely varied in each of the persons involved. That is not to say that the event had no basis outside the experience of Jesus' followers, but only that there is no way to determine what it is with any accuracy. It is for this reason that, down through the centuries, the Easter event remains primarily an experience of faith in the lives of Jesus' followers. A distinction must still be made, however, between the faith of those who witnessed the Easter event personally and those whose faith relies on the testimony of the apostles. The procla-mation of the church rests upon the eyewitness accounts of the apostles, that is, on those who made the startling claim to have experienced for themselves the reality of the risen Lord. Their experience of faith remains qualitatively different from that of 208 Review for Religious the believer in the pew, for they claim to have experienced a real-ity outside of themselves, rooted in the objective order, distinct from their own subjectivity, and identified with the person of their Master, Jesus of Nazareth. Without the unprecedented bold-ness and resiliency of these claims, the Christian project would have nothing distinctive in its message and probably would never have gotten off the ground. These apostolic claims emerge from one of two possibilities: the experience of the risen Christ was with or without a basis in the person of Jesus in the external order. That is to say that the experience of the apostles corresponds to a reality outside of themselves or remains entirely subjective in all respects. If the former is true, then the further question must be asked regarding the nature of this basis in the external order. If the latter be true, then the only conclusion to be drawn is that the apostles suffered from self-delusion, that their testimony is false, as is the religion to which it gave rise. The fact that neither of these possibilities can be proven highlights the underlying quality of faith inherent in the conclusions of both the believer and non-believer alike. Still more can be said about the position of the believer. If the apostolic experience of the risen Christ does have an external basis in the person of Jesus, then this affirmation, when combined with the idea of resurrection developed earlier in this essay, nec-essarily points to an event of singular historical significance. Indeed, this event could be measured by the instruments of his-torical observation only by its effects (for example, a missing body) and, for this reason, must be placed in a category unique to itself and understood as a transhistorical event with historical conse-quences. This is so precisely because the risen Christ, existing in a transformed state but in a way continuous with his earthly life, does not lead "a historical existence" in the way in which the phrase is commonly used. That is to say that space and time no longer set the limits for his physical existence. In his resurrected state, Christ is the Alpha and the Omega, a singular dimension unique unto himself, who recapitulates, both now and forever, all The Easter event remains primarily an experience of faith in the lives of lesus" followers. March-April 1992 209 of creation within himself, into the love of the Father and the joy of their Spirit. The Resurrection Kernel From all that has been said, a sound formulation of the fun-damental principle of the resurrection (the resurrection kernel) would consist in the affirmation of faith that the idea of resur-rection has become a reality in the risen Christ. This reality is rooted in the transhistorical nature of the Christ event, whose historical consequences linger even to this day in the ongoing proclamation of the church. Based on the testimony of its apos-tolic forebears, the church has, in its ministry down through the centuries, kept alive for humanity the fervent hope that the deep-est yearnings of the human heart will one day be fully realized. That is to say that the transformation wrought by God in Christ promises to extend itself to all who are incorporated into his body, the church. In this respect, a sharing in the life of the risen Lord may be looked upon as the ultimate destiny of all of humankind and will be impeded only by a stubborn individual or corporate persistence in the life of sin. Given the above formulation, a number of important obser-vations arise: (1) To affirm that an idea has become a reality is to utilize the well-known philosophical distinction between the internal (that is, subjective) and external (that is, objective) orders. The limitations of this distinction are well known, and care must be taken not to stretch the analogy beyond its avowed usefulness. Indeed, special care must be taken not to project the concerns of the so-called critical problem back to a time before its signifi-cance was entirely known. (2) God the Father is the primary agent in bringing about this realization in Christ. Since idea and reality are intimately connected in the Divinity's vision of itself, the resurrection of Christ may be viewed as a providential movement on the part of the Father to bring the plan of redemption in accord with the working of the Divine Mind, that is, the Logos. In this respect, Christ's resurrection is that event which, touching upon history but transcending time, initiates the ultimate return of all created things back to God. (3) This view of Christ's resurrection also sheds light upon 210 Review for Religious the development in the early church of the doctrine of the incar-nation. If it is true that, in Christ's resurrection, flesh has been divinized and lifted up into the reality of the Word, it follows that, at some point prior to this momentous occasion, the Word itself had descended into the reality of human flesh and had become a human person. Putting aside for the moment the vari-ous intricacies involved in discussing the Christological contro-versies in the early centuries of the church, it seems quite appropriate to say that the doctrines of Christ's incarnation and resurrection form two aspects of a single salvific event which, if one were to borrow the Neoplatonic exitus/reditus structure adopted by Aquinas, represents the recreatio,z of all things going out of (exitus) and going back (reditus) to God. It is in this sense that all things are recapitulated in Christ, the New Adam. (4) As described above, the resurrection is not merely the state of Christ's postmortem existence, but an intricate part of the whole process of redemption. If Christ's exitu} from the Father reaches its furthest extension in his passion and death on the cross (described in the Creed as his descent into hell), his reditus is ush-ered in by the events of Easter morning, and his Spirit is the prin-ciple by which all things continue to be gathered into his body and thus into the presence of the Father. (5) As a transhistorical event with historical consequences, the resurrection of Christ exists outside of but in relation to the realm of historical inquiry. In this regard, it lies beyond the realm of scientific investigation and can be affirmed only through faith in the testimony of those claiming to have actually experienced Jesus after his death. That is not to say that the apostles did not experience outside of themselves in the exter-nal order, but only that the basis for their experience cannot be verified. (6) Indeed, probably the only historical consequence of mea-surable scientific value would have been the disappearance of Jesus' body at the actual moment of his resurrection. Since the precise whereabouts of the body was a point of contention even in the initial aftermath of the Easter proclamation (Mt 28:13), one must conclude that, although its disappearance could have been verified, if not scientifically, then at least through pagan eyewitness accounts, it obviously was not. (7) On all other points, the detached observer would not be able to separate the subjective experience of the apostles from March-April 1992 211 the reality of the risen Christ. There would, in other words, have been no way of determining whether or not they were actually experiencing anything beyond their own intensified inner aware-ness. The singularity of this experience would be expected if a transhistorical event were to occur and be experienced in its his-torical consequences. (8) To the extent that it is not based on direct experience but on the testimony of others, the faith of the church is qualitatively different from the faith of the apostles. Not only does it point to the conviction of those who claimed to have experienced the risen Lord, but, in one respect, it is even a purer experience of faith: "Happy are those who have not seen and yet believe" (Jn 20:29). (9) Belief in the risen Christ keeps alive in people the hope that, after death, their lives will not end, but merely change. Because of Christ's resurrection, they look forward to a trans-formed existence in the hereafter, one in continuity with their own lives on earth. Sustained by a believer's prayerful response to the contetnporary challenges of Christian discipleship, this hope forms the basis upon which life in the resurrection is anticipated even in the present. (10) Through their participation in the ministry and life of the church, people receive a foretaste of this transformed exis-tence, especially when they partake of the sacraments around the table of the Lord. It was at the Eucharist where Jesus' disciples recognized him in the breaking of the bread (Lk 24:30). It is there where Christians, even to this day, gather to do the same. This is especially true for those who dedicate their lives to Christ through the following of the evangelical counsels. Religious and the Resurrection In their vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, religious strive to center their lives upon the reality of the risen Christ. They seek to do so by virtue of their firtn conviction that they are called to share in the life of the resurrection by making the idea of the vows a lived reality in their day-to-day existence. Christ, who exhibited both before and after his resurrection a life dedicated to the Father through the eschatological signs of the evangelical counsels, asks religious to do the same. The strength to do so comes from Christ and is mediated by his Spirit through his church and its ministry of the sacraments. While such dedi- 212 Review for Religious cation is never fully realized in the present, religious are called to imitate Christ throughout their entire lives. It is for this reason that, at the end of their earthly lives, they hope to share in the full-ness of his transformed existence. In their vowed life in common, religious pledge to give them-selves over entirely to the life of the risen Lord. In their vow of poverty, they seek both physical and spiritual detachment from material goods, doing so not out of a suspicion about the fundamental good-ness of creation, but from the convic-tion that it too will undergo a transformation in the fullness of Christ's kingdom. In their vow of chastity, they promise to forgo the goods of marriage, children, and sexual pleasure, thereby accepting Christ's Gospel declaration that there will be neither husband nor wife in the life to come (Lk 20:35) and that, even in the realm of relationships, all who abide in him will live a trans-formed existence. In their vow of obe-dience, they promise to accept the will of their superiors as a manifestation of God's plan for their lives, thus hoping to estab-lish within themselves a continual movement of accord between their own wills and that of the their risen Lord. Finally, in their communal existence, they hold each other accountable for the way of life they have chosen and seek to reflect in their mutual relations that dignity and care appropriate to those who are called to be members of Christ's body. By means of their individual and communal dedication to the evangelical counsels, it is clear that religious seek, even in this present life, a deeper share in the life of the resurrection. Through their vowed life in community, religious thus provide a faithful witness for themselves, the rest of the church, and the entire world that the idea of resurrection has not only been made a reality in Christ but that it is striving, at this very moment, to be realized in the lives of those who believe. In this respect, their witness affirms the movement of Christ's Spirit in the life of the church and provides a foretaste of the life to come. That is not to say that religious embody this charismatic dimension of the church better or more faithfully than any of the other vocations within the Belief in the risen Christ keeps alive in people the hope that, after death, their lives will not end, but merely change. March-April 1992 213 church (for example: single, married, priestly states), but only that their way of life is especially suited to it. Of its very nature, the religious life forIns a part of the charismatic dimension of the church. Indeed, to the extent that religious communities do not manifest to both others and themselves the gentle yet challenging presence of the Spirit, they fall short of the explicit nature of their call to center their lives entirely around the reality of the risen Christ. He it was who first imparted the Holy Spirit to his body, the church. He it is who continues to do so even to the present day. Through their faithfulness to the vows, lived in community and in the Spirit, religious seek mainly to nourish their relation-ship with the risen Christ. This personal relationship to the Lord motivates all of their activity for the establishment of God's king-dom; it is also what draws others to follow their particular way of life. Indeed, the care with which they tend this relationship is itself a sign that the reality of Christ's resurrection is meant for all to share and experience in all its fullness. In this respect, reli-gious must be ever conscious that their vowed life in common has little meaning if it is separated from life in the Spirit of the risen Christ and seen as an end in itself. To be sure, there is noth-ing sadder in the life of the church than to see individual reli-gious and, at times, entire communities lose sight of the meaning of their vocation. When people of such great promise and poten-tial compromise themselves and begin to believe that the Spirit is no longer active in their lives and that things will never change for the better, when men and women, who are called to be signs of hope, begin to believe in the voices of hopelessness, then the time is ripe for a prophet to arise within their midst to challenge them to come back to the Lord and to live the life to which they have been called. At the same time, there is nothing more joyful in the life of the church than to see men and women who, out of love for their Lord, renounce the very things for which they most actually strive during their sojourn on earth. To live in poverty, without children or spouse, and without full personal liberty provides oth-ers with the constantly needed reminder that the fullness of riches, family life, and freedom is ultimately found only in one's rela-tionship to him whom the apostles acclaimed to be truly risen. 214 Review for Religious Conclusion This essay has sought to outline the basic, underlying principle of the Christian doctrine of the resurrection. It has done so, on the one hand, by describing in as precise detail as possible the mean-ing of the idea of resurrection as under-stood in the church's teaching and, on the other hand, by looking into some of the fundamental presuppositions regarding the resurrection of Christ as experienced by his earliest followers. Bringing these two currents of inquiry together, the funda-mental principle of the resurrection (the resurrection kernel) was described as the affirmation of faith that the idea of resur-rection has become a reality in the risen Christ. Seen as a transhistorical event with historical consequences, the acclaimed res-urrection of Jesus of Nazareth lies, for all practical purposes, beyond the scope of scientific verification and remains inti- Through their faithfulness to the vows, lived in community and in the Spirit, religious seek mainly to nourish their relationship with the risen Christ. mately tied to the internal, subjective event of faith to which it gave life. That is not to say that Jesus' resurrection has no ground in the external order, but only that it ultimately lies beyond the scope of controlled observation. In this respect, the faith experi-ence of those who experienced the risen Lord is qualitatively dif-ferent from that of those whose faith rests upon their testimony. Blessed precisely because they believe without seeing, today's believers share in the hope of their own transformed existence which, through their experience of the Spirit in the church com-munity of the faithful, may be experienced even now in the quiet anticipation of the fullness of a reality yet to come. They bring their hearts' deepest yearning for the fullest presence of the risen Christ to the table of the Lord, where they are blessed with a glimpse of

Issue 51.3 of the Review for Religious, May/June 1992. ; for religious Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living MAY-JUNE 1992 ¯ VOLUME 51 ¯ NUMBER 3 Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly at Saint Louis Universio,., by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Telephone: 314-535-3048. Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Correspondence about the "Canonical Counsel" department: Elizabeth McDonough OP ¯ 5001 Eastern Avenue ¯ P.O. Box 29260 V~;ashington, D.C. 20017. POSTMASTER Senti address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, anti additional offices. SUBSCRIPTION RATES Single copy $5.00 includes surface mailing costs. One-year subscription $15.00 plus mailing costs. Two-year subscription $28.00 plus mailing costs. See inside back cover for subscription information and mailing costs. ©1992 Review for Religious for religious Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Assistant Editors Advisory Board David L. Fleming sJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Michael G. Harter SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe David J. Hassel SJ Mary Margaret Johanning SSND Iris Ann Ledden SSND Edmundo Rodriguez SJ Se~in Sammon FMS Wendy Wright PhD Suzanne Zuercher OSB Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living MAY/JUNE 1992 ¯ VOLUME 51 ¯ NUMBER 3 contents life choices 326 A Monastic Way in the World Theresa Mancuso tells of the monasticism she has found herself continuing to live now for ten years in New York City, ever since she left her monastery in upstate New York. 337 I Leap Back Over the Wall Corey S. Van Kuren OFMCap offers reflections on his experience of reentering a religious community. 341 Why We Stay Eileen P. O'Hea CSJ presents a personal witness to a lasting commitment to the religious vocation. 347 When a Sister or Brother Leaves Melannie Svoboda SND offers personal reflections on the departure from religious life of a lifelong friend. transitions 356 The Integral Sabbatical Brian B. McClorry SJ blends the traditional sabbatical elements of coursework and reading with time in a remote wilderness and discovers the riches of the ordinary. 373 Using Ignatian Discernment Philip L. Boroughs SJ applies the Ignatian principles for discernment to a person in a time of transition. scripture and spiritual life 388 A Woman's Compassionate and Discerning Heart Mary Lou Cranston CND examines the compassionate heart of the. woman in 1 Kings 3 as a model for understanding discernment and its relationship to religious obedience and governance. 397 Peter's Characterization in Luke-Acts Lola M. Wells proposes that a unified reading of Luke-Acts provides a valuable portrait of individual discipleship. 3 2 2 Review for Religious 403 Petitionary Prayer in a Biblical Perspective John H. Zupez SJ reflects on the constant value of petitionary prayer especially through a more mature way of entering into our Scriptures. 408 Hasidism, Creation, and the Psalms Joseph Fichtner OSC, guided by the Hasidic tradition, finds in the Psalms an awe-filled creation spirituality alert to the Creator's presence and power. devotional life 417 Marian Spirituality and Apparitions Walter T. Brennan OSM suggests that the proliferation of Marian apparitions leaves us living in a gray area of pastoral judgment and practice, but paradoxically gray is full of color. 424 The Mirror Image in Clare of Assisi Sister Karen Karper develops how Clare presents Christ as the mirror of one's own deepest identity and its apostolic implications. charism and mission 432 Reclaiming Competence Theresa M. Monroe RSCJ indicates that some careful limits and boundaries would protect the creativity our times demand of religious institutes. 453 Restructuring William F. Hogan CSC points out that restructuring in religious congregations must balance the twofold need to maintain institutional essentials and to adapt to the challenges of the mission. 458 reflection Why Claude la Colombi~re? John A. McGrail SJ uses the canonization of Claude la Colombi~re to consider the roots and contemporary value of devotion to the Sacred Heart. departments 324 Prisms 461 Canonical Counsel: Voluntary Exclaustration 469 Book Reviews May-j~une 1992 323 prisms Pope John Paul II seems to be setting a record in saint making. In his various missionary travels, he frequently celebrates the ritual of beatification or can-onization of a woman or man recognized for holiness by the local people. Some are critical of this making of saints. "Out of step with the times," they say. Others just wonder why. We human beings need our heroes and heroines. The stories of women and men who have captured our minds and hearts because of their bravery, their dedicated service, their contribution to a more humane world have been told in every culture and in every age. The names change, the circumstances differ, but the inspiration for human living remains the same. We all seem to be searching for a glimpse or two of heroism not too far from home. Yet some fear or some reluctance appears to stifle, early on, our own desire for the heroic. Various factors may contribute to this reluc-tance. Perhaps pop psychology, too readily imbibed as Gospel, has made us too content with being the ordinary persons we are, too willing to be coddled into a generic self-esteem. Or when heroes are proposed, a mean spirit in us and in our culture may drive us to search out ways to cut these people back down to ordinary size . . . or less. Maybe such behavior flows from a poorly idealized pro-letarian spirit which is a communist residue in us all. Often it seems that heroes or heroines are quickly raised up and 324 Review fbr Relig4ous just as quickly forgotten. Perhaps our enthusiasm for their exam-ple and their deeds lasts no longer than the music or video of the moment. Then, too, we probably fear the disappointment of the hero or heroine letting us down; we surely fear the cost of hero-ism for ourselves. Despite such stifling factors or because of them, our need for inspiring heroism to permeate our everyday world in the living example of contemporary women and men remains. The vari-ous spiritual traditions in the church have been first enfleshed in the lives of women and men before they came to be written down as programs for the following of Christ. Life and ministry shone out in persons with names and faces before any rule or constitu-tions were formulated. There comes a time in every spirituality when structures or formulas or written theological treatises are essential if it is to become a heritage or tradition within the church community. A common way that particular spiritualities have been institutionalized has been through the foundation of religious congregations. Religious life does not exist as a generic reality, but only in particular embodiments, each with its own approved rule of life, an organized spiritual tradition. A religious rule of life, then, not only provides for the identity of a particular reli-gious family as a legitimate form of following Christ, but also ¯ brings that family's prophetic voice to the harmonies and coun-terpoints of the church on earth. The danger of any heritage arises when it becomes a tomb or sculpted sarcophagus, beautiful in its form, but containing disconnected bones devoid of breath. Only heroes and heroines make spiritualities live. Can people live heroic lives in an unheroic age? The answer obviously lies with us. No matter what our spirituality or her-itage may be, the people who embody it for us retain an impor-tance beyond a brilliant theoretical study of a particular charism or some wonderfully fashioned new constitutions. Saints, both old and new, hold out to us the promise that this kind of a fol-lowing of Christ is humanly possible. Requiring a little heroism, perhaps, but humanly possible. Our church and our world need heroes and heroines. Anyone of us who is serious about the spiritual heritage we try to live rec-ognizes the call within it to be heroic. To paraphrase Chesterton, it is not so much that heroism has been tried in our day and found wanting; rather, today we try so little to be heroic. .David L. Fleming SJ May-3~une 1992 325 life choices THERESA MANCUSO A Monastic Way in the World Into the darkness of a cold winter's night, I peer quietly from my third-floor window, reflective after the day's work. Gathering up my briefcase and tightening my gray woolen scarf close about my face, I leave the office and head up Lafayette Street towards the "M" train. This is the evening part of my daily routine, the trip home from work. Upstate far away the semantron sounds over halcyon hills of white birch. Monks and nuns make ready to answer the call of the monastery bell which will soon follow the hol-low rhythm of the semantron. Donning black choir robes, they will take their places for Vespers. Ancient chants will blend harmoniously with the whistling mountain wind as it purrs along the windows of the monastery church. Still living my self-imposed exile of a decade, I walk through the darkening streets of lower Manhattan as falling snow shimmers softly about the dim street lights. I hear down-town church bells chiming six o'clock. The old nostalgia rises as I hustle down broken concrete steps into.the cold, damp tunnel, far from the candlelight kingdom of my monastery home. The "M" train screeches into the sta-tion, jamming to a stop along the drab platform. Doors fling open and I rush to board, jostled by the crowd, my fellow travelers, all scrambling for a seat. Everything monastic, everything I love, is far away and long removed, Theresa Mancuso has been a member of an active religious order and of.a monastic community. She has published on wide-ranging topics 'including religious education, elder abuse, and criminal probation. She lives at 448 Seventh Avenue; Brooklyn, New York 11215. 326 Review for Religious but I carry it still in my heart. Here in the streets of the city or deep beneath them hurling through subterranean corridors on hard cold rails of steel, I ponder the Desert Fathers and the vows I made years ago while walking in their pathways. Every day, five days out of seven, I begin and end my travels at Union Street station in the underside of Park Slope, Brooklyn. It is a poor neighborhood unreclaimed by urban renewal. Trash and waste clutter its curbs and sidewalks, a place where immigrants cling tena-ciously to the fringes of hope that carried them from their homes in Ecuador, Nicaragua, Puerto Rico, parts of Asia, Africa, and Eastern Europe. They work hard here and live hard, struggling to make it on Union Street. These are my neigh-bors and I am theirs. Amid the drama of daily life unfolding here with its stark reality calling me toward a new wisdom, I park my car and climb down the subway steps to board the train to and from Manhattan. Every morning and every evening my meditation begins and ends here, my earnest prayer rising from the cold and lonely street. The crowded train on weekday mornings teaches me much of patience and endurance. Pushing, shoving, sweating, shivering, they board, riders of this underground iron horse, travel-weary as they squeeze into place. Once settled, the subway people sink into watchful silence, hardly raising their eyes yet ever on guard. Destinies mingle here in this place where the sun does not shine and danger is always just a breath away. Muggings and murder are familiar specters in the New York City subway. The security of the monastery is a dream-like state, a fading unfamiliar mem-ory. There is no security here. Here one rides in the arms of Divine Providence, wrapped in total abandonment under the pro-tection of the Mother of God. There are no promises of personal safety in the darkness of this daily voyage underneath the city. I often look about and see prayer happening on the faces of many fellow travelers. Some'read Scripture, openly holding a small Bible on their laps; some say the rosary, while others sit straight with hands folded in the perfect posture of meditation. How true ring the words that rise in my heart as the train rushes forward, "Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us." I often look about and see prayer happening on the faces of many fellow travelers. May-.~une 1992 327 Mancuso ¯ A Monastic V~ay in the IVorld Dirt and discomfort surround me as I call upon the assistance of the Holy Spirit to quiet my soul and prepare my mind to reflect more deeply on that which alone is nec.es~ary. In this, the most unlikely of places, I have learned to make my daily prayer. Well I remember the daily formula used in my earliest experience of religious life, when the superior commenced the community's prayer time with the words: "Let us place ourselves in the pres-ence of God and ask the assistance of the H?ly Spirit to make our meditation well." These words speak themselves in my mind as the subway train runs along the track. The harsh screech of iron wheels blazing along the curved track under the East River assaults my ears as my mind focuses on interior prayer. My eyes meet a kaleidoscope of society, fellow travelers scurrying like ants on their way to anyplace but here. They are part of the collage of prayer that rises in my heart. Sometimes I wrestle with truths of the spiritual life learned in the safe, secure society of robed monks and nuns and I try to apply those truths to today's society, neither safe nor secure. What is monasticism if not the road to repentance? And what is this daily voyage in the belly of the earth if not a journey of repentance? I study my companions .along t_fie way, for they will often teach me without saying a word. Busines~ men and women dressed in smart somber suits, their briefcases clutched with pro-found importance--their presence awakens me to the cries of sec-ular society. I watch students and tourists with backpacks loaded on their shoulders, leftover hippies with long hair tied in greasy ponytails. I observe ill-clad .teenagers late for school or playing hookey, perhaps, instead. The sea of humanity that ebbs and flows around me leads me deeper into contemplation of the Creator who knows them all, each by name, who reads the secrets of their hearts and hears their every longing. My fellow riders are of every race, religion, color, size, and descriptign. Together we hurl through tl~is iron tube deep in the belly of darkness. The homeless are here, too, dreary and desolate, fighting a daily battle with hunger, told, and desperation. They live on the subway trains or ride them until they are evicted, for here at least there is some warmth and shelter from the outdoor elements. Coffee cups are freqtiently extended in their dirty hands under hungry, sad, defeated eyes. What can they not teach me of poverty and penance? Indeed, I am embarrassed at the luxuries I knew in the monastery while they, the poor and dispossessed, not 328 Review for Religiog~ by vow but by reality, have perhaps not for one instant in a life-time known real comfort, security, or personal safety. They force me to reexamine everything I once took for granted. I count their sufferings in vacant eyes and in the biting fatigue on faces worn and haggard. They call me to deeper repentance without saying a single word, me who have enjoyed so much of what they lack. Outside the protection and security of the religious life, outside the shelter of community, I have come to new terms with reality, to understand at last what it really means to have no one and nothing but God. Sometimes the subway poor wander through the train speak-ing loudly, interrupting our smug self-centered silence. We are reading, we are thinking, we are silent; they are begging. They ask for change or a dollar perhaps if they feel lucky. But straphanger charity is always unpredictable. Accursed with misfortune, they ride side by side with the powerful and privileged while I, look-ing from one to the other, remember that poverty has many faces. I see it there, poverty, even among the rich, poverty of spirit and of morals, poverty of faith, bankruptcy of the soul. My heart is forced to consider the meaning of poverty in vows I took so long ago and the poverty I practice today, for after all some kind of poverty is essential to the monastic life. But everything is differ-ent now; I understand for the first time in my life the struggle for survival others must face. When I offer one of them the small and meager gift of a dollar or a dime, I know that I am here not for the purpose of teaching them but in order that I may learn. So different from the monastery classroom, this too is an education of the heart. When I left the monastery ten years ago, I fully expected to abandon forever the life I had known, for twenty-five years, the religious life. I thought I was headed for secular society, for free-dom and promise in a world without restrictions and restraints, away from the rigors of community life with all its pain and heartache. I came to New York City at the recommendation of the metropolitan. But, once here, I soon realized that I had only taken the nun out of the monastery, not out of me. All my experiments with other lifestyles served to teach me that monastic life was rooted far deeper and more intensely in my heart than I had ever dreamed. My spiritual journey continued 'far from the support of monastery routine, far from the view of the monastery community. May-.~une 1992 329 Mancuso ¯ ~1 Monastic Way in the World Indeed I found myself living alone the same monastic life I lived in the community. All I had read in years gone by concerning the Camaldolese in the West and ideorhythmic monks in the East began to make great sense to me. Could I survive spiritually as a monastic living in the world? I sought a spiritual teacher and could not find one. Then I found one, strange and unexpected, in New York City; not a per-son, but a phenomenon: this daily ride on hard cold rails of steel. The New York Subway System, harsher than the sternest spiritual father, pulled me from the gutter of despair in the dismal winter of 1981. It dragged me down the cold dark tunnel of despon-dency and forced me to choose between life and death. There I was forced to cling to God with all my might lest I fall from the subway platform by my own step and crash on the tracks below in the path of the roaring train. Ten years have healed that broken-ness. A new hunger awakened within me. A new spiritual jour-ney began as I recommited myself to the monastic way. My search for monasticism in the city led me to understand that what I needed was monasticism of the heart. I knew I could not go back before I grew up, and perhaps never. What I needed more than ever before in my life was an authentic spirituality, a genuine monasticism, for now I was a nun without a monastery, alone in a world I did not know or understand. My new cloister was the streets of the city; my new obedience, an obedience to reality and the obligations of survival. The cold, hard teacher I had found was the subway itself---with no name, no face, and no heart and demanding of me complete abandonment and total surrender to God. It spoke to me as surely as any spiritual teacher I have ever known. It spoke because my whole being was listening. I was searching with all my heart. That is what great spiritual longing does; it opens every fiber .of one's being. Then one can truly hear. At last. One listens best when no more escapes are possible. Every day, morning and evening, I found myself grappling with the mysteries of faith and reality, struggling to discern the presence of God in the secular world. The milieu of faith I had known in religious life and took so much for granted was far behind me now. I had to create one in myself if I was to retain a spiritual focus in my life. In the personless hands of this tutelage, there was no protection, no one to turn to, no arms to hold me faint with fatigue. Fear loomed up over the darkness of my soul like fog on the docks of South Street Seaport. In the beginning I 330 Review far Religiaus was angry, depressed and bitter. Confusion reigned where once I thought I knew my purposes. Conflict raged. Gradually, from daily meditation and interior prayer deep in the darkness of the earth as I traveled the subway system, there came the dawn of a soft, strong light which began to illumine the darkness of my spirit. I remembered words spo-ken to me long ago by my father when I was just a little girl: "There is no night so dark that you cannot reach out and take the hand of God." Slowly I regained perspective on the original purpose of my life, my spiritual journey. Is there, I wondered, searching my heart, the possibility of being an authentic monastic living in the world? And if there is, what shall it ask of me and how shall I answer? When the doors we have passed through are closed and locked behind us and those we have loved no longer speak our name, then indeed we must come to the truth or we shall surely perish. And if the truth should call us on alone, girded only with the armor of faith, with no assurances and no compan-ions to stave off the terror of the night, when there is no road back, we must carve our own road forward. When that which we have loved the most is forever lost to us, we must build a new tabernacle in the desert of the heart. This is the vocation of the monk or nun in the world. To bring to birth in the solitude of society an authentic monasticism of the heart, alone except for God and whatever he provides. Every morning I exit the train at Chambers Street and make my way up the subway steps. The stench of urine greets me, the first smell I perceive each day in downtown New York. I who love the warm richness of burning incense and the leaping flame of candlelight, I am thrust into this daily reminder of what is behind and what lies before me: the smell of the street and its treachery, the darkness of places where candles never flicker. I am Moses in the desert, forty years of wandering across the wasteland of Manhattan. Today I pass two Hasidim studying a subway map just outside the entrance of the train. One is bent with age, his white beard flowing over the collar of a shiny black coat. The other is young, unmarried, tall and blond with side curls fluffing out from under his black yarmulka and felt hat. They do not acknowledge me, a goy, though I pass within inches of their out- 'There is no night so dark that you cannot reach out and take the hand of God." May-~t~une 1992 331 Mancuso ¯ A Monastic Way in the World spread map. On Centre Street a Chinese peddler opens a stall, displaying his wares on two small sidewalk tables set by the curb. He and his wife sell woolen caps, scarves, sweatshirts, and pants. Their breaths steam like smoke in the windy street. Here on the next corner the Italian sausage man has been standing for several hours beside his concession wagon. Smells of sausage and sauerkraut overwhelm me as I pass, for the day is very young. I walk behind two black lawyers dressed in gray three-piece suits. They are deeply engaged in conversation with a white woman, also an attorney. She wears herself proud, this articulate lady; achievement and prominence like her gold earrings proclaim her success in a man's world. They head toward the courthouse on Centre Street carrying their serious leather briefcases with an air of profound importance. I think about pride and power and humil-ity and powerlessness. I think about the righteousness of law. A thin young man, alone and smiling, dressed in woman's clothing, sits on the bench at Thomas Paine Park, quietly hum-ming to himself. He is there every day, all day. Across the street a tall Hispanic man, handsome in his faded blue jeans and tan hooded sweatshirt, keeps his post with hand outstretched. He entertains passersby, juggling several coffee cups and telling humorous stories. Is he a fool for Christ's sake, or has he only learned to play the fool in hope of an extra quarter in his cup? When the morning crowd has passed and rush hour is over, he slumps onto a park bench and does crossword puzzles until later in the day when he will resume his trade, the daily round of beg-ging. I walk on toward Lafayette and Leonard Street. A homeless woman pushes a grocery-store cart which contains all her earthly possessions. She is wrapped in layers of rags. Near the corner of Worth Street, I notice the old cab driver, an Irishman with shin-ing blue eyes and stubbly beard. He is retired now to a life of penury, another beggar on the streets of the city. He sits on the park bench combing white disheveled hair just as he did yester-day, just as he will do tomorrow. What monk weaving baskets in the desert or writing music in a modern monastery knows greater mortification or penance than he? Soon he will change his wet socks no matter how cold it is. In the rain, in the sleet, in the snow, or in the sun I see him every day, his stack of reclaimed newspapers beside him. I wonder if he ever thinks of God, or must he always worry about his daily bread? I continue down Centre Street and lift my eyes to read words 332 Review for Religious inscribed high on the courthouse faCade: "The true administration of justice is the firmest pillar of good government." I think a lot about justice. Justice, mercy, and charity. Righteousness and law. I think about the government of our country, the government of the church and that of monastic life. I wonder about politics in places where politics should have no place, the house of God. I wonder if the hand of justice can ever reach beyond the bound-aries of political alliances, those in the world and those in the church. Does the true administration of justice happen anywhere, I wonder, and if so, when and where? Who renders justice in real-ity? Is the government of the church and that of monasteries in particular built on true justice and charity, or is it linked to the power of a few who have pleased their superiors and risen to high places? Who are the recipients of justice? And I, when shall I learn to be just? When shall I have the courage for justice and charity? Crossing the street before the light changes, I ponder the plight of those for whom justice never happens and charity is but a word, those in the world and those in the church. Now I head toward the large marble building at the corner of Lafayette and Leonard Street. Its dark charcoal .walls shine in the morning sun. It is here on the third floor that I work in the New York City Department of Probation housed in the Family Court Building. It is time now to concern myself with matters of crim-inal justice: domestic violence, restitution, probationer miscon-duct, probationer drug tests. My tasks are writing and analysis. I lay aside my morning reflections and commit myself to the day's work. It, too, has something to teach me. In the monastery I baked cheesecakes and bread, I built cabinets and furniture, grew vegetables and cooked for the community. I tended guests and prepared the hospitality we offered to strangers. Did that work dif-fer so much from the work I do today? Was it more purifying to my soul or more pleasing to God than these hours before the computer researching and writing about criminal justice? Who can say that one is somehow more pleasing to God than another? Is it not the heart that makes the difference?. Everywhere there is something to learn. Often have I looked into the eyes of a pro-bationer, understanding that we are all on probation in this world, all of us facing the opportunity to change our lives or not, and the consequences thereof. Nothing, it seems, is incapable of teaching us if we pay attention with our hearts. This is the way it is, five days a week, every week of the year. May-.~une 1992 333 Mancuso ¯ A Monastic Vday in the IVorM All about me are the signs God places in my path calling me back to himself over and over again. I gather up the fragments of the day, bits and pieces of reality, signposts and fellow travelers I have met along my way. I take them to my heart, where like candles they illumine the darkness of my soul. I pray for them as I pon-der what they have told me without speaking. I am jostled into awareness by the touch of their reality on my own. In seventeenth-century France a man named Vincent, now called St. Vincent de Paul in the Roman Catholic Church and considered by Western Christianity to be the universal father of charity, said to his first sisters--those early pioneer sisters in social service, for nuns until that time were always cloistered in monas-teries--" Your cloister will be the streets of the city and your chapel the parish church." On the streets of New York and beneath them, I have entered a new and different cloister, a spiritual one. It is not an enclo-sure; indeed, it is very open. Open to reality. Open to grace. The parish church is indeed my chapel. There in the sacred hours of Vespers and Divine Liturgy I come to understand what Vincent de Paul was talking about. It is a phenomenon of the last decades that numerous sisters, brothers, monks, nuns, and priests have left the enclosure of con-vents and monasteries and ventured forth into the world. For sure, many of them have completely turned to new lifestyles, abandoning the old. Some have married, others have entered paths altogether removed from that on which they first set their course. I am among another group, that of monks and nuns liv-ing alone in the world and striving to continue the monastic jour-ney started in community. Some may say that monks and nuns in the world cannot be monks or nuns at all. Perhaps so. Perhaps not. If monasticism is repentance and conversion of heart, surely anyone with goodwill who sets out on the path of repentance and conversion of heart is truly a monk, truly a nun. If monasticism is the search for truth and harmony in the universe, a search for God hidden beneath all the layers of reality that cover everything and everybody, then those who search are truly monks and truly nuns. If the habit does not make the monk and the essence of monasticism is seeking God above all things and striving to live the spiritual life with all one's being, then those who commit to this sacred journey--whether alone or in community, dressed in 334 Review for Religious religious attire or secular garb, recognized or not recognized by official ecclesiastical structures--are truly authentic monks and nuns. The riason of the choir is not suitable for the street, but the true choir robe of the heart is purity of intention, single-mindedness in faith, humility before God, ation. One need not live in a monastery to wear this authentic spiritual robe, and thus clothed on the inside of one's being, one is truly a monk, truly a nun. Yes, it is frightening to ~tand on the edge of the desert and know that absolutely there is no other way to pass. It is hard to go naked into the nigh.t of the spirit with no comforts, no road maps, no spiritual father or mother, no companions for sup-port or sustenance. Alone. This stripping, however, of everything we mistake for safety and security is the reality that makes us true monks and true nuns in company with those who have gone before us, the Desert Fathers of antiquity. I do not wish to compare one form of monastic life with and love for his cre- The true choir robe of the heart is purity of intention, single-mindedness in faith, humility before God, and love for his creation. another. I do not wish to contrast the merits of living in com-munity and living in the world. Rather, what I wish to ponder is the fact of the spiritual journey, the reality of the spiritual searcher whereve~ he or she may be. This inner journey never ends though everything may change. If we know that, whatever may have gone before us and whatever yet may come, there is no path for us but through the desert, no cloak for us but the mercy of God, no pos-ture but humility and repentance before his face, then we have sufficient knowledge to continue on the path. He will provide all that is needed. If we find ourselves aware that we have no road map, no comfort station, no companion to lighten our burden and cheer us along, how shall we find our way? Will fear and loneliness defeat us? Having lost or abandoned everything, the soul stands naked and empty in the face of its Creator. This is the moment of truth. Accepting our essential nakedness and littleness, we take our emptiness back to God. Kenosis. The outpouring, the emptying of our hearts. Everything we have done and have failed to do. We gather up the fragments of our lives and return them to the Lord. May-.l~une 1992 335 Mancuso ¯ A Monastic Way in the World Holy wisdom teaches us that everything lost in time will be recov-ered in eternity. Our task is but to seek the Master who calls us to the feast. Contemplating the mercy and terrible judgment of God, how shall we stand? Only in abandonment and complete surren-der, with no excuses and no demands except to pray: "Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we for-give those who trespass against us." When all the rest is taken from us or when we, like foolish children, have ourselves run from our Father's house, have nothing, we may yet have every-thing, for only faith, hope, and love remain, "and the greatest of these is love." I wonder as I wander the streets and subways of New York if the monastery is not really everywhere and monasticism everyone's journey. Over a Garden-Wall at Bambous Mission Ile Maurice Can He be jealous that I hear the music of men's loves swirling whirling over garden-walls dancing through the moonlit trees around, swirling whirling once again and around and out, now carried on the evening breeze mingling with the rustling grass and palms and shyly whispering leaves, now ebbing flowing on the turning tide of salty scented ocean air? Can He be jealous? of me? of them ? Or does He too plainly see and hear the kernel of man's pain and loss and disillusionment they waltz about? And yet He holds me tighter. Cothrai Gogan CSSp 336 Review for Religious COREY S. VAN KUREN I Leap Back Over the Wall tth le 9c5o0n ~Me n° ~ iacf~ d aid ~ni ~y _Cehi rgOh~i~ leeadr s.h ~nr r!eLfl ;c~ o0~ eOr ~eeaV idff' she recounts in classic style what occurred and what she felt as she reentered a world she did not know because of her "hiddenness" in religious life. In the past twenty-five years, many religious have left reli-gious life, and most others have experienced enormous changes in it. Many books and articles have been written about the emo-tional, psychological, and anthropological realities involved in such changes. These writings run the gamut from leaving reli-gious life altogether to changing one's status in a particular com-munity tokeeping the same status in another community with a different history, ministry, charism, or geographic center. Lawrence Rywalt CP, in the September/October 1991 issue of Review for Religious, lays out in fine fashion the realities of what goes on with those who are changing their religious life by pass-ing from a "community of origin" to a "receiving community." Throughout his article he uses terms like "a time of adolescence" to describe the mixed emotions one experiences upon entering the unknown. It is somewhat understandable to this reader, as one who is presently going through this process, that these terms are more than somewhat awkward; they may be harmful if per-ceived to be negative. Not only is there a lack of a "clear" canonical process for Corey S. Van Kuren OFMCap is currently in the reentry program of the Capuchin-Franciscan province of St. Mary (New York-New England). His address is St. Michael's Friary; 225 Jerome Street; Brooklyn, New' York 11207. May-~une 1992 337 Van Kuren ¯ I Leap Back Over the Wall The cycle of leaving/reentry can and perhaps should be perceived as a healthy pattern of living. defining this reality of "reentry," but the rarity with which it is perceived and coped with, let alone talked about, makes the use of analogy the only way to discuss it. There are no terms proper to this process, so we who exp.erience it and those who must deal with us are forced to speak in analogy or struggle to invent new ways of speaking about who and what we are. (This is as frightening as was the experience of Monica Baldwin in 1950.) In my own case, the entry/reentry process has happened a couple of times. I first entered the Capuchin Order in 1973 and left in 1981 before ordina-tion. I returned for a short stint and left again. In 1986 I was ordained a diocesan priest and now am in a reen-try program with the same province of Capuchins. I firmly believe that the cycle of leaving/reentry can and per-haps should be perceived as a healthy pattern of living. It is only through the ongoing struggle to find God's will that anyone of us is going to reach sanctity, the goal of any vocation, religious, mar-ried, or single. We need to call the emotions and behaviors they involve by their real names, instead of trying to liken them to any other experience of change. Leaving religious life is no't like divorce, an analogy often heard. Divorce usually happens after prolonged experience of anger, hurt, or at least a clear realization of irrec-or; cilable differences. My own exp~rienc~ and that of others who have talked with me is that we felt, or discerned, that the life we were leading was not what we were then called to, if indeed we ever were called to it. This is not to say that the feelings of loss were not real for us or that we did not miss the people or perhaps even the structures that w~ left behind, but the negativity of such feelings that divorce usually implies was absent. Likewise, to term the process of reentry a time of "adoles-cence" because it might conjure up feelings 6f "anger, despair, fear, chaos, denial, bewilderment, and malaise," as Rywalt sug-gests in his third stage, casts a shadow on the reality of these feel-ings as healthy or as progress or as worthy of an adult. In any event, the expectation of finding such negative feelings is pro- 338 Review for Reli~ous claimed more strongly than any thought of the possibility of feel-ing joy, peace, and a sense of "coming home"--which seems, at least to me, highly possible for those in the reentry process. Just prior to my ordination as a diocesan priest, at a meeting with Bishop Frank Harrison of Syracuse, I revealed to him one fear I had, that I was not sure that I was not called to religious life as I had previously believed and that I might feel compelled to try to reenter religious life in the future. I felt it necessary to speak to him of this feeling before ordination, and must admit that I feared his response might be that I should postpone my ordination until I was sure. Not surprisingly (in looking back and having come to know Bishop Harrison better), his response to me was wise, fatherly, and helpful. In essence, he assured me that this feeling was no reason not to go forward with ordination, pro-vided I was sure that even as a religious my call would include ordained ministry. In addition he laid no claim to knowing what God had in store for him in the future, let alone what the same God had in store for me. The question remains for me: Should it not be possible to change, to move in and through the structures of ministry as we seek God's will, without enduring the analysis of our psycholog-ical motivation, having our behaviors monitored or judgments made about the health or sickness of our actions? It seems to me that as Gospel people we would at least admit to the possibility of a religious motive, the reality of the call. We are too quick to give over to the sciences that which is spiritual, God centered, and not bound by the analysis of science. Is it a bad thing for men and women to constantly try to dis-cern God's will for them? If occasionally this discernment calls for change in structure or movement in or out of structures, need these people be subjected to an analysis of their health, a ques-tioning of their motivations, or must they live with the stigma of being unable to commit? I cannot predict whether my reentry experiment will be sue-cessful in moving me to "profess" again within the Capuchin com-munity. It is my deep hope and desire that it will. However it happens, though, I will neither judge the community nor myself at fault. Nor will I subject myself to questions whether I am mov-ing or not moving through "healthful" stages of development in the process. Prayer, the grace of God through living the Gospel counsels in common, sacramental grace, and meaningful ministry May-June 1992 339 Van Kuren ¯ I Leap Back Over the Wall will be the reality that decides for me and the community if this reentry is God's will. I find that reality comforting and assuring. I do not want to degrade the proper role of the sciences in defining the realities of our life. But as Christians, as ministers, as religious, we cannot give them positions they do not deserve. They must be seen in the proper perspective, and that means integrated with religious, spiritual realities--not taking their place. The leap back over the wall takes as much grace and courage as does the original leap over the wall. That grace and courage comes from relationship with a loving and forgiving God. Religious find this in the lives and faces of brothers and sisters more than in the psychological and scientific analysis of what is healthy or in other comparisons. A leap over the wall--a leap back over the wall--is always a leap of faith. Antiphonal With joy and gladness we cry out to you, Lord: with love and laughter make our hearts sing today from sunrise to sunset. Wisdom of God, be with us, ever at work in us: guiding our hearts and hands; our thoughts, our words, our works. How happy are we who dwell in your house, 0 Lord, forever praising you. Maryanna Childs OP 340 Review for Religious EILEEN P. O'HEA Why We Stay Aging, inadequate retirement funds, as well as the high cost of health care that paralleled and intensified these issues, were crises in religious life that Archbishop Rembert Weak]and of Milwaukee and the campaign inaugurated by the American bishops made public. This campaign aimed at bring-ing attention and monies to the plight of religious communities in America. It brought public attention to something else as well. Along with the assessments religious communities were making about themselves and the data provided by professional research organizations, it made plain that religious communities, with their median age then at 62 and rising, could be vanishing from the American culture. What to do? Get more candidates! Vocation ministry then became a recognized need in religious communities. These min-isters were given offices, cars, and money to explore solutions to this problem. What was once left to chance meetings of persons attracted to religious life now became a full-time occupation. When the problem did not get resolved with an influx of members, these vocation ministers started confronting both com-munity leaders and community members about their nonin-volvement in the process of attracting candidates. Religious communities then began to examine their collective consciences. Why are people not attracted to us anymore? Are we doing some-thing wrong? Are we no longer reflecting those religious values Eileen P. O'Hea is a Sister of Saint Joseph of Brentwood, New York. Presently she is working as a therapist and a spiritual director at Stony Lake Office Park; 2459 15th Street N.W.; New Brighton, Minnesota 55112. May-June 1992 341 O'Hea ¯ Why l~Ve Stay that attract people to want to live out the gospel in a religious community? Or have we been so coopted by materialism and our own needs that people see us as just another lifestyle with little connection to the holy and the truly religious? Or perhaps we are just not presenting ourselves, not advertising ourselves enough, not effectively reaching the public's consciousness? Not doing enough or not being enough to attract members was taken seriously by religious communities. But numbers of candidates did not increase. What religious communities found was that there were people "out there" who wanted to join them in prayer and gospel response, but not full-time. This gave birth to associate membership. These associates reminded members of religious congregations of the value and importance of community. They recognized, perhaps intuitively, that the joining of persons in faith and love is essential to the experience of realized love. Religious communities opened their doors and their hearts and found that the relationship between them and their associate members was mutually beneficial. Leaders and members of reli-gious communities latched onto this relationship as the hope for the future of religious life. This new hope was translated into a familiar organizational plan: designate a community member as director of associate membership. Give the person a car, office, and money to explore this undertaking. The beginning of associate membership brought a sigh of relief to communities. Many communities began to see associate membership as the answer to extinction. But, shortly after its ini-tiation, problems began to arise about how much "say" associate members would have in setting the direction for religious com-munities and whether they could vote for members for leader-ship positions or become leaders themselves. How much "say" would associates have about monies spent, or how much access would they have to these monies in time of need? Moreover, actual associate membership, however popular and good, is not weighted in favor of youth and vitality. Some of the individuals attracted to this membership share the same median age as the community with which they associate. Some of a dif-ferent age group visit for a while and then move on or are taken up with other commitments. Some, of course, stay and radiate to the established community their vitality, gifts, and deep spirituality. What Archbishop Wealdand did through the campaign he inaugurated was make thoroughly public what had been only 342 Review for Religious known in the privacy of religious communities. What happens to individuals when they finally express some fear out loud to a friend or therapist happened to religious communities. They could no longer deny or conveniently repress the facts of aging and dimin-ishment. When the private fears of religious communities were brought into the public forum, they became more real, more potent. The problems of aging, not attracting permanent membership, inadequate health care are realities known to members who have chosen to stay in religious life. These problems are compounded especially for women religious as they sometimes experi-ence themselves systematically oppressed by the institutional church. Women have been deeply hurt. In this ecclesial relationship, as in other personal relationships, the hurt can come only if the investment is deep enough. And it is precisely because their love for the church is so deep that women, as well as men, have experienced hurt from some of the structures, operating principles, and mind-sets of the institutional church and its representatives. Some of us have chosen to stay in religious life fully con-scious of the crises and dilemmas presented. Others have left for personal reasons such as fear about the lack of security religious life represents. Still others wrestle with the option of leaving as they look at the statistical data, their experience of the institu-tional church, and the logic of the situation. Some of the reasons people stay are very personal, some are theological, and some are mystical. My reasons for staying incorporate all of these and, I believe, represent some of the convictions and intuitions held by many. One of the sweetest gifts of religious life I have experienced is the friendships I have had and the bonding I have experienced with a group of women who are part of my community. Though I do not stay in religious life because of them, their presence is very important. If you could imagine us all standing in a circle facing a luminous light, dancing our way to that light, it would image this reality somewhat. We weave in and out of each other's lives in this dance of life, knowing the reality of the center and at times being that center of light for each other. Though I do not stay in religious life because of my friends, their presence is very important. May-~Zune 1992 343 O'Hea ¯ Why We Stay The ones not in my immediate circle I know belong to another circle of their own intimate friends. We do not experience the light in each other yet. But our experience in community and our interdependence over the years have brought us from mutual rejection or intolerance to mutual appreciation of the differences between our personalities and mutual caring about each other. Someday, after my negative intellectual and emotional program-ming has been purified, I will know that they too are light. In the meantime I am surrounded by women who, at some level, value the search and desire to be one with God and struggle to live this out in their ministry and personal life. In the novitiate our novice director told us that we would be given a hundredfold return. I could not then imagin~ what that could mean, but reflection on the past years says that is so. Although my life has been difficult at points, especially through the sting of a celibate lifestyle, it has also been life-giving and full of wonderful people and experiences that belonging to a reli-gious community has either allowed or facilitated. And although I can point to oppression in the past (religious life, like marriage and other vocations, was evolving in its understanding of itself), today I experience inner freedom. In spite of, or because of, belonging to a religious community, I have come to some under-standing of myself. I have had the opportunity, through prayer and commitment to spiritual pursuits, to know myself as loved and to realize that my being and the Being of God are the same reality. Some days I am more conscious of this truth than others; some days my own egocentricity obscures it completely. My longing to be one with God drew me to religious life. Frequently I was disillusioned by members of my religious com-munity. Each hurt, each disillusionment, forced me to peel away another layer of a psyche torn between finding its happiness out-side itself in people and things or finding happiness inside itself. It was a bright moment, a moment of light, when a deeper self was realized, a self that found within her the longing of her heart and then began to make peace and love with the external world. That process continues. Religious life helps the process. The same wise woman of my novitiate also quoted the saying about putting one's hand to the plow and not turning back. It is another reason for staying in religious life. It is not a matter of logic or assessment of security needs. Staying in community is a stance of faith. In faith I believe that my original desire found 344 Review for Religious form through religious community. The form might change or dissolve or might mimic all living organisms and go through a disintegration period before being reintegrated in a new form. I wafit to be faithful to my original commitment, which is a com-mitment of right relationship with God, of knowing and discov-eri~ ng the essence of this relationship. The task of all forms, including that of religious life, is to give expression to a deeper reality. The reality of God is beyond form. The place of faith is standing with others, community members and friends, and fac-ing together the deeper reality and not being overwhelmed as the form does whatever it needs to do. To be companioned in faith and love at this level of reality is to mirror the light, life, and love of a God who is beyond form. When sisters and brothers stand together at this place of faith, we redirect the energies of the world from its obsession with form to the Reality toward which all form is supposed to point. The creative energy of God is what we see reflected in our material universe, but the ultimate call of all human beings is to go beyond ~he reflection to the source who is Life and Being. As groups of religious unite in faith, facing into and sharing in the c~nter who is Love, they acknowledge the interrelatedness of all p~rsons in a communion of being that is beyond form. Perhaps the apparent disintegration experienced by ?eligious com-munities is part of the nec~essary evolution all living organisms go through. Perhaps it is taking us to a deeper experience of real-ity- the Reality beyond form. We, in our age, have evolved to a point where we are con-scious of being conscious. We are teeter-tottering on the edge of a new shift in consciousness. Members of religious communities have made great efforts to join with one another and to remove the psychological and emotional blocks that cause us to see our-selves as separated from each other. We have made great efforts to know ourselves at our deepest level. As we discover this deep-est self, we begin to realize that God "is" the centered self--that we (God-I) ire one. The realization of this oneness is an experi-ence that cannot be contained. It cannot be restrained by the form that is our body or the form that is religious community. As we recognize our being "in" Love, we begin to experience oth-ers no longer as other, no longer as outside ourselves--or sepa-rated from us. This is the beginning of communion consciousness. It is a way of being with each other that is beyond form. May-June 1992 345 O'Hea ¯ Why We Stay Why do we stay in religious life? We stay because the form that is religious life is still pointing us to the Reality our hearts have longed to be one with. We stay because our companions have been faithful to us and we want to be faithful to them. We stay because the greatest adventure of all, the awakening of con-sciousness to Reality, is about to happen and religious community can facilitate that awakening. We stay because we recognize love here. We stay because we know God's faithful love and want to respond with love. We stay because the form provides, 'through the experience of community and ministry, relationships of mutual love and sharing. We stay because we refuse to be intimidated by fear and a lack of security. We stay because we have put our hand to the plow and want to fulfill our commitment. We stay because our lives and commitment are about faith. We stay because in community the experience of God as Trinity is being realized and manifested in relationships that are life-giving, loving, and mutual. We stay because our intuition tells us that the experience of com-munion consciousness is about the many discovering themselves as one. We believe that the evolution of religious life is moving us closer to this discovery. We stay because true identity is realized in the discovery of the mutual indwelling of our being in the being of God and others. We stay because we want to witness to the Reality beyond form. Silence I cannot say that I no longer sing for in my heart, the while my lips are dumb, my song I keep. I only know that words no longer come to break the silent singing of a thing that lies too deep. Florian Reichert SSJ 346 Review for Religious MELANNIE SVOBODA When a Sister or Brother Leaves All of us in religious life have seen some of our brothers and sisters leave our communities even after many years. The circumstances leading to such a decision are usually complex and unique to each individual. But one fact is simple and universal: a person's decision to leave religious life has an impact on those who "decide to stay." The stronger the ties that bind us together in a religious community, the greater the pain and con-fusion when such bonds are, for all practical purposes, severed. This article explores some of the pain and confusion sur-rounding one sister's leaving. "Sue" (as I call her) is not a "real" sister, nor are these direct quotes from my own "real" journal. Such a reflection would be too personal for me to publish at this time. It would also run the risk of violating the privacy of a par-ticular individual's decision to leave religious life. Sue is rather, a composite of a number of i'eal people who have left my commu-nity and other communities as well. And though this account is fiction in the technical sense, it is nonetheless, I trust,-very true. It is my ho~e that these reflections will resonate with the thoughts and feelings of o~hers who have experienced a friend's departure from religious life. She tells me, "I'm leaving." And she wants me to be one of the first to know, before "it's announced." I sit in silence and disbe- Melannie Svoboda SND, a regular contributor to Review for Religious, resides at Notre Dame Academy; Route One, Box 197; Middleburg, Virginia 22117. May-j~ne 1992 347 Svoboda ¯ When a Sister or Brother Leaves Something is terribly wrong. Like someone has died or something, only I cannot remember who. lief in the front seat of the car. For a few moments I can say and do nothing. I am not surprised. Not really. Hasn't she been sharing her struggles with me these past three years? Didn't I suspect even a year ago that her searching and questioning would eventually lead to this: the decision to go? No, I am not surprised. But I am numbed. At least momentarily. Finally I say, "Are you sure?" And in the dim light of the car I see her nod and pull out a tissue, and I know she is crying. I reach over to her-- awkwardly over the gear shift and try to comfort her. I say her name a few times, and then I start to cry, too. For several moments we sit like that--me with my arm around her shoulder. No words. Just the sound of our soft crying. After a few moments we both sit up straight and blow our noses. In unison. We laugh at that and the laughter frees us to talk. Unhaltingly, she tells me of her most recent talks with her spiritual director, of her meeting with our provincial, and of her plans to tell her fam-ily. Everything seems decided. Everything is in place. She will leave in two months--on July 1. One day short of the twenty-eighth anniversary of her entrance into religious life. Of our entrance. I try to listen to everything she is telling me, but my mind is still stuck back there on her first two words, "I'm leaving." At the end I cry some more. I feel her hand gently on my back. I say, "I'm sorry, Sue." She thinks I mean for my tears. But I don't. "It's okay, Melannie. It's okay." But I am thinking: It is not okay. Nothing is okay. And, I fear, nothing will ever be okay again. When I wake up in the morning, I sense: something is wrong. Terribly wrong. Like someone has died or something, only I can-not remember who. I turn on the light. My eyes wince from the assault of its brightness. As my head falls back onto the pillow, "it" hits me: of course, she is leaving. How could I forget? As I slowly crawl out of bed, I feel sick to my stomach. And I know it's 348 Review for Religious not something I ate, it's not the flu. It's the thought of her going away. Later this morning she calls to ask me how I am. She asking me! I say, "Okay. How about you?" And we talk a little more. But before she hangs up she says, "You know, you cried the most. Of everyone I have told so far, you cried the most." And then she adds, "Thanks." Thanks? For what? For loving you? I go to school and I am the cheerful, competent, organized teacher you read about in all the educational journals. But it is all a sham. Inside I am dying--only no one knows. Her leaving is an oppressive burden I bear alone--for now--in secret. But maybe that is good, I think. For as long as nobody else knows about it yet, her leaving has an aura of unreality about it--which eases the pain a little. For now. o~o o~o o~o o:o I have known her for over thirty years--since we were fresh-men in high school. We sat next to each other in homeroom that year, and I liked her from the very start. She was cute, funny, lively, and (above all) good. Although we were typical teenage girls back then, we were somehow comfortable with bringing God into our more serious conversations. We were both terribly idealistic back then. My idealism nour-ished hers and hers mine. Although we made the decision to enter religious life independently of each other, we obviously influ-enced each other greatly. One month after graduating from high school, at age eighteen, the two of us entered the novitiate of the Sisters of Notre Dame--together. I decide I am taking this whole thing too morosely. I tell myself: "So, what's the big deal, anyway? You are acting as if she has died or something. That's stupid! So, a friend decides to leave religious life. So what? People make big changes in their lives all the time. "So, she is leaving. Don't make it soUnd so awful. Gone are the years when we called such departures 'defections.' Do not try to figure out her decision. Do not try to understand it. Accept it. May-~une 1992 349 Svoboda ¯ When a Sister or Brother Leaves Accept her. Stop moping. She's leaving. But life will go on--for her, for you." And just when such logic makes such good sense to me and I resolve to accept her decision with greater equanimity, she calls me on the phone and, after talking to her for an hour and hang-ing up, I cry again. Through my outpouring of words, I am celebrating her and our friendship. I talk,to Bob about her. He listens with concern and com-passion- as usual. He asks me all kinds of questions--about her, about me, about our relationship. And it is as if a dam has been broken wide open, and my words come gushing out like water. And I talk and talk. And in the talking I suddenly real-ize: I am celebrating her. Through my outpouring of words, I am celebrating her and our friendship. And it feels good. Then I tell him of my concerns for her, my fears. He listens attentively, gen-tly prodding with a question every now and then. And I am grateful, so grateful for this man who can elicit such an out-pouring from me and who is so respectful of everything I tell him. Finally he says, "You love her very much." A simple statement of fact. And I nod and smile at its obvi-ousness, and then I cry a little more and laugh, too. And later he asks, "Have you taken all of this to the Lord, Melannie?" And I stumble over my words, knowing I have not. At least not nearly enough. I tell Bob: "I keep thinking, 'God, if I love her this much, how much more you must love her.'" "That's good," he says. "That's good." And I leave Bob with a lighter heart and a clearer appreciation of my love for her-- and of my pain. And I wonder: When will I take all of this to God? Soon, I think. But not yet. I am worried about her. She is looking for a job now. She is talking about salary and taxes and insurance and getting an apart-ment. Almost all of our conversations these days are about her-- her and her plans. 350 Review for Religious It bothers me a little. Why? Do I feel left out? (I have plans, too!) Or is it that I want our relationship to return to an earlier form, to a time when our plans tended to coincide more? Whatever, I suggest to her: "The next time we get together, let's do something. Like go bowling or even to the zoo or some-thing, okay?" She says okay. I am relieved, for I am tired of talking about her, about "it." But as soon as I admit this to myself, I feel small and selfish. I do not understand her reasons for leaving. They are deep and go back many, many years. She still believes in religious life, she tells me. She still loves our community. And yet leaving us is something she feels she has to do. I do not understand, but I believe she has to do this. That belief makes her going easier for me to accept. o~o o~o o~o o.'o I loved her before we were Sisters of Notre Dame. I will con-tinue to love her afterwards, too. Yet I sense (and so does she) that there will be a change in our friendship--a significant change. After all, our shared commitment in the same religious commu-nity has been a vital part of our friendship. With that pai't gong, we are both wondering: How much wili our friendship be altered? And will the two of us be up to such an alteration? These past few days have been "guilt days." I keep thinking: Did I, as a friend, fail her? Is that why she is leaving? Maybe there is something I could have done that would have prevented her from making this decision. Maj'be .I could have been more sensi-tive, more caring, more supportive, more . Or did we as a religious community let her down? Is there something we as a community should be doing to prevent all these departures? Maybe we are overworked. Maybe we are focusing too much on ministry and not enough on each other. Maybe we are living the life all wrong.-Maybe., maybe., maybe. Bob says,"Youwomen really do get emotionally involved in each other~ lives." May-.~une 1992 351 Svobodu ¯ When a Sister or Brother Leaves I ask, "Don't you men feel like this when a brother leaves your .community?" "No," he says, "with us it is different. I do not think we feel it nearly as much as you women do." If what Bob says is true in men's communities, there is a part of me that envies men. But, then again, there is a part of me that feels sorry for them. Peg calls. She knows now, too. Finally someone in the com-munity I can talk to about it. "What do you think?" she asks me. And I tell her what I think. Then she shares with me her feel-ings. She is hurt. She is angry. She is worried about Sue. And now there is an added dimension to my own pain: seeing the pain Sue's leaying is having on others like Peg. But it is Peg's anger that takes me aback. So far I have not felt any anger, have I? Only hurt. Only worry. But now I wonder: Am I denying my anger? Am I letting Sue leave us too easily? Should I be fighting more to make her stay? Is my acceptance of her decision my way of lessening my own pain? Of easing my anger? I do not know what to think anymore. At the break at the meeting, Carol grabs me by the arm and pulls me out into the hall. "What's with Sue?" she asks brusquely. Not sure how much she already knows, I ask, "What do you mean?" Immediately I sense her irritation: (She has ne;cer been known for patience--or gentleness.) "Okay, Melannie, you can spare me the gory details. I know she is leaving. All I want to know is: Is she going to be okay?" I nod. "Yes, she is going to be okay." Carol seems satisfied--with that tiny scrap of information. I am amazed at how little it takes to appease hei', how little she wants to know. But maybe I am reading her wrong. Maybe she is just being extremely respectful of Sue's privacy. Whatever, she walks back into the meeting seemingly content. It was announced today. In a letter from the provincial. One brief paragraph. (Over twenty-five years of living religious life, and one short paragraph to tell the community of your leaving.) She 352 Review for Religious has asked for a leave "for personal reasons." Let us "remember her in our prayers," and so forth. How many times have I read such announcements? You would think I'd have gotten used to them by now. But I never have. I hope I never will. When I get the letter and read it, I cry again. How strange. I have not cried in weeks about "it." Why now? Then I realize: the announcement finalizes "it." There is no denying her leaving now, no turning back. It is a fact. And every sister in the community knows it now, too. o:o o:. o~o .:o Mary meets me in the hall, and I can tell by her eyes what she is going to say before she says it. "I just read the announcement about Sue, Melannie," she says softly. "And--and I guess I just want you to know: I am praying for her--and for you. I know it must be hard." She puts her hand on my shoulder. I smile. I say, "Thanks, Mary. Thanks." But two people are struggling inside of me. One is saying, "Yes, comfort me! Please comfort me!" while the other one is screaming, "Go away! I do not want your pity! Go away!" So, she is gone. Officially. Not completely, of course. She is still "connected" to us, for the church does not ordinarily permit a quick egress from religious life. Rather, it encourages a gradual one. She is still one of us, although living in an apartment now and working on her own. She will stay in touch with "us" by her contact with the provincial, with one of our local communities, and with a few of us, her closest friends. I tell myself, "She might come back. Some do, you know-- after doing what they have to do or whatever . " But I know in my heart: hardly anyone ever does. I call Sue. It has been weeks since we talked. The spaces between our conversations and meetings are getting wider, I notice. She is upset because she feels her leaving has hurt so many sisters. She knows some are angry with her. She says, "Why can't they see that my leaving is not an indictment against religious May-June 1992 353 Svoboda ¯ When a Sister or Brother Leaves life or their decision to stay? Why can't they just accept my deci-sion?" I say something like, "Well, maybe you have to give them more time, Sue. After all, you took years to make your decision. Now give them time to work through accepting it." I see Bob ~again. He asks about Sue. "Have you begun to deal with what effect her leaving is having on you personally--and your own commitment?" "Not really," I say. "I think I am still wallowing in the pain of losing her. And I am still too worried about her to think too much about myself. And I am so busy, too." ("Mercifully busy," I think to myself.) He listtns attentively and then says, "That's okay--for now. But it will come, you know. Sooner or later. You will have to deal with it: your own decision to stay." I know he is right. At the community meetings this week, I miss her very much. I expect to see her in the hall, to have lunch with her, to laugh with her. Only she is not there. Afterwards I call and talk to her, but I do not know how much of these community meetings to share with her, how much she wants to hear about what "we" are doing. And I sense I am beginning to see her as no longer a part of that "we." If only she were more sure of herself. If only I saw more direc-tion in her life, more certitude. But she still seems so direction-less, biding her time with this temporary job, still searching for who knows what. Everyone asks me, "How is Sue doing?" And I never know how to respond. If I say, "Fine," that is a lie. She is not fine. She is confused, lonely, and struggling. But if I say, "She i~ having a really hard time right now," that is misleading, too. It makes it sound as if she has made a mistake in leaving us. So, not knowing how to respond to their inquiries, I usually end up saying, "She is okay--but it is hard, you know." And my 354 Review for Religious voice trails off, and I think I have communicated the truth as well as it can be communicated. I love her. I care about her. I miss her. That is all I am trying to say, God. These jottings are perhaps too focused upon me and not enough upon her. But I entrust even that to your love as I try to entrust all things--especially Sue. She leaves. I stay. Why? Forever I have never lived in forever. ? where love is always and night never comes. Tonight, as I crawl into the arms of your Love, God, the idea of lasting forever causes a shudder thru my being. I have never known forever. ? here, everything ends. Day ends when night comes. and Yesterday is different from Today or Tomorrow. Here nothing is always the same. As I lie here thinking of your Love that lasts forever, two pains f!ll my being-- fear and desire, because I who had a beginning will join You in life unending. I have never known forever. ? Vowed to You, I promise to persevere unto death. Should I not say, ". into life"? Claire Mahaney RSCJ May-j~une 1992 355 BRIAN B. MC CLORRY The Integral Sabbatical transitions I woke very early on a June morning, restfully uncertain where I was and so checked the surrounds with interest, coffee and cigarette in hand, looking for a sound, geo-graphical answer. The sunlight was bright, the landscape clear: Holman Island, Northwest Territories, Canada, some three hundred miles inside the arctic circle. The third and final part of my sabbatical had begun. Holman seemed a far cry from the Jesuit Renewal Center in Milford, Ohio, where the sabbatical had started, a far cry from Cambridge, Massachusetts, where I had spent a semester at the Weston School of Theology. It was all a far cry from Leeds, England, where I had been Catholic chap-lain for the University and Polytechnic. Both in Cambridge and Milford I had been mildly surprised at the number of people, mainly religious, who were also on sabbatical. No doubt there is a tendency for sabbatical people to frequent the same watering holes when they are not wandering the earth visiting their con-gregation's communities. Sabbaticals are now common among religious, and in the religious press sabbatical pro-grams are widely advertised. The sabbatical now seems to be an unexceptional part of religious life in much the same way that, for some congregations, the tertianship--a kind of compulsory spiritual sabbatical--is an integral part of formation. This is clearly a new development. Brian B. McClorry SJ writes from Manresa House; 10 Albert Road; Harborne; Birmingham B 17 0AN; England. 356 Review for Religious In the 1960s sabbaticals were primarily a way of dealing with problem people or people with problems. It was, of course, a moot point whether the problem belonged to the persons involved or to their congregations. These sabbaticals were, in part, ways of responding to developments which were unforeseen, confusing, and frequently unwelcome. Sometimes they were mainly thera-peutic or disciplinary. There is likely to be a healing element in many sabbaticals, but it is right to allow sabbaticals a valid exis-tence on the far side of therapy. Recently the sabbatical has been reintroduced as a disciplinary measure by congregations and Roman authorities in an attempt to save an order or an ortho-doxy felt to be imperiled. Again the question remains whether it is the person or the institution that stands in need of a sabbatical. This, however, is not a question I will discuss here. There were and are "problem," "therapeutic," and "disciplinary" sabbaticals as ' well as those associated with academic work. But none of these is unexceptional and integral to religious life. The integral sabbat-ical, however, is new. Of course it may well be asked how integral to religious life sabbaticals really are, even at a more or less empirical level. Neither all congregations nor all religious make use of them. Indeed, when taken, not all sabbaticals are greeted in a sufficiently sabbatical fashion. There is the itch to justify or to decry, a ten-dency to view sabbaticals as a reward, or a vacation, or as a debt to be paid. That there are many kinds of response to the statement "I am on sabbatical . . ." is sufficient reason for discussion. Moreover, if religious make widespread use of sabbaticals, the diocesan clergy in the main do not. There are regional and denominational variations. Sabbaticals are commoner among diocesan priests in the United States than in England; the Methodist Church in England has a policy and a provision for sabbaticals whereas Roman Catholic dioceses in England do not-- except in a very negative sense. The questions raised both by sab-baticals and their absence are of widespread interest. In what follows I will try to examine way~ of understanding the "integral" sabbatical, using my sabbatical experience as a kind of case study. This approach inevitably will be limited, but not inevitably limiting. There are no absolute anecdotes: individual cases are also part of our social, cultural, economic, and religious history. Most serious questions will be left decently unanswered on the ground that closure is ordinarily premature. May-d~une 1992 357 McClorry ¯ Integral Sabbatical Timing and Validation One clear and important element in evaluating and preparing for sabbaticals is timing. Scriptural tradition designates every sev-enth year as a sabbatical year. The British province of the Society of Jesus provides for h sabbatical ten years after tertianship. Having a policy, provided it is not applied woodenly, allows indi-viduals to have and to plan for sabbaticals. It also allows the con-gregation to suggest them more easily. It is at the level of policy that the question of justifying sabbaticals emerges with particular force. Are sabbaticals.justifiable? As with many questions, this one is best approached not directly, but through the categories which are found helpful in discovering the kind of thing a sabbatical might be. There are, of course, lines of thought in the scriptural tradition. Originally the intention behind the sabbatical year was to give rest to the land, the vineyard, and the olive grove. This rest would give the poor and the wild animals a chance to eat (Ex 23:10-11) and allow debts to be remitted (Lv 15:2). There would be no scarcity, for the "sabbath of the land" itself would provide enough food (Lv 2 5:6). The help given to the poor was not to be confined to the sab-bath year (Dt 15:9), for this sabbatical value was of permanent importance and validity. What is involved here is a careful knowl-edge of the land, plants, and animals--and the perception that the workings of the economy both damage these and do violence to the community. People are squeezed out and forced into the powerlessness of debt. The sabbatical year is a piece of positive discrimination and a recall to the tru~ values and creative origins of the community. Parallels are problematic, but it may make sense to view the contemporary sabbatical in these terms rather than as intrapersonal refurbishing or as an opportunity for gain-ing skills or knowledge. To leave for a time the work we do may well benefit that work (there will be, it seems, no shortages), and both the work and the workers may recover their creative ori-gins. We may begin once more to perceive whfit is demanded and who is excluded both in our work and in our societies. In this sense a sabbatical may be an effective symbol of grace and faith, of justice and peace. The link between "sabbatical" and "sabbath" is obvious. Whether or not this is the beginning of a line of thought in favor of the "integral" sabbatical, the question of timing remains. Timing is not simply a matter of administrative convenience or 358 Review for Religious possibility, nor is it only a question of calendars, frequency, and opportunity. Some years ago I had a particularly trying period of ministry in a poor inner-city area. The ministry failed. The team failed to work together--a failure in which I was implicated deeply. Eventually the project was closed. I was hurt, angry, and had come to the end of the road. The off-road terrain was hardly visible. I scarcely believed I had energy enough left to start afresh any-where and so began to dally with the seductive idea of a sabbati-cal and its promise of escape. Fortunately my provincial suggested that I return to university chaplaincy work--a ministry I had known and liked. To my surprise I agreed quickly and easily and, in the event, found to my delight that the energy and interest were still there. The work therapy worked. After four years, how-ever, it became clear that my old and easy patience with under-graduates was wearing thin, that I wanted to spend my time with faculty, ecumenical questions, and issues affecting the institutions themselves rather than with students. It was not the end of the road, just time to go. Then the idea of a sabbatical reemerged, tinged with excitement, less seductive but more promising. The sabbatical promised to be less therapeutic or escapist than it would have been if taken earlier. It would be more positive, an affair of discovery. Sabbaticals are "integral" in more ways than one: they are better timed the more they are at one with the positive move-ments of our life stories and not just snagged on fragment.s of these narratives. Better timing, it seems, might also lead to a bet-ter content. Content and Desire Academics on sabbatical might well do research, though many academics speak of sabbaticals in terms not reducible to academic research. Nonacademics also might want to do research, to con-template steadily or ferret away busily in some area which comes into view as life-giving, deeply interesting, part of the emerging oudines of a mysterious but attractive future. On occasion it makes sense to learn skills that can be put to determinate use. Sometimes it is better to do woodwork. Clearly the content of a sabbatical varies indefinitely and could even include the possibility of a care-fully mixed cocktail. I wanted to have time, space, and the right environment for reading and writing. So much was a felt need. I also wanted to follow a program in spiritual direction. For many May-June 1992 359 McClorry ¯ Integral Sabbatical years I had given one or two directed retreats a year and won-dered what, if anything, I had learned from the experience and what, if anything, I imagined I was doing in this ministry. It seemed that retreat work of some kind was a likely future. For me woodwork was not a serious contender--although I can almost smell the i:eel of the grain. Behind the question of content--what, after all, shall I do?- there is the matter of imaginati6n and desire. What do I really desire? How free or frozen is the imagination that shapes our conscious desires? What are the desires that might free or freeze our imaginations? It does not do to link desire solely with what is conventionally good, for there is more to good than convention supposes. It does not do to mold imagination only by pi'agmatic realism, for realism can imprison as well as free our imaginations. Desire is a matter of discovery and strange meetings: a geography of uncertainty and power. Maps for desire do not exist, for it is a contemplative heuristic, a medium in which mystery is disclosed. It is not, however, an infallible heuristic. A year before he died, a friend who had many desires told me, "I have never known what I really wanted to do." Desir~ is not exhausted in the desires we know we have. In Genesis the naming of animals is, in a strange and unfem-inist narrative, part of a search that culminates in the joyful, real-ized completion of creation. God brings the animals to the man to see what he would call them (Gn 2:19). To stay long enough in prayer so that completing the sentence "I want." is done iri God's presence is to begin to name those elements of ourselves and our world which God brings to us for naming. We may name what is incomplete or destructive in us, or what lacks integration in our lives. In this naming w~ may be set free of what possesses Us, an exorcism in which the demons, if they return, have no real power. We are freed from d~fensiveness and become less timid. Alternatively, we may find that we name our positive desires and find in this naming that the truth of our seeking and welcoming is revealed. In both cases the disclosure of the God who, in Christ, dream~ with us brings with it freshness and discovery. The con-tent of a sabbatical, however practical or impractical it may be, is also to be discovered, found out, stumbled across, given. The content of a sabbatical should resonate with or express the desires we discover in us, desires which at the same time help us find out what a sabbatical--or a life--might be like. 360 Review for Religious Even though my imagination was thin, my desires were real enough: an intern.ship in spiritu, al direction at Milford and a semester of reading at Weston. I felt there was much to be dis-covered in the course of these programs that would be enjoyable and useful. I did not envisage any discoveries jolting my paradigms. At Weston I would go on a light diet and look for space. There were, however, some four months of the sabbatical which were as yet undetermined. The "third world" was not a strong contender. I had recently spent a hard but exhilarating summer in Guyana and, years before, had done my tertianship in India. A journey to Zimbabwe or to South Africa always remained a possibility. Whatever the status of my gawky ratio-nalizing, the truth was that I had no particular desire to go to the third world. I found I wanted to go to northern Canada. The experience would be new, which is one value in sabbatical planning; but it was the desire to go, rather than arbitrary novelty, that mattered. Certainly I wanted to be far from known places and defined expectations; there was the lure of the north with its sparse and spacious environment and its rather specialized attractions of ice and snow. That world would have a different scent: snow alters aromas. The Canadian north had always been attractive to me, and once or twice I had sniffed at its fringes. But although the desire to go was clear, its rationale was elusive, mysterious. It had to do, I thought, with going to a large, remote, and cold place in order, paradoxically, to unfreeze my imagination and creativity. The north was the right environment for that kind of event, in some sense the necessary place. Moreover, there was the remote but dramatic possibility of spending time in the Canadian arctic. I liked the dramatic frisson, expected something to "happen," and found that the prospect enhanced the attractiveness of the sab-batical as a whole. It gave a sharp edge to the enterprise and I looked forward to that edge. I got out maps and wrote to bishops. The desire had emerged and persisted. The provincial concurred; the bishops in the north agreed. So much for the discernment. I write, of course, after the event--with the heightened accu-racy and inaccurate overclarity which marks retrospectives. Sometimes, however, the content of a sabbatical is found largely Sometimes the content of a sabbatical is found largely in retrospect. May-3~ne 1992 361 McClorry ¯ Integral Sabbatical in retrospect. Characteristically I planned my sabbatical carefully. I was not going to drift into a sabbatical and discover afterwards that a sabbatical is what I might have had. My time would be spent well, responsibly, even originally. But planning has its times and seasons, and for many "planning" and "exploration" are hyper-active metaphors better replaced by "contemplation" and "wait-ing." A friend of mine spent the first three months of a sabbatical year waiting to see what he wanted to do; another spent some months after his sabbatical finding out what he had done and what his desires had been. It seems that the justification of sab-baticals and their content lies in the mysterious priority of desire and imagination rather than in efficient planning and declared good intentions. There is some need for discernment of desire and imagination, for neither whim nor designer image is a suffi-cient guide. Conventionally, the value of a sabbatical rests on enhanced skills, published research, a revitalized person. The generous mea-sure of truth in these pictures--which do express something of our desires--should not obscure another dimension. Sabbaticals are in some respects like parables.~ Jesus' parables carry many meanings and so have a capacity to interact in many and new ways with our lives and cultures, Sometimes the parables break under their own realism--ninety-nine sheep are left unprotected in the course of the search for the one which is lost. The parables both disjoint our ways of looking at and being in the world and open up new and energetic possibilities. On this basis it is mean-minded to settle effectivelyon one allowed description of a sabbatical, for example, "study leave." What matters is that sabbaticals are allowed to become parables, polyvalent narratives whose realism does not determine the story. Milford and Cambridge It is a commonplace that programs in spiritual direction include much "listening." Accurate, active, contemplative, prophetic, and holistic listening--with individuals and in a group--are all elements in a conversation. They are ways of dis-covering what may be going on in prayer or life--ways of finding a path that fits and may.lead somewhere. No doubt I learned and relearned some skills at Milford and welcomed the lines of inquiry and interest which these engendered. Such learning, however, is 362 Review for Religious notoriously not neutral or unaffecting. Listeners listen also to themselves; and, when they become conscious or aware of what they hear, there is the possibility and gift of a transformation which is not reducible to the addition of skill to skill. So I found, in a time of surprise, a change in me which was about trusting and expecting more from God. The coloration of my world shifted, its shape altered. The world I stepped into was a friendly place and the friend-liness was to be trusted. This perceived feature of the world was not a purely intrapersonal shift. Nor was it entirely an empirical affair. My father moved from house to hospital and from hospi-tal to a retirement home with his memory impaired. I returned to England for a few weeks to help the moves and to sell the house. The Gulf War started unbelievably and ended with unseeing cel-ebrations. Ten feet from me in a bus in Boston a man was shot in the face on Good Friday. But the world was friendly because God was in the world and the world was in God. This discovery did not invite me to rush into developing a theodicy or to reread the old ones, to put together friendliness and unfriendliness. If there was a theodicy, it would be rooted in, among other things, a complex attentiveness to the world, which was in God, and to God, who was in the world. Both the friendliness and the unfriendliness of the world called forth the look of friendly regard. This, the grace-ful face of panentheism, seemed new--a well-remembered face seen as if for the first time. This friendliness connected with specific matters in spiritual direction. In the language of Ignatius's Spiritual Exera'ses, I became better able to trust "consolation" both in myself and in retreatants. God, after all, relates to consolation and desolation in different ways. The relationship to desolation is real but entirely provi-sional; what characterizes God's action is consolation. In this friendliness it also became possible to sit happily with my igno-rance when giving spiritual direction. "Not knowing" was nei-ther a fearful void to be filled nor an affront to be denied. It was not an affront to competence but a resource to be tapped. To sit with ignorance was to be in danger of finding out, with the part-ner in the conversation, what good thing was happening, what shape hope might take. Such changes in ways of looking at and being in the world are at one with the Old Testament tradition on sabbaticals: a recovery of creative origins. They may happen in the staid, sup- May-d~une 1992 363 McClorry ¯ Integral Sabbatical portive, and challenging world of the Jesuit Renewal Center-- although Milford, Ohio, is not a location which of itself provokes radical insight. (Sometimes it seemed that many areas of our planet are invisible from Ohio.) But changes may also require places or environments which are marginal or shocking. A friend of mine spent most of his sabbatical working in a refugee camp in Thailand. What can be hoped for, wherever we go, is that changes include but are not restricted to intrapersonal health and survival. They will also include the world in which we ordinarily live but have only partly discovered. We may also hope to accept and to find that we do not control the narrative of the sabbatical--nor does the institution or environment in which we find ourselves. Such hoped-for changes, as in the Old Testament tradition, do not need to be confined to the time of a sabbatical, but can have a more permanent validity. With some loss of narrative control, I spent a few weeks in Montreal and Quebec City writing fiction (short stories in which I struggled with and for the narrative) before descending on Cambridge, Massachusetts. The semester at Weston was to be reflective: a few seminars for social reasons and an amount of reading. There was much to delight in, from Erich Auerbach's Mimesis to Annie Dillard's Teaching a Stone to Talk. The reading mattered. Someone said that Annie Dillard's writing evidenced "an amoral hospitality to experience." What price could the dis-cernment of spirits fetch here? Auerbach's literary criticism dis-tinguished a high style, quite divorced from the ordinary life of undistinguished people, from a style, also high, which found won-drous significance in commonplace lives and circumstances. If Milford was about trusting God in a world in which consolation and friendliness were to be trusted, Cambridge was about doing that in the ordinary present--the place where true hospitality lies. For some periods of time I had felt (often with good reasons) that there were important things to be done which were not real-izable in the job I had, the place I was in, the circumstances in which I found myself. Matters were unsatisfactory. Something of this feeling is, perhaps, an occasional inevitability. Life is unsat-isfactory in different ways and at a variety of levels. But a gap can open between the present and the significant future which robs both of any real value. Of a character in Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep, the narrator says, "He was looking over into the next val- 364 Review for Religious ley all the time. He wasn't scarcely around where he was." The gap, of course, is about faith as well as presence. There can be a belief in a "god within" who does not welcome the present and a belief in a "god without"--usually absent from the present--in whose future greatness is promised. These two gods are awkward little idols who are not on speaking terms, but who conspire to augment the discomfort of the believer. In the disappearance of the gap between the present and the significant future, there is the loss of two idols, of two gods, and a being found by the one God. Monotheism turned out to be a very powerful affair. The disappearance of the gap, the exiling of the idols, helped me to let go of some things I would never do, however grand the significant future and the pointed present. This was not asceticism or realism, that doubtful consoler. In friendliness and free from the idols, I found there was no need to package myself, to tie up in well-wrapped parcels who I am and what I do. I become pack-aged for reasons of defense and success. But these energy-con-suming activities turned out to be not only harmful but also, and more importantly, unnecessary. The fears that provoked packag-ing became heavily relativized. John Macmurray has a striking remark about fear: The maxim of illusory religion runs: "Fear not; trust in God and he will see that none of the things you fear will happen to you"; that of real religion, on the contrary, is "Fear not; the things that you are afraid of are quite likely to happen to you, but they are nothing to be afraid of.''2 There may well be matters about which it is right and proper to be afraid, but the fear that provokes packaging turns out to be wonderfully otiose. What emerged in Cambridge and had been emerging in Milford was a new sense of integration or fit, not only in me but in how I am present in the world. I preferfit, with its sense of a curve fitting spot readings, a trail in the wilderness which finds the nature of the landscape, a saying in a conversation which res-onates and reveals. "Integration" is a touch static and inward. The appearance of the fit had precisely the quality of exploration and discovery--exploration within and, at one with that, explo-ration of the world. A man lies bleeding in the aisle of the bus, sol-diers pray for peace as the Gulf War ultimatum runs out, people have the glow and the shock of the Holy Spirit on their faces, the books are in the library, the seminar sparkles, and the cold May-June 1992 365 McClorry ¯ Integral Sabbatical in Quebec City gnaws the bones by the frozen St. Lawrence out-side the first Jesuit house in Canada. In all of this idols vanish, the world has a new curvature, and God dreams and surprises. Sabbaticals are times for heralded and unheralded exploration and discovery. These are prime sabbatical hopes and valid extrasabbatical values. Going to northern Canada, to the remote places, seemed like an appropriate continuation of this journey. It had also the character of a celebration. Yukon and Northwest Territories From one point of view, I went north in order to "supply" in parishes and on mission stations. It would be a time of much trav-eling and short stays. As the sabbatical proceeded and the time for departure drew closer, I found that what I wanted was simply to be in the here and now, in that environment, with those people. To be present in a friendly, contemplative, unpackaged, and reflec-tive fashion was what mattered. I did not want to undertake a study tour or become a tourist. Nor did I want to stay in one place "working" or creating a proactive availability. For this period, rootedness was not a value. Staying wherever the bish-ops3 suggested would keep me free of programs, encourage a being present which had little predetermined character--and yet would allow me to give myself and others a ready and real account of what I was doing and why I was there. Performing a small ser-vice was a satisfactory blessing and a gift I needed. I also wanted to look at the landscape and to see what hap-pened when I looked. The environment, I thought, would announce itself in ways which could not be honored simply by going for a walk. From this viewpoint people were secondary, but there is an environmental dimension inseparable from human life and it seemed that the native people would be at one with their environment. That people were secondary in my immediate inter-ests was not a dismissive attitude. So I looked at the landscape-- from the ground and from the air in light planes. In Yukon Territory it turned out to be difficult to look steadily at the moun-tains, valleys, lakes. What was there remained veiled by a prodi-gal facticity, and I had to set myself repeatedly not to turn aside. To sit' with this ignorance was also difficult. "This coast is too beautiful," said a man in the Vancouver airport to a friend; "get me another beer." Eventually the season of looking (after winter 366 Review for Religioto and before summer) itself turned out to be curiously privileged. The mountains disclosed more of themselves when their features were picked out by a light snow cover than when blanketed by heavy snow, or as free of snow as they might be in the late sum-mer. All seasons are privileged and so--also and therefore--was this present time. Eventually it became possible to see shapes, colors, and variations--to pick out the crude outlines of the geol-ogy. At what seemed an infinite cost, it became possible to look steadily. The startling landscape and harsh climate provoked ques-tions. Although the land is beautiful, some of the "southerners" who have come to stay cannot tolerate the winter isolation and depression. The land is wonderful and the energy people expend relates them closely to the environment; but mining marks the landscape. The slag heap grows huge in the middle of the valley by the mine in Cassiar; the tailings continue to mark the Klondike. But in Elsa, a ghost mining town, there is no human activity. The trees, lynx, and martin--the original inhabitants--are beginning to reclaim their territory. To what does this expenditure of energy and ingenuity relate? Sometimes--often--the energy is not expended. Without employment the choices seem to be contem-plation, alcoholism, activism, or hibernation. But the southerners who come and stay--or who return with regularity--seem to be larger and more significant than I imagine they would be if they had remained "outside." It is as if the landscape gives them value and importance or allows their significanFe to emerge and flour-ish. Some come north for a time of healing or to step away from unaccommodating circumstances; others are on the run and bring their pursuers with them. At best there is more than eccentricity and escapism. Lives are lived with old values brought from the south which are given room and enhancement by the land; new values are recognized and welcomed in small towns in the moun-tain wilderness. Strong views coexist with tolerance, showing a respect for people similar to the necessary respect for the climate. At times there is scant respect for environmentalists, who are seen to have a relationship with the country and the animals which is thin and unreal compared to that of miners, hunters, and trappers. Yet downstream from Whitehorse the waters are polluted. The pollution amazes: the Yukon, though twice the area of the United Kingdom, has a population of only about thirty thousand. Despite the invitation and the rewards, I found it difficult to May-~t~une 1992 367 McClorry ¯ Integral Sabbatical sit, to be, to contemplate, and see. My head, eyes, and feet were always in danger of being drawn away toward the future or toward present effectiveness. There was the ridiculous itch to justify how I spent my time here, in one of the most privileged environments on earth. To look, to appreciate and hear, were not more impor-tant but, rather, prior necessities. So much, it appeared, would be true for me also in the United Kingdom. There, too, I would need to discover how to look and listen. Eventually these dis-tracting energies, these pieces of unbelief, became insubstantial. Sitting in the dust--the gold dust--of Dawson acquired power. What mattered were walks along the banks of the Yukon River, taking care to identify the ducks. Surf scoters! This identifying and naming were not violently dismissive (a "that's that and what next?" attitude) but allowed what I saw to become part of the public world, made it shareable and so part of a communal promise. In some places the forests were thin. It was possible to move through them without following a trail or struggling through the undergrowth and fallen trees. Twice the bright' bark of the birch trees seemed to give light. The forest was lit from within: an event as unexpected and as usual as a fox crossing the road. I left the Yukon for the Northwest Territories. The flight from Whitehorse to Yellowknife exchanged vertical country for a horizontal landscape: a flat, flat land. Whitehorse, in mountain-ous country, has few buildings over three stories; Yellowknife, in a terrain that scarcely undulates, is full of high-rise buildings. So do we mark in our architecture our estimates of ourselves and our relationship to the land. The short Yukon spring, when all the trees came out in leaf during one afternoon, also vanished. I flew to Victoria Island, well north of the arctic circle, where there are no trees. It was snowing at Coppermine and Cambridge Bay, the snow flung horizontal by the wind. The frozen bay and the tundra do not make for "beautiful country," but they are exhila-rating: some snow remains and there are occasional, new flowers close to the ground. I see it as keenly and as vividly as the jaguar I saw in a Guyanese village two years ago. The twenty-four-hour sunlight and the intricate flatness of the land, heaved up into flat-topped rock formations near Holman, enliven my tentative pres-ence in these astonishing places. Suddenly the tundra is a place for happiness.4 There is excited wonder at the native people leaving their 368 Review for Religious houses and going to live in "camp" or "on the land" as the win-ter subsides, at the sleds, skidoos, and boats lining the bay and half covered in snow, the profusion of dog lines. There are the inviting enigmas of the snow and ice (color coded like the houses, where the color gives information about origin and ownership), the wreck of Amundsen's Maud. I walk by houses in spaces which are hardly streets, greeting and being greeted, enjoy the camps, am on holy ground. People here do not live "off the land" like Europeans on safari in what became African colonies; they live "on the land." Certainly they do not have "a place in the country." Marie Zarowny, interviewing the Dene and Inuit peo-ple about their political, economic, social, and cultural concerns, found that these were, for the people, inseparable from spirituality: "We are deeply spiritual and our spiritual power comes from the land . Our spirituality is tied in with the animals.''s I found, in this land of the Copper Eskimos,6 a desire for a project, a Gospel activity, and began to sense something of what it might be as I w.alked the tundra, cut inland by the lakes and pancake-topped striated banks, as I prayed in 'the mornings. It is to live and explore the belief that God in Christ is active in the middle of' our creativity and destructive-ness-- and to do so partly in terms of neglected areas of Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises. The context for this would be ecumenical. The people involved most likely would be marginal in ecclesiastical and social terms. Maybe something of this could be said in pub-lic language. I imagine a thin book as sharp, bright, and useful as a razor. The idea is not new. What is new is the tangibility given an idea by the land. The book does not itself matter. What counts is the invitation to live and move in this way. So much is a possible event, the gift that is also a product of looking and sit-ting with ignorance, of listening and friendliness. It is frail but real. Cautious at first, a caribou crosses the trail and moves off across the tundra, splashing through the meltwater and covering the bare ground and remaining patches of snow at a determined trot. An arctic hare appears, each hair individual and alive, crouches down ten feet away, and remains still, long-eared, and eye to eye. What mattered were walks along the banks of the Yukon River, taking care to identify the ducks. May-June 1992 369 I fly south of the arctic circle to Yellowknife, for two weeks in the parish--weeks full of conversations. Then I go on to Fort Smith, by the Alberta border, for a similar two weeks. It is good to sit by the Rapids of the Drowned on the Slave River watching the pelicans, the birds clearly at home in the spilling and swirling waters. Living "on the land" spoke of ways of living in the United Kingdom. Waiting for the looked-at and walked-over landscape to disclose itself speaks of a wider connectedness, a solidarity. I remember the six Jesuits and two women murdered in E1 Salvador on 16 November 1989. Later I fly north again, north of the cir-cle, to Inuvik. There I wonder once more about space and people: the Northwest Territories are larger than Western Europe and have a population of about 55,000. I do not know what this con-trast might mean or what it is to populate or overpopulate the land. In a short while I will exchange these huge and empty spaces for my own overcrowded little island, where every piece of land seems like an archaeologist's find. Meanwhile there is the Mackenzie delta to see--the delta of the Decho, to use the Dene name--and the small settlement of Arctic Red River to visit. But sabbatical time is running out. When I arrive back in England I will have spent some four months never passing more than two weeks at a stretch in any one place. Afterwards It is usual to say that those who travel undertake an inner journey as well as an outer journey. Covering distance, when the travel is a pilgrimage, is a metaphor for a change of mind and heart. Explorers explore also themselves and their own cultures. Similarly the landscape, the land on which we put our feet and live, is an exterior landscape which affects and is affected by our interior landscape. Barry Lopez, contemplating the "bleak and forsaken" aspect of Pingok Island in the Beaufort Sea, writes: The prejudice we exercise against such landscapes, imag-ining them to be primitive, stark, and pagan, became sharply apparent. It is in a place like this that we would unthinkingly store poisons or test weapons, land like the deserts to which we once banished our heretics and where we once loosed scapegoats with the burden of our transgressions.7 Happiness, however, had been given on the undistinguished tundra. The "land" had become a metaphor, a mnemonic, partly 370 Review for Religious learned and partly obscure, which held attractive promise. This was not distant from the care of the land in the Old Testament sabbatical tradition; it was close, also, to the concern for people and society, for the excluded, which is integral to that tradition. The landscape of Victoria Island and the Decho had reminders, in the oil storage tanks needed for winter warmth, of a different economy, other concerns. The land-scape would also include the cityscape, the interre-latedness and demands of first-world economies. Desire and fear both go into the making of cities and are evoked by the complexity and coloration of their shapes, just as they affect and are evoked by our perception of the land. The city includes and excludes, vivifies and oppresses--and needs as much care in its contemplation as does the tundra in the arctic and the mountains of the Yukon, as much set-ting of ourselves not to turn away. In the city, in our quotidian economies, the invitation is the same: to look steadily, to sit with ignorance, to trust the friendliness, to find, in this also impossible terrain, the outlines of the kingdom as drawn in the few "remembered" words of Jesus. Back in England, in Birmingham, there are vivid memories of smokehouses and camps, mountains and snow, the tundra and the frozen sea, mosquitoes and black flies, the particular people and their traditions. The coffee-lubricated conversations continue to echo. The tundra, I think, was easier to look at than Birmingham. But the tundra invites a fuller regard for my own place, these islands off the coast of Europe, and speaks of new possibilities. The landscape of the Yukon speaks of hoping for what is more and larger than is admitted in other, more usual, locations. Solidarities beckon in a welcoming fashion. A sabbatical is a way of returning to one's own place. The difficulty of all this is clear: "The differ-ing landscapes of the earth are hard to know individually. They are as difficult to engage in conversation as wild animals.''8 Nonetheless, to think of a world without wilderness is to be full of disquiet. For wilderness--living "in the land"--was integral to Milford and Cambridge, and is part and parcel of where I am now and where we all are. Explorers explore also themselves and their own cultures. May-June 1992" 371 Notes ~ In what follows on parables, I am indebted to James Crampsey, "Look at the Birds of the Air ." The Way, 31, no. 4 (October 1991): 286-294. 2 John Macmurray, Persons in Relation (Adantic Highlands, New Jersey; first published by Faber and Faber, London, 1961), p. 171. 3 Thomas Lobsinger OMI, Bishop of Whitehorse, and Denis Croteau OMI, Bishop of Mackenzie-Fort Smith--to whom I am very grateful. The Yukon and Northwest Territories are ordinarily a Jesuit-free zone. 4 A time of happiness, if not frequent, is at least commented on often enough for it to be by no means unique in this kind of terrain. See, for example, P. G. Downes, Seeping Island (Saskatoon: Prairie Books, 1988). The happiness contrasts with, but is not provoked by, the harshness of the country. Imprisoned by "a relentless wind of eight days fury," Downes is told by his partner "You do not 'hope' in this country; you do not hope, you just do the best you can" (p. 63). An explanation is given in a foot-note: "What he means is that 'hoping' is a passive state, and that you must be physically and mentally active in this type of situation." This seems also about right when hoping in God. s Marie Zawowny, "You Can Help Us to Become Strong Inside: Discerning the Direction of the Church with the Dene and the Inuit," Insight: A Resource for Adult Religious Education, no. 4, 1991, National Office of Religious Education, Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops. 6 "Copper Eskimo" was the phrase I heard. Local people do not always use the the more favored general name, Inuit--"the people." A fine account of life with the Inuit of the area is given in Raymond de Coccola and Paul King, The Incredible Eskimo: Life among the Barren Land Eskimo (Hancock House, 1989). The work was first published by Oxford University Press, New York, in the early 1950s under the title Ayorama; the new edition is fuller and uncensored. 7 Barry Lopez, Arctic Dreams: Imagination and Desire in a Northern Landscape (Picador, 1987), p. 255. See also the chapter "Landscape and Narrative" in his Crossing Open Ground (New York: Vintage Books, 1989). 8 The continuation of the quotation noted in n. 7 above. 372 Review for Religious PHILIP L. BOROUGHS Using Ignatian Discernment work, ministry, or living arrangements. Diminishing energy, feel-ings of boredom or of being taken for granted, or an emerging desire for new challenges can signal a need to reappraise one's situation. Obviously, these times of transition are unsettling, and they can be stressful as one begins to let go of the security of the familiar and searches for new clarity and direction. However, these periods also can generate new possibilities and a renewed sense of responsibility for one's life. At times such as these, the Serenity Prayer of Alcoholics Anonymous seems particularly appropriate: "O God, grant me the courage to change the things that I can change, the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference." Sometimes circumstances warrant a fun-damental change in one's life, while at other times a change of attitude or behavior seems mor4 appropriate. As one critically reviews his or her situation and assesses available options, one wisely might wonder whether there are any norms or principles to help one choose among the options. In the Spiritual Exercises St. Ignatius of Loyola offers a num-ber of principles for discernment which can be extremely useful for those entering into a time of transition. One of the major goals of the Exercises is to assist those who Philip L. Boroughs SJ may be addressed at 621 17th Avenue East; Seattle, Washington 98122. May-June 1992 373 Boroughs ¯ Using Ignatian Discernment undertake them to make the right life choices. The principles of discernment reflect Ignatius's own experience of prayerful decision making, and a brief review of the major transitions in his life will offer a context for his insights. Ignatius's Life On 20 May 1521 Ignatius was wounded in the battle of Pamplona, and in the long recuperation period which followed, a fundamental reorientation of his life began. Over the next sev-eral months, as he contemplated his future, Ignatius became aware of different interior movements affecting him. Gradually he rec-ognized the patterns of these interior movements, noting that certain spirits or desires produced peace and hope while others, which initially delighted him, eventually left him sad and depressed. As a result of these fluctuations, Ignatius decided to fol-low the spirit or direction which ultimately consoled him, and thus his religious quest began in earnest. Abandoning his life as a soldier and courtier, he moved to Manresa and formally commenced a spiritual journey which grad-ually helped him to identify and understand his limits and dis-oriented attachments as well as his deepest dreams and desires. After months of intense prayer and penance, mystical experiences, and interior growth, he embarked on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. There he hoped to spend his life visiting the holy places and help-ing souls. However, after he had been in Jerusalem only nineteen days, the Roman Catholic authorities ordered him to leave. The political climate was tense, and they did not want to assume lia-bility for this questionable religious enthusiast. Accepting their legitimate authority over him, Ignatius con-cluded that it must not be God's will that he remain in Jerusalem. He decided that he needed further education if he were to serve God's people in some other capacity. He returned to Spain and began studying grammar at the University of Barcelona. Two years later he advanced to study the humanities at Alcalfi. After many months, however, his austere lifestyle and his growing rep-utation as a lay spiritual director caused such controversy that he was investigated by the Inquisition. Mthough exonerated of any wrongdoing, he was forbidden to continue his spiritual ministry. Consequently he moved to the University of Salamanca. There the same pattern was repeated, and once again he had to revise his 374 Review for Religious plans. Ignatius then transferred to the University of Paris, where he spent the next seven years earning his bachelor's and master's degrees. These were intense years of study and spiritual ministry, and they were also years when he gathered some lifelong com-panions who shared his ideals and his commitment to service. As his formal education drew to a close, Ignatius became seri-ously ill and was advised by his doctors to return to his native country to recuperate. He journeyed home with the understand-ing that he and his companions would reassemble in Venice once he had recovered. From there they hoped to gain passage for Jerusalem, where they would spend the rest of their lives in min-istry. Ignatius and his friends vowed to wait one year in Venice for passage to Jerusalem; but if they could not arrange their trip dur-ing that time because of political turmoil, they would travel to Rome and place themselves at the service of the pope. Since no ships left Venice for Jerusalem that year, they proceeded on to Rome in keeping with their vow. As their reputation for holiness and ministerial effectiveness spread, requests for their services began to arrive from various corners of the world, forcing this rather loose-knit group of friends to consider the nature of their commitment to each other. After weeks of prayerful deliberation, they decided to form a reli-gious community and elected Ignatius to be their religious supe-rior. Although he initially declined the position, subsequent prayer and consultation with his spiritual director moved him to accept. He spent the last fifteen years of his life as the superior general of the nascent Society of Jesus. During this time of rapid growth and development, Ignatius not only provided this new community with inspired leadership, but he also prayerfully drafted its con-stitutions. With the exception of his seven years at Paris and his final years in Rome, Ignatius moved fre.quently throughout his adult life. His constant effort was to discern and follow God's will within the social and historical realities of his time. A!though he was the recipient of many mystical graces, few of them provided him with specific instructions about the decisions he faced. Rather, these mystical experiences confirmed the general direction of his life and God's ongoing companionship with him. Decisions about particular choices he faced required prayer and discernment to discover God's will. Ignatius's early lessons in the discernment of spirits, his respect for human learning and reflectivity, and his May-~Tune 1992 375 Boroughs ¯ Using Ignatian Discernment courage to act once he felt he knew what God wanted of him facilitated his prayerful decision making during the numerous transitions of his life. Predispositions for Discernment Ignatius's religious experience and his Spiritual Exercises sug-gest that, if an individual wishes to enter into a process of dis-cernment in order to discover God's will, certain predispositions are necessary: interior freedom, sufficient knowledge of self and the world, imagination, patience, and the. courage to act respon-sibly. Without these graces, true discernment is not possible. Interior Freedom: The first paragraph of the Spiritual Exercises clearly asserts that interior freedom is a sine qua non for finding God's will: "We call Spiritual Exercises every way of preparing and disposing the soul to rid itself of all inordinate attachments and, after their removal, of seeking and finding the will of God in the disposition of our life for the salvation of our soul" (SpEx 1). When Ignatius speaks of ridding oneself of inordinate attach-ments, he can be very explicit. In the Meditation on the TWO Standards, he identifies inordinate attachments primarily as temp-tations to riches, honor, and pride (SpEx 142). Today we might describe them as an attachment to possessions or a specific lifestyle, a desire for recognition or a preoccupation with the opinion of others, and an insistence on being in control of one's life or radical self-sufficiency. Ignatius believed that attachments " ~uch as these would so condition one's life that one's relationship with God would be seriously compromised and one's freedom to find God's will would be lost. During times of transition in a person's life, other variations of inordinate attachments also can surface. For example, at the first sign of serious difficulty, some people immediately search for new living or work possibilities, fearful of the asceticism required for long-term commitments. Others, feeling misunder-stood and unvalued, find it easier to cling to chronic anger and bit-terness than to identify and address the source of these feelings and move to a more integrated life. Still others become so com-pletely preoccupied with their own personal growth that they ignore the legitimate needs of those whose lives are intercon-nected with theirs. Whatever form an inordinate attachment takes, 376 Review for Religious it can effectively inhibit the possibility of true discernment because it centers one's life in oneself rather than in God. Knowledge: True spiritual freedom or detachment depends on self-knowledge. More than just an understanding of one's limits or even one's patterns of temptation, self-knowledge requires a pro-found awareness of one's gifts and one's deepest desires. However, during times of transition, individuals frequently say that they do not really know what they want. This is often part of the initial unrest which introduces a need for change. But it also can be an invitation for individuals to reclaim their deepest desires, those essential values which give ultimate meaning to their lives, their relationships, and their involvement with the world. For example, when one becomes overwhelmed juggling the increasing demands of family and career, or exhausted by the mounting expectations of one's ministerial position, or seriously disillusioned by institutional intransigence, identifying again or reformulating one's deepest desires provides a starting point for making new choices. Articulating one's deepest desires helps one to prioritize commitments and can provide some perspective for letting go of tfiose concerns which jeopardize whfit is more impor-tant. Sometimes people come to realize that .they have to r~con-sider tfieir original life commitment because of s.ubsequent choices they have made over the years. Others may discern that their deepest desires have not changed, but their they have to find a new oi" healthier way of living them out. S~ill others may experi-ence a call to liv~ out their original commitment even more rad-ically. Reapp~:opriating one's deepest desires is a critical dimension of self-knowiedge. However, for Ignatius self-knowledge was not enough. He spent many years studying in some of the most respected univer-sities of his day and achieved an advanced degree in theology because he believed that education was a critical component for ministry. He even rediaced his intense spiritual activities during his university years because he discerned that his ex[ended prayer was interfering with his con~mitment to study. Ignatius emphasized education as a significant component in the formation of young Jesuits and as an important ministry of the Society of Jesus because through it he promoted the ongoing transformation of individu-als, church, and society. Consequently, not only knowing oneself, but also knowing the complexities of any given situation, pos- May-June 1992 377 Boroughs ¯ Using Iffnatian Discernment sessing a critical understanding of systems and structures, and having sufficient education for one's current ministry or some new possibility are critical dimensions of a discernment process. Imagination: Knowledge in concert with imagination can produce new possibilities. Ignatius clearly manifested an imaginative approach to ministry through the creation of the Society of Jesus and its novel structures and methods. He also used the power of imagination in his approach to prayer. Through an imagina

Issue 51.4 of the Review for Religious, July/August 1992. ; for religi.ous Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living JULY-AUGUST 1992 ¯-VOLUME 51 ¯ NUMBER 4 Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Telephone: 314-535-3048 ¯ FAX: 314-535-0601 Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ° St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP ¯ 5001 Eastern Avenue ¯ P.O. Box 29260 Washington~ D.C. 20017. POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ° P.O. Box 6070 ° Duluth, MN 55806. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional offices. SUBSCRIPTION RATES Single copy $5 includes surface mailing costs. One-year subscription $15 plus mailing costs. Two-year subscription $28 plus mailing costs. See inside back cover for more subscription information and mailing costs. ©1992 Review for Religious for religious Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Assistant Editors Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Michael G. Harter SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe Mary Margaret Johanning SSND Iris Ann Ledden SSND Edmundo Rodriguez SJ Se~in Sammon FMS Wendy Wright PhD Suzanne Zuercher OSB Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living JULY-AUGUST 1992 ¯ VOLUME 51 ¯ NUMBER 4 contents evangelizing and witnessing ° 486 Church of the Poor Juan Ram6n Moreno sJ reflects on the implications of seeing the poor as central for the identity of the church and religious life. 496 Women Missioners amidst Violence Annmarie Sanders IHM reflects the questions, fears, and chal-lenges facing foreign women missionaries in Peru. 504 School of Terror Roy Bourgeois MM speaks on behalf of the poor as he voices his concern about a particular military training camp called the School of the Americas. inculturating 508 Women Religious and the African Synod M. Gerard Nwagwu offers her thoughts on the evangelization of Africa in an article originally presented as the keynote address at the National Day of Celebration of the Nigerian Conference of Women Religious in January 1992. 519 Rerooting Religious Life in South Africa Jennifer Mary Alt OP reflects on how native African spiritual values might become better integrated into the religious-life vocation. 527 54O 545 living religiously Religious Life and Religion Albert DiIanni SM calls attention to the religious core of a belief in God and of our relationship with God which cannot be reduced to a personal~ social, or ecological morality. Detachment in Our Psychological Age Eileen P. O'Hea CSJ explains detachment as a way of freeing ourselves from our compulsive behaviors and opening ourselves to God's healing. An Ache in My Heart Bernard Seif SMC witnesses to the continuing call and direction of God in bringing forth new forms of dedicated life in the " church. 482 Review Jbr Religious focusing religious life 550 Religious Life in Church Documents Patricia F. Walter OP presents some aspects identifying religious life in conciliar and postconciliar documents of the magisterium. 562 The Ignatian Charism of the Sisters of St. Joseph Joan L. Roccasalvo CSJ shows how the Spiritual Exercises per-meate Jean-Pierre M~daille's Maxims of Perfection and so fire an Ignatian spirit for the Sisters of St. Joseph. 575 Envisioning Associate Identity Rose Marie Jasinski CBS reflects on the status of the associate movement in the light of the second national conference held 5-7 May 1991. 581 Musings about Vocations James E. Claffey CM finds vocation ministry a stimulant to a broader understanding of how God breaks into our history. 585 595 600 614 484 625 632 ministering Pastoral Leadership beyond the Managerial (XL*~ Matthias Neuman OSB stresses the role of spiritual leadership in the midst of ministry challenges. Scarcity and Abundance in Parishes Thomas P. Sweetser SJ compares the parish to a desert of scarci-ties, but at the same time a desert beautiful with hidden wells of life. Marian Community and Ministry Patrick Primeaux SM combines data from both the theological and businessomanage.ment disciplines to distinguish a Petrine and a Marian way of ministering and of living community. Three Images of Priesthood Henry J. Charles proposes the images of priest as collaborator, mystagogue, and holy man for a renewed understanding of priesthood. departments Prisms /~ Canonical Counsel: Involuntary Ex~laustration Book Reviews .l~uly-Augu.ct 1992 483 prisms History happens. We human beings can write our history books and, by emphasis and omission and sometimes by romanticizing, make as if we are mas-ters of our history. It may take only some seventy years for the rewriting of the Communist history of Russia or it may take five hundred years for the European discovery of the Americas to be reevaluated. But it happens. We say that Pope John XXIII made history when he called the Second Vatican Council. We are well aware that the church experienced, through the actions of the bishops present at the council, something that has been likened to a second Pentecost. For our own availability to the God of history, we need to return again and again to the happening of that first Pentecost and the subsequent events as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles. God's Spirit makes things happen, even when the very persons involved seem so little capable of being the crafters of history. Most recently Pope John Paul II has expressed his own desire to make history by his call for a new evangelization, partic-ularly occasioned by our entering into the third millen-nium. This call to a new evangelization holds the promise of another moment of this second Pentecost that came with Vatican II. It is history happening, in which none of us is the master or control-artist, but every one of us plays an important role--with the Spirit's direction. Evangelization--new evangelization--demands much of us all. A paradigm of evangelization and inculturation captures our attention anew as we reflect upon the events in the Acts of the Apostles. It means that no one can hold himself or herself exempt from the call of this second moment of the second Pentecostqthe call to a new hear- 484 Review for Religious ing of good news. This is not the time for new rules or the impo-sition of old ones--the Judaizers tried that two thousand years ago. It is the time for Cornelius, his wife, and household to invite Peter once again to proclaim the gospel so that new conversion on everyone's part can take place. It is the time for Peter to dream new dreams and hear God telling him that old restrictions do not apply in a new creation moment. One of the deepest meanings of Pentecost lies in the fact that all peoples heard the good news in a way that they could under-stand and respond to. It goes beyond the language barrier to breakthroughs involving customs, heritages, and rituals. In the Pentecost beginnings, Jesus Christ and the gospel message needed no inculturation. In the new evangelization as in the original one recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, it is not Jesus Christ who needs to be inculturated; he is already a confidant of people's hearts. It is his church that must be inculturated by being evan-gelized anew as well as by evangelizing others. The Acts of the Apostles--the story of the first evangelizing time--portrays the exhilarating and somber picture that inculturating a church does not come without cost--a cost which everyone must bear in lis-tening to ~hocking good news, in experiencing a certain amount of turmoil, in suffering the pain of differences expressed vigorously by people who serve or are served. John Paul II has said that "we need an evangelization that is new in its ardor, new in its method, new in its expressions." That ' is what we--always the disciples--must allow to happen to our-selves first: to be evangelized anew in order to be the new evan-gelizers. We need to rethink how to inculturate a church, not a gospel. If the original Jewish and pagan converts to the new Christian faith seemed to share little common religious heritage and ritual and yet, with struggle, came to form the Body of Christ, can we today not recognize the imperative of a new evangelization demanding the same kind of breakthrough for traditionalists, lib-erals, feminists, or whatever modern-day version an appeal to the party of Apollos or Paul takes? A new evangelization brings the excitement of discovery into our own lives and so into our church. Let the Spirit lead. It has happened; it will happen again. David L. Fleming SJ ~uly-Augu~t 1992 485 JUAN RAMON MORENO Church of the Poor evangelizing and witnessing Juan Ram6n Moreno SJ was one of six Jesuits mur-dered along with an employee and her daughter by Salvadoran military forces at the Jesuit residence of the Central American University, San Salvador, on 16 November 1989. He was widely known as a spiritual director, teacher, preacher, and giver of retreats and conferences and was the founder and editor of the spirituality journal Diakonfa. Besides holding other responsibilities, at various times he was novice director for the Jesuits of Central America, local superior, university professor, and president of the Panamanian and Nicaraguan con-ferences of religious. This article was first published in Diakonfa 7 (1978): 17-28 and republished in a collection of Father Moreno's writings, Evangelio y misidn (San Salvador: UCA Editores, 1990). The translation is by James R. Brockman SJ with the permission of UCA Editores. The footnotes are the translator's. The term "church of the poor" is meant to express a new awareness of what it is to be church, an awareness that is growing in force among Christians in Latin America. The following thoughts are proposed as a help toward under-standing the foundation and principal traits of this way of viewing the church. Church of the Poor and Vatican II The schema on the church elaborated by the precon-ciliar doctrinal commission brought together the ecclesi-ology traditionally taught in recent centuries, and the 486 Review for Religious that allow one to recognize in Jesus the hoped-for Messiah are that "the blind see and the lame walk., and the good news is proclaimed to the poor" (Mt 11:5), what should be the traits that make recognizable Jesus' church? Church Born from Below Vatican II has allowed us to pass from a church that becomes conscious of itself and is organized and structured fr0m within, from itself, to a church that seeks to understand and structure itselffr0m without, from the world that it has been sent to in order to make God's kingdom grow in that world. Nevertheless, the reality that the world is a divided world had not yet made its full impact on the council. Consequently, the challenges to which it more directly proposes to respond are those of a world seen too much from above, from the angle of the learned and the skilled, from the culture and the perspective of the dominant classes. But at Medellfn2 the Latin American bishops began to express in an inspired and probing manner the conflictive reality of our world. The cry of the impoverished majority of the continent found an echo. The church began to become aware of itself and to organize and structure its life and pastoral action not from an abstract world or from just any part of the real, concrete world, but from below, from the world of the poor, and from there to fashion itself as the true church of Christ. Church of the Poor One must not confuse church of the poor with church3'br the poor. A church for the poo~r would be a church that is constituted in a first step that is logically prior to its encounter with the poor and then, in a second step, seeks out the poor to serve and help them. But the church of the poor is a church that in its very con-stitution has the poor as its center. There is no doubt that the church, as the historical body of Christ, must place itself in the world to transform it and to make present in it the reign of God. It must be incarnated, that is, take a body, become a visible and acting institution. But the problem is, what are the criteria that are to determine its institutional shape? What body will it take? Faithful to the incarnational logic of Jesus, the church must take the body of the poor, incorporat-j~ uly-.4ugust 1992 489 Moreno ¯ Church of the Poor ing the poor, making the poor to be those who make up what is characteristic and determinant of its body, which is structured and takes visible form from the cause and the interests of the poor. Let us take a Gospel passage that graphically illustrates this, which is the particular way of acting of Jesus. I choose the short scene with which Mark begins his third chapter. He describes a Jesus situated within a determined sociocultural-religious con-text. But Jesus is situated in it concretely, and he is situated in a way which is perceived by one of the parties as threatening to its interests--"they wer~ watching him closely" (3:2)--and which provokes a conflict so sharp that "they plotted together to see how to eliminate him" (3:6). What is indicative is the place where Jesus is situated and from which he faces the situation: solidarity with the actual man, the man in his poverty, the man oppressed by his paralyzed hand and forsaken by the institution. He has him step into the middle of the synagogue. And he obliges the others, the representatives of the grand institution, to face up to their own presuppositions: Is it licit or not? What is more important, the institution or the person, maintaining the institution or free-ing a man from what concretely oppresses him? What is the cri-terion to act on? "But they were silent" (3:4). Jesus' reaction is, "Then looking at them with anger . . ." (3:5). Countless times the Gospels speak of Jesus' look--always a loving and compas-sionate look. Now he looks "with anger." At whom? At that group of wise, prudent men who are respectful of the institution. Why? Because they refuse to commit themselves to the man, they refuse to make a decision in regard to a poor person, they refuse to take a stand in a situation that questions their rigid institutional schemes. Jesus says, "Hold out your hand" (3:5). Jesus chooses the poor person, the man in a situation of concrete need. The institution is either at the service of human beings orit does not reflect the true God. The Gospels contain many even more radical expressions about the poor as the fundamental criterion for discerning whether we are following the path to God's kingdom. Perhaps the most awesome and disquieting is the words contained in Matthew 25:31-46: "Come, blessed ones of my Father, inherit the kingdom . . . for I was hungry and you gave me to eat. depart from me, accursed ones., for I was naked and you did no~' clothe me . " There is not much room here for sociological or 490 Review for Religious theological lucubrations about who are the poor that are spoken of and what is the determinant criterion for measuring God's nearness. Crucified Church As we can see in the example of Jesus, taking the side of the poor supposes having the courage to get involved in conflict. The history of the Latin American church since Medellfn confirms what has been true all through its existence: insofar as it empties itself of power and prestige so as to enter the world of the poor and be identified with them and their cause, it has also had to suffer their lot--crucifixion and death--and it has come to under-stand why it cannot follow Jesus without denying itself and car-rying the cross. It is because the immense majority of the poor are not poor simply because of nature, but because of other persons. In reality, the poor are the impoverished. Hence, their mere pres-ence is an accusation, a questioning; it creates conflict. The poor are a cause of division, a division whose theological meaning is apocalyptically described in the eschatological discourse I have mentioned: "He will separate one from the other, as the shep-herd separates the sheep from the goats" (Mt 25:32). Jesus him-self, poor and in solidarity with the poor, appears as "a sign of contradiction" (Lk 2:34); and when he takes his place actually at the side of the poor, he provokes conflict and repression, and he suffers death. For this reason the church of the poor is the crucified church, the church of the martyrs. It is so insofar as it is a church of the poor. As long as it preaches universal but abstract love, as long as it is a church from above, the world's powerful praise and respect it; they consider it their church. But when it begins to translate love into historical terms, when it begins to take the side of the poor and it plans and organizes its pastoral work with them in mind, then it begins also to be the church that is slandered and persecuted. If we look at this fact in the light of the Beatitudes (see Lk 6:22-23, 26) there is no doubt which one is the church of Jesus. Church in which the Poor are Evangelized The poor are the privileged consignees of the good news of .~ly-Aug'ust 1992 491 Moreno ¯ Church of the Poor salvation. That does not mean they are the exclusive consignees. Partiality is not the same as exclusiveness. Jesus comes to bring sal-vation for all. But he comes to bring it from the poor, and fi'om them he confronts the changes that must come about in the world; he makes specific what it means to be converted, what it means to become brothers and sisters. This is not a matter of mystifying the poor, as if they were the good and the rich were the bad. It is that objectively God's identi-fication with the poor, the defense of their cause, is precisely where it is revealed what God is, a God who is love that saves, love that creates a brotherhood and sisterhood of sons and daughters, love that makes all things new. And so it is from there that salva-tion is offered to all. The Beatitudes proclaim, not the goodness of human beings, but the goodness of the God who identifies with the little ones of the earth. The Acts of the Apostles describes for us a church that under, stood this very well and where for that reason the poor find their place in such a way that they cease to be poor: Among them no one was needy, because all those who pos-sessed land or houses sold them and brought the price of the sale., and distribution was made to all according to their needs (Ac 4:34-35). It is the very gesture of him who "being rich became poor for you in order to enrich you with his poverty (2 Co 8:9). Church in which the Poor Evangelize Us This is another of the traits that characterize the church of the poor. St. John declares: Everyone who loves . . . knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love (1 Jn 4:7-8). But those who from their objective condition teach the church what true love of God, Christian love, consists in are the poor: If someone has material possessions and sees a brother in need and yet closes his heart to him, how can love of God dwell in him? My children, let us love not just with words, with our lips, but with actions and in truth (1 Jn 3:17-18). The poor reveal to us what the demands are of that love which, because it is Christian, seeks efficacy and a real change in the conditions of suffering and injustice of the poor. They makd us discover who God is: the one who takes the part of the orphan, 492 Review for Religious the widow, the stranger, the one who becomes their goeL They make us understand the Jesus who has compassion, who casts out demons, who looks with anger. They reveal to us the demons that must be cast out today, what the sin is that today stirs up the Lord's anger, what it is that today negates brotherhood, that kills our brother or sister. It is from the poor we must learn what grace means, grace that is manifested in powerlessness, that makes possible the impossible, that bursts in as pure gift. In short, they keep on making us discover the Gospel in a new dimension. On the other hand, if the poor are the privileged consignees of the good news of the kingdom, that means they must also be privileged in understanding and interpreting what that good news signi-fies. The Gospel is understood through the lens of the poor and from their per-spective. Therefore, it is in them before all else that the Spirit becomes present, From the poor we must learn what grace means, grace that is manifested in powerlessness, that makes possible the impossible, that bursts in as pure gift. and from there the Spirit speaks today to the church. There is a hierarchical magisterium in the church, but it only makes sense if it is rooted in the reality of those poor who make up the church's rank and file. The good shepherd's sheep follow him because "they know his voice" and "he knows his own sheep" (Jn 10:4, 14). The hierarchy of the church of the poor is a hierarchy of service, not of domination. It is a hierarchy that knows its sheep in dia-logue and solidarity, that is ai~tuned to their concrete needs, their sufferings, their longings. Precisely for this reason, because it can hear and understand the people's silent cry, it is able to speak with a language that is recognizable, and in the hierarchy's voice the poor find their life, their cause, their hope, their own voice. The theological reflection of the church of the poor is done from below also, tuning in to 'the awareness and the feelings of the poor. Those poor have had their voice taken away--within the church as well--for so long that they have forgotten how to speak and must learn, to express themselves; but they must increasingly acquire a voice within the church. And that voice must be heard, because in it is revealed the Spirit of Jesus that guides the church. Thus will arise a church where things are considered, struc-at~ dy-./lugust 1992 493 Moreno ¯ Church of tbe Poor tured, and carried out from the perspective of the poor. It is they who say how the institution should function, what new ministries are required for a better service, what ministries and functions they need so that they themselves may be active participants within the church's life. Church on Its Way We must not forget that this church of the poor is also a pil-grim church, a church that must keep forming itself through hard-ship and conflict. I am not referring now to conflict with the powers of the world; I am talking about the world and the sin that are still found within the church itself, about conflict that arises from the church's limitations and from different models of church. The church's unity--that unity for which Jesus died--is eschatological unity, a unity that will come about beyond the church itself as fundamental gift of the kingdom that will burst forth into fullness. The church has a mission to go on building that unity--which is universal brotherhood and sisterhood--by attacking at the root what keeps that unity from being realized. That is not achieved by denying the reality of the conflict, but by facing up to the lack of love and Folidarity that produces it. The mere existence of the poor exposes that lack of love and sol-idarity- which is why there will be protest, conflict, and division as long as there are poor--and it reminds us that salvation, the fullness of God's reign, has not yet arrived. The Religious Life in the Church of the Poor What place do we religious have within this church of the poor that I have just described? The religious life arises as protest against the values and struc-tures of the world. It arises as a search for what is radical in the Gospel, for the "one thing necessary" (Lk 10:42), which tends to be obscured in a church tempted to become worldly, to stop being the distinct event that it ought to be within the world. With its special form of Christian existence, religious life ought to be prophecy that points continually towards the church's true mean-ing and calls on it, not to settle down, but to seek ever to go for-ward. That is the eschatological meaning of the vows, as they show us a beyond that urgesus to transform the present. 494 Review for Religious But what is the natural place for religious life to flourish? Where is the root that makes our life radically evangelical? If what I have said about the church of the poor is true, then there is no doubt that the poor are the place par excellence where the reli-gious life should be located in order to carry out its charism of prophecy. In point of fact, the Spirit is stirring up a notable move-ment among religious towards a real and concrete insertion among the poor. From there the Spirit provides light for a reinterpreta-tion of religious life itself. The religious vows are seen before all else as ,consecration to the Christ who is poor and identified with the poor, as vows that consecrate by freeing us from fixity and exclusiveness so as to form Christians who are available for all and approachable by all, but with an availability and approacha-bility whose universalness is shown precisely in being dedicated by preference to the poor and effectively committed to their cause. It means being detached in order to go where the institution can scarcely reach because of the difficulty and poverty of the condi-tions. Jon Sobrino expresses it very well as a going to the desert, the periphery, the frontier: to the desert, where no one is, where no one wants to go; to the periphery, where everything is seen through the lens of the powerless (not to the center, where the powerful are, where things are seen from above); to the frontier, where risks are greater and the task is harder, where there are no trodden paths because no one has trod them and the walkways are made by walking. What better way to fulfill religious life's prophetic function within the church than to help it read the signs of the times from that insertion into the world and struggle of the poor? What bet-ter way than to point out the new paths that the Spirit of Jesus is having us discover through the poor, in whom that Spirit becomes so specially present? The challenge offered us is, how to bring this about? To what conversion does the Lord call us as religious within the church so that we may help it become increasingly a church of the poor? Notes 1 The Documents of Vatican H (New York: The America Press, 1966), pp. 23-24. 2 The 1968 Latin American bishops' assembly at Medell~n, Colombia. July-August 1992 495 ANNMARIE SANDERS Women Missioners amidst Violence efforts of two insurgency groups, drug lords, and a military that violates more human rights than the groups it seeks to suppress. Through the country more than sixty percent of the people are living in emergency zones, and a great deal of these areas have been placed under military control. Many of the towns have lost their leaders, doctors, teachers, and development workers and even their police. Often only Catholic church workers remain, the great majority of whom are women religious. The situation has called us who serve here to a new way of liv-ing and ministering among the people and to a new spirituality. Following Christ and living Christian values can no longer be done as in the past. The reality in which our spirituality is lived out is now radically different. In speaking with various foreign women missionaries through-out Peru, I see that we struggle with many of the same new chal-lenges, are asking ourselves the same questions, and are recognizing similar patterns in our lives of prayer and relation with God. Our situation is unique because of the state of the country in which we work. The complexity of problems plaguing Annmarie Sanders IHM, a member of her congregation's vocation and formation team, has been in Peru since March 1989, She also works as associate editor of Latinamerica Press/Noticias Aliadas. Her address is Apartado 18-0101 ; Lima, Peru. 496 Review for Religious Peru does not follow any pattern in the history of other nations, and thus we have no precedent to follow. To understand our questions, fears, and challenges, one must better understand the context of the violence we face. Peru's two terrorist groups, the Maoist Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) and the Tupac Amaru Revolutionary Move-ment, hold as their primary goals the takeover of the country. So far their efforts since 1980 ¯ have resulted in 23,000 deaths, 5,000 disap-pearances and US$18 billion in economic damage. Sendero has declared its willingness to wade through a "river of blood" to expunge foreign influence in Peru and establish a peas-ant society. It rejects competition from the church, the state, and the private sector. The methods of the two groups include bombings, intimidations, blackmail, torture, and ruth-less murder. The terrorist groups are known to be linked with narco-traffic rings, and in return for the security which the terrorists provide coca traffickers, they receive an esti-mated $40 million a year. Although the current government of Although the terrorist problem has been present in the country for over a decade, only recently has the church been directly affected. President Albert Fujimori attempts to control the drug trafficking and terrorist situations, it also battles cholera, endemic corruption, frequent drought, eighty-percent underemployment, and a deep economic depression leaving 13 million of Peru's 22 million inhabitants in extreme poverty, a figure which has doubled in three years. The government must also contend with the Peruvian military and police forces, which, according to the Washington Office on Latin America, are among the worst violators of human rights in the hemisphere. The U.S. State Department's 1990 human-rights report notes "widespread credible reports of summary executions, arbitrary arrests, and torture and rape by the military, as well as less frequent reports of such abuses by the police." The United Nations Commission on Human Rights noted that in 1991, for the fourth consecutive year, Peru had the highest number of disap-pearances of all the countries in the world. Although the terrorist problem has been present in the coun-try for over a decade, only recently has the church been directly affected. Between the church and the terrorists there had existed .~dy-August 1992 497 Sanders ¯ Women Missioners amidst Violence an "understanding." Generally, when terrorists entered to take over a village, if church workers complied with terrorist expecta-tions they were left unharmed. The church work often had to be significantly curtailed,.'but the religious could remain as a presence to the people. The recent direct destruction of church projects and prop-erty; the deaths of Irene McCormack, an Australian Sister of St. Joseph, in Junin in May 1991 and of Zbigniew Strzalkowski and Michael Tomaszek, Polish Franciscan priests, and Alessandro Dordi Negroni, an Italian priest, in Chimbote in August 1991; and the attempted assassination in July 1991 in Chimbote of Miguel Company, a priest from Spain, changed the scene signif-icantly. More religious encountered terrorist demands that their works--especially food aid and development projects--be stopped, and many received direct threats on their lives. Rather suddenly priests and religious became direct terrorist targets. Sendero Luminoso proclaimed that the church was the enemy of the peo-ple and an obstacle to revolutionary triumph. As the Rev. Robert Gloisten, a U.S. missioner and a staff member of the Peruvian Episcopal Conference for Social Action, stated, "We have become a church under fire with no idea of what will happen day to day." For several years, denial of the serious-ness of the situation was possible. Life was carried on with a vague knowledge that terrorists were active in a few isolated areas; as long as their activity did not directly touch us, we could continue peacefully. Those days are past. ~ The level of awareness and acceptance of the reality of this sit-uation naturally differs for each person. Much depends on one's personal experiences. For example, Pittsburgh Sister of Mercy Rita Harasiuk, who works in the diocese of Chimbote, was jolted by the death of her three colleagues into a new view of the situation: Although I began seeing things differently with the attempted assassination of Miguel Company, it was really the deaths of the two Franciscans that affected me the most. The two, along with two mayors from nearby towns who were also killed, were laid out together in coffins--all open-- and one worse than the other. For some of us, it was the first time we had seen what a human body looked like after having been shot in the head with weapons designed to destroy and mutilate . When Sandro [Alessandro Dordi] was killed two weeks later, we could see that more killing might go on. That's when we really began to strug-gle with what our response to this situation should be. 498 Review for Religious For California native Teresa Avalos of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet, an incident directly involving her community played a significant role in making the situation more real for her and her sisters. In July 1991 a group of Sendero Luminoso ter-rorists entered Moho, where five of her community members lived and worked. They dynamited several buildings, executed six people, and ordered the townspeople to break into and ransack the convent. "This brought the fear of violence that is directed toward us much more into the open," Avalos said. Others of us have grown in our acceptance of the seriousness of the situation from our hearing such accounts by our colleagues. We stand in solidarity with them, aware that the problem is no longer isolated. An important task most of us have faced has been the admission of our feelings in the midst of such turmoil. Fear, nat-urally, is among the most common emotions, and, unfortunately, sometimes very difficult to accept and share with others. "We are all at different stages of being able to accept the real-ity, and some are still in a stage of denial," said California native Liane Delsuc of the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur. "This leaves me often feeling alone and sometimes I don't want to share my fears because others don't feel them. I start to think--is it only me that feels this way? Does that mean I should leave? That I am not able to handle it? But I do not feel that is the case. So I look for people with whom I can more freely share because in sharing it I feel stronger and as if I can continue living this." The sharing has helped us understand the wide range of emo-tions we feel. "Reflecting with others enables me to sift through real fears and imaginary ones," said Pauline Maheux, an Edmonton, Canada, native of the Ursuline Sisters of the Chatham Union; "in sharing we help one another admit to our fears and face them." The emotions one feels get mixed up when one watches the sense-less killing and destruction of years of work. Feelings include shock and anger. Often what is hardest for us to accept is the distrust we now feel towards others since we know that we must be aware of terrorist infiltration into our parishes and workplaces. An important task most of us have faced has been the admission of our feelings in the midst of such turmoil. July-August 1992 499 Sanders ¯ Women Missioners amidst Violence Harasiuk received a shocking revelation of this after the funeral for the slain Franciscans. At the offertory two gifts were quietly brought in procession to the altar: the rope used to tie the hands of those killed and the blood-covered cardboard left on their bodies with messages from the assassins. "We later dis-covered that among the young people bringing the gifts to the altar were persons who belonged to Sendero." Our situation naturally causes us to reflect on death--that which we see around us as well as our own. "I think much more about the possibility of my own death," said French native Anna Ingett of the Sisters of Christian Education; "not that I think death will come in the next few days,,but I am more conscious of its nearness." Given this stark reality, we are constantly asking ourselves on personal, communal, local, diocesan, and national levels: How do we deal with this personally and how are we to respond as church workers? One of the greatest challenges we face is receiving accu-rate information about what is happening in the country. The media in Peru are severely restricted and often rely on third-party sources; great doubts remain. Although organizations such as the Religious Conference of Peru work hard to gather facts, the dis-semination of information is very difficult, given the lack many religious have of telephones and reliable mail service. Many reli-gious, however, felt aided by the Religious Conference's meet-ings and workshops on violence and also by programs dealing with situations and problems in the various dioceses. What seems most useful to us are open, honest dialogues with our community members and other religious working in our areas. Many of us have listened to the facts, tried to process our feelings, and then asked ourselves some hard questions: How much more of this can I take? Will I leave if one more religious or priest is killed? Can I live with this tension? Can I remain a sign of hope in what looks like an apparently hopeless situation? Once some sense of peace was reached about our presence here, we began reexamining why we are staying. Many of us, espe-cially those working the emergency zones, began looking at our work with very different eyes. "After the deaths here, most of us slowed down and started thinking, evaluating, praying, and talk-ing together about why we are here and what we should be doing," said Harasiuk, who has been working for ten years as a pastoral team member in Chimbote. She recalls a meeting of priests and 500 Revlew for Religious sisters where someone asked, "Do you think you should continue working as you have been?" Not one person said yes. Many pastoral workers have reduced their work to simple presence in their parishes. They no longer lead groups, distribute food and aid, or attempt to organize the people. They maintain a low profile and lead quiet lives of simple accompaniment. For Delsuc, who is principal in a Lima barrio of a Fe and Alegrfa School, one of forty-three institutes set up by the Jesuits to educate young people in Lima's shantytowns and in the provinces, the questions about work are many: "I wonder if we are presenting relevant, peaceful alterna-tives that will allow the people to respond with Christian values to the violence around them? I wonder if it would'be better not to be involved in a certain work and just live alongside the people? I wonder if our commit-ment to the people is valuable even if it brings death?" Many of our ques-tions must be left unanswered. But we recognize that simply by asking them we have allowed our lives to be changed. For many of us, before we could accept the change the situ-ation calls us to, we had to let go of the past. Harasiuk says that this was a common experience for the religious in Chimbote after the deaths. "Our grieving process was not just for persons, but for a whole way of life that is passing. This situation has taken away from us a freedo~n to move day and night without fear, to speak openly without worrying about what we say or to who~n we are talking." For Harasiuk this experience also helped her to evaluate her life and her activity and to decide what really matters. "So many of the things I had been involved in suddenly did not seem so important." Maheux, who has served as a pastoral worker for eight years in Chiclayo, had a similar experience. "The situation has enabled me to sift through what is of essence and what is truly insignifi-cant. Relationships have taken on profound meaning . . . to be nourished and cherished." The change in relationships extends for most of us also to I wonder if we are presenting relevant, peaceful alternatives that will allow the people to respond with Christian values to the violence around them ? j~t~-Aug'u~ 1992 501 Sanders ¯ Women Missioners amidst Violence our relation with God. Many have noted that prayer is more dif-ficult, little ecstasy is experienced, much more anger is expressed, fewer words are used, and often God becomes the scapegoat for all of Peru's problems. Christ, for many of us, reveals himself in new ways in Scripture. "I experience Christ more in his passion, where he ends up in the midst of violence, mistreatment, and ridicule but stands strong to his values and commitments," said Delsuc. Many seek a sense of consolation in their relation with God--an assurance that they are loved and that God is still in control. Many, feeling lost in the confusion of these times, turn to God as a source of wisdom. For Lia Finnerty, a Canadian Holy Cross sister working in Juli, prayer is now more integrally connected with what is hap-pening in the news and in her village. "My prayer is the time when I can try to integrate our reality with God's word and see how our community is touched by all that." That need to connect our prayer with the wider community and to pray with others is co,ninon among us. Many note that the desire for communal peti-tionary prayer is much stronger and that it is a helpful experi-ence to bring to God each day all that we see and experience each day. Ingett, who serves on a pastoral team in Sicuani, notes that her community's time of petitionary prayer is also a time for asking pardon for all that these women experience in their daily inter-action with the people. Living in the midst of so much violence and structural injustice has clearly revealed to many of us the anger and violence present within ourselves. "Sometimes it's so hard to hear that the police have attacked innocent victims or tortured young people," admitted Finnerty. "My first reaction is often a violent one, even though I want to be nonviolent." We all seem to struggle with the anger we feel and our desire to be compassionate, and we ask ourselves many questions about how we can be more nonviolent people. We are trying different approaches. Massachusetts native Carmen Foley, a Halifax Sister of Charity serving as a spiritual director in Lima, is looking at her interactions with others and her judgments and is trying to be more merciful in her attitudes. Avalos, a pastoral worker in a Lima barrio and formhr.vice-provincial of her congregation, is look-ing at violence in her speech and her reactions. Finnerty, a pastoral worker among the Aymara people, is returning to the Aymaran value of solidarity and community as a block to violence. Delsuc 502 Review for Religious is practicing communication techniques to become more skilled in conflict resolution. Probably most important for all of us, however, is an openness to learn from the Peruvian people, who seem to know better than any of us just what hope in the midst of crisis is all about. As Maheux concluded, "My greatest source of hope for the future is the women, men, and children with whom I live. Their faith-fulness to the daily struggle to just live--to being able to eat, to the one-day-at-a-time facing of tremendous obstacles--teaches me that justice, peace, and life will endure and win out." Coming Out one shall know as dawn disentangles morning from night if one's desert spell was purgation or vacation was awakening or escape when one emerges anointed in power or scorched and spent Andrea Wild OSF July-August 1992 503 ROY BOURGEOIS School of Terror write from the Federal prison in Tallahassee, Florida, where am serving a sixteen-month sentence for an act of civil dis-obedience to protest the training of Salvadoran soldiers on United States soil. As I look back, I feel my being here is no accident, but rather the result of God's grace at work in my life. Growing up in rural Louisiana, I was a Sunday Christian and gave little thought to issues of peace and justice. I studied geology in college with the hope of getting rich in the oil fields of South America. After college I became a naval officer and volunteered for duty in Vietnam, feeling it was. my patriotic duty to fight communism. There I met a missionary who, amid the war, gave me a vision of Jesus as a healer and peacemaker. I left Vietnam wanting to be a missionary and entered Maryknoll, whose work is in twenty-eight countries overseas and in the United States. I was ordained in 1972 and went to serve the poor of Bolivia. A slum on the outskirts of La Paz became my home for six years. In Bolivia, as in Vietnam, the poor became my teachers and challenged me to grow in my faith. I then returned to do educational work in the United States. My involvement with E1 Salvador began in 1980, after Archbishop Oscar Romero was gunned down at the altar and after four church women from the United States were raped and killed by Salvadoran soldiers. Two of the women, Maryknoll sisters Maura Clarke and Ita Ford, were friends of mine. Their death forced me to confront what was happening in this small Central American country. Roy Bourgeois MM writes that prison can be a good place to read Scripture, pray, and do ministry. His address is Register No. 01579-017; PMB 1000; Tallahassee, Florida 32301. 504 Review for Religious After several trips to E1 Salvador, it became clear that the problem was not "communism" or "subversion" but hunger. As is the case almost everywhere in Latin America, the wealth, power, and land of E1 Salvador are in the hands of an elite few. While these live in huge mansions where they are waited on by servants and enjoy frequent vacations and shopping sprees in the United States and Europe, most Salvadorans live in dehumanizing pover.ty and die before their time. The poor, once told that their suffering was the will of God, now know better as they gather in small groups to read and reflect on the word of God. They now real-ize that their poverty and suffering are the result of exploitation, greed, and irresponsible stew-ardship of God's creation. In May 1983, five hundred Salvadoran sol-diers arrived at Fort Benning, Georgia, to undergo U.S. Army training. At the time, I was speaking at churches and colleges in New Orleans about the injustice of U.S. military aid to E1 Salvador. I felt it was no time for business as usual, so I went to Columbus, Georgia, the home of Fort Benning, and began meeting with local residents. After two months of meet-ings, talks, and prayer vigils, three of us decided to enter Fort Benning at night, dressed as U.S. Army officers. Armed with a.high-powered cassette player, we climbed a tall pine tree near the barracks that housed the Salvadoran soldiers. At lights out, we tuned the cassette player to its highest volume and played Archbishop Romero's last homily, given in the cathedral the day before he was assassinated; in it he called on the military to stop the killing and lay down their arms. We were arrested, tried for criminal trespass ~and impersonating military officers, and sen-tenced to eighteen months' imprisonment. After serving my term I sought a few months of silence and solitude at. a Trappist monastery, then returned to the pulpit and classroom. On 16 November 1989 six Jesuit priests, their coworker, and her fifteen-year-old daughter were brutally murdered in E1 Salvador. According to a U.S. Congressional task force sent to El Salvador to investigate the massacre, five of the nine soldiers arrested for the slayings had been trained at Fort Benning. Today, hundreds of Salvadoran and other Latin American soldiers are being trained at Fort Benning's School of the Americas. The The problem was not "communism" or "subversion" bu t hunger. .y~dy-August 1992 505 Bourgeois ¯ Scbool of Terror School of the Americas (SOA) was located in Panama before mov-ing to Benning in 1984. Since 1946 this training ground for Latin American soldiers has quietly readied some 45,000 officers and enlisted men for right-wing Latin American governments. Manuel Noriega is a distinguished alumnus, as is General Hugo Banzer of Bolivia. In 1984, when the SOA was forced out of Panama, then Panamanian president Jorge Illueja described the school as "the biggest base of destabilization in Latin America." The foundation of the course work at the School of the Americas is low-intensity conflict (LIC), which, by military ana-lyst Michael Klare's definition, is "that amount of murder, muti-lation, torture, rape, and savagery that is sustainable without triggering widespread public disapproval at home." Students of LIC learn that the enemy is not just an opposing armed force; rather, the enemy can include anyone, armed or unarmed, who threatens the stability of the existing order. Hence, priests, teach-ers, health-care workers, union leaders, cooperative members, and human-rights advocates are among the victims of the School of the Americas. On 3 September 1990, ten of us--Vietnam veterans, Salva-dorans, a teacher, and members of the clergy--began a water-only fast at the entrance of Fort Benning to protest the training of' Salvadoran soldiers. When our fast ended after thirty-five days, our bodies were weak but our spirits remained strong. Miguel Cruz, a Salvadoran in our group who had been forced to leave his country because of a death threat, said, "We have the option to end our fast. However, the poor in my country do not. For them hunger is an everyday occurrence." On November 16, when we had recovered from the fast, three of us--Charles Liteky, a former army chaplain who had received the Medal of Honor for heroism in Vietnam; his brother Patrick, who had trained at Fort Benning's Infantry School, and I-- returned to Fort Benning to observe the first anniversary of the killing of the six Jesuits and the two women. After a prayer service, we entered the post, placed a white cross with photos of the eight martyrs at the entrance to the School of the Americas, and poured blood in one of the school's main halls. We wanted to impress on our country that we cannot wash our hands of the blood of inno-cent people killed in E1 Salvador by soldiers trained in the United States. We were arrested and tried. A jury found us guilty of dam- '506 Review for Religious aging government property. The Liteky brothers received six-month sentences, and I received sixteen months because of my previous conviction at Fort Benning in 1983. "Was it worth it?" I am often asked by friends and critics alike. Prison is hard and very lonely at times, even with the support of family and friends, who also suffer. My dad cried when I called home to tell him of my sentenc-ing. Yet I feel I did what my faith and the poor called me to do in the face of such violence, death, and suffering. As a Christian I feel I must try to relieve the suffering of the poor and integrate my faith in a loving God with action. It is indeed tragic what our silence did to the people of E1 Salvador over the past twelve years as our po!iticians fun-neled billions of dollars (hard-earned tax money) to a military regime that killed thousands of innocent people. ~ The recent peace accords in E1 Salvador now bring new hope, and it is a time for rebuilding after all the death and destruction. It is also a time for the hundreds of Salvadoran soldiers who continue their training at Fort Benning to go home--along with the troops from Guatemala, Honduras, Venezuela, Peru, Chile, Colombia, Bolivia, and other Latin American countries. I am convinced that we can relieve some of the suffering of the poor in Latin America by closing down the School of the Americas. It is a school of terror and should be shut down. While I am in prison, friends in Georgi~ are carrying on the peace-and-justice work. To learn more about our efforts, write to School of the Americas Watch; P.O. Box 3330; Columbus, Georgia 31903. Archbishop Romero said, "We who have a voice must speak for the voiceless." I pray and hope that we will speak clearly and boldly. As a Christian I feel I must try to relieve the suffering of the poor and integrate my faith in a loving God with action. j~dy-August 1992 507 M. GERARD NWAGWU Women Religious and the African Synod inculturating Following the initial enthusiasm with which our people welcomed Pope John Paul II's announcement of a special assembly for Africa of the Synod of Bishops,l an accom-modating attitude of tolerance for whatever might result from the event seems to have settled in. In such a frame of mind, any document coming from the synod will proba-bly be treated like any other Vatican document---it will be gratefully accepted and respectfully mentioned, but lit-tle else will follow. If, however, the document were to grow out of our experiences and be developed from our contributions, then its contents would have a better chance of being well received and more fully observed. The introductory chapter to the Lineamenta2 speaks of the period of preparation and celebration of the synod as the "tempus acceptabile," the favorable hour, the hour of Africa. This is the hour we have all waited for. It offers us a unique opportunity to bring about some of the changes and modifications religious life in Africa needs. It is a time for religious women in Africa to state our vision of commitment and involvement. This favorable hour con-tinues until the synod is actually celebrated and concluded, As part of this process it is important for us to raise issues and speak out about the problems that women religious encounter as they try to contribute to the work of evan-gelization in Africa. Indeed, for Africans this synod truly M. Gerard Nwagwu does much of her teaching at the Catholic Institute of West Africa; P.O. Box 499; Port Harcourt, Nigeria. 508 Review for Religious promises to be a "third Vatican Council" in what it could accom-plish for us. Consequently the initial period of intense preparation needs to be followed by a continued interest in the synod that fosters a receptive disposition of willingness to adopt its directives. The next generation of religious is likely to question how we made use of this opportunity, criticizing chances wasted and applauding those utilized. The older generation in their turn will be less critical insofar as they have never experienced such an event during their active days and therefore cannot be blamed for not effecting changes. Our contemporaries themselves could point accusing fingers at us if, for all our ideals and foresight, we achie~ced nothing when the circumstances were most opportune. Accepting facts as they are can be a mark of virtue on occa-sion. However, if we were to do that in the present situation, it would indicate complacency and inertia exactly when the action of working toward objectives that will benefit our people is demanded of us. Accepting the status quo just when the church calls us to make a move could indicate a cowardice and portray a fear of "launching out into the deep waters and laying out the nets for a catch," as Christ challenged the Apostles to do at a point when all hope seemed lost.3 We need an openness among ourselves to help us discover our weaknesses, our duties, and our obligations of evangelization--duties that the Code of Canon Law itself demands of religious in canons 211 and 758. Aware of these challenges, we can begin searching for an effective strategy. The Lineamenta presents a good number and variety of themes for our consideration. In any of these themes, the African reli-gious woman-has a role to play, not simply because she is an African or works in Africa, but because her religious life is directly intertwined with the life of the church. Vatican II witnessed to the fact that at no time in history has the church lacked some form of religious life.4 Religious life, in other words, is a con-stant and inseparable feature of the church. This universally his-toric fact is no different on African soil. However, it would take us too far afield to dwell on all of'the proposed themes as they relate to women religious in general. Rather let us consider those that focus strictly on the life of women religious in Africa, their apostolates, and their relationship with the world around them. Presently, most of the countries in Africa have celebrated the centenary of the arrival of the early Catholic missionaries. The few July-August 1992 509 Nwag-wu ¯ Women Religious and the African Synod who have not will do so in the near future. Mmost everywhere the native indigenous clergy have assumed the direction of the particular churches, on both the diocesan and parish levels. Unfortunately the same cannot be said for all congregations of religious women in Africa.5 These factors and others highlight the growth of the church in Africa. Specifically, religious institutes are not left behind in the development. The momentous rise in the number of vocations to the religious life, especially in women's congregations, attests to this growth. Indeed the problem for many religious commu-nities is not so much trying to attract candidates but finding ways of adequately training and forming them in the spiritual and apos-tolic life. It is no wonder that foreign religious institutes endeavor to recruit girls from Africa to fill up their depleted ranks. Such recruiting, however, has been limited and conditioned by the authorities since it has often left a trail of disillusioned women who believed they were sent abroad for further studies, only to find that they were meant to supply domestic services. Though the road remains open for taking candidates abroad, yet some condi-tions must be fulfilled.6 The obvious growth of the church in Africa is one of the "signs of the times" that determine the form evangelization should assume in our midst. The evangelization that starts first with inte-rior conversion of hearts, matures to a personal witness of life, and finally develops into external commitments and service is the type that best suits the vocation of religious women. Before evan-gelizing others we must evangelize ourselves, for only after we have been converted can we support those around us.7 We shall be witnesses, yes, but only after an interior transformation of heart. Through such an authentic witness of the life of the evan-gelical counsels, we can make our own contribution to the new stage of evangelization required in Africa. With regard to reli-gious life, this first stage of evangelization involVes modeling to our people the values of total dedication and consecration to God with a hope of evoking a corresponding response from young women and men to embrace religious life. The second stage of renewed evangelization which suits our time is that of deepen-ing the faith of those who already believe and are baptized, We are already experiencing an influx of vocations, but how deep is their faith, how reliable is their commitment? Religious women, particularly, must ask probing questions, 510 Review for Religious admit the facts, and make worthwhile proposals. The point at issue is whether we realize that the effective contribution of women religious in the evangelization of Africa depends first on the genuine and generous commitments of our communities and second on the spiritual and apostolic formation we give our younger members. The vitality of religious life in Africa depends on these elements and on its being a true witness of the presence and love of God among our people. Such an objective compels us to examine some of the negative currents that undermine our abil-ity to evangelize our people in the manner referred to above. Primary among the negative currents is the wind of secularism that has blown through the world from the 1980s to the present day and has begun to register its presence in Africa. Some see it as materialism, others as atheistic humanism. Secularism, as Pope Paul VI has pointed out, views the world as entirely self-explanatory without any reference to God, who thus becomes unnecessary and is, as it were, an embarrassment. Secularism of this kind seeks to assert the power of humankind and leads to a situation in which God is ignored and denied.8 An allied expression is secularization. Where secularism is a theory and an ideology leading to denial of God, secularization is, instead, the fact and reality of experiencing life with a secular-ized mentality and attitude--that is, evaluating life from a worldly point of view. This, then, is the new form of atheism by which God is perceived to be less present, less necessary, less capable of providing a valid explanation of personal or social life experi-ences. In its undiluted form, secularization should not find a stronghold in Africa, given the characteristic spiritual vision of life within an African society wherein the divine permeates all aspects of life. However, what has invaded this sense of the sacred is the aftermath of secularization, revealed in such characteristics as superficiality, the desire for power and domination over others, autonomy and individualism, and a pleasure-loving orientation. Within our religious circles, when we lack an original experience of God and consequently fail to lead others to a similar experience, the evangelical counsels are confused or glossed over in various attempts to describe, them. We shall be witnesses only after an interior transformation of heart. j-~uly-August 1992 511 Nwag~u ¯ Women Religious and the African Synod Poverty is explained away in the tendency to acquire and accu-mulate in the name of the congregation; chastity in the necessity of having the comfort, convenience, and satisfaction of personal fulfillment; obedience in the assertion of autonomy and individ-uality as marks of our uniqueness and originality. In the maze of such ambiguity, the question for religious women to answer is whether at the present stage of their religious experience they can lay claim to preserving in full the religious sense and charac-ter of their consecration. Where secularization has made its mark, it is difficult to be a witness of the Gospel message. Secularism holds out to us the values of the world and urges us to conform; the Gospel offers us the mind and values of Christ. If we examine our situation and find out that our choices are secular in character, it is important for us to admit it, and so be able to discover what strategy to adopt con-cerning it. The type of choices we make and the attitudes we have clearly show whether we are evangelized at heart or not. On a secondary level the way we treat each other and the interpersonal regard we nurture in our communities would truly show if the Gospel values were operating among us. For when we continue to make discriminatory preferences between persons or congregations, then our witnessing cannot be anything but counterproductive to the task of evangelization. When we are carrying out a common objective, what should matter is the appre-ciation of a sister as a religious and the virtues she possesses for her to be entrusted with an undertaking which she will accomplish in the name of all, not whether she is a member of one congre-gation rather than another, or whether she has occupied a position of importance in her institute, or whether she has important con-nections, and so forth. Evangelizing witness on the community level is likely to be rendered nugatory as ~vell if, instead of the communion and unity which religious life signifies, we have the division and disunity of uncoordinated activity. The difficulties occasioned by lack of cooperation and coordination are most often seen between dif-ferent congregations rather than between members of the same institute. How often have we witnessed the complaints and dis-enchantment of institutes whose services are unceremoniously terminated in a place in favor of another institute--especially when the institute that takes up the apostolate in question may be completely ignorant of how the first institute left the scene! Such 512 Review for Religious a practice is exploitive and appears to be based on the availability of women religious. Apart from the circumstance related above in which two con-gregations of religious women are made to be victims at the same time, division of opinion among institutes is certainly a question that needs to be considered if the challenges of our times are to be adequately addressed. The church regards women religious as experts in communion both because of the communitarian quality of our consecration and because of our natural tendency to bond ourselves closely to oth-ers. Our best field of operation, therefore, is to work for unity and communion within our African church in all its various components. Women have a great capacity for personal adaptation in the face of the varied and often unexpected needs of the real life of societies and churches. We are thus often in a better position to ensure not merely the survival but even the development of evangelization.9 A determination to form deeper and stronger bonds of solidarity and sharing between our various institutes is the best way to confront the changing political, economic, and social conditions of our times. Such operative and meaningful solidarity will happen if various congregations are able to evolve while each institute retains its unique identity and character. As Pope Paul VI told us,'° we are missionaries to ourselves at this stage of the evangelization of Africa. We Africans are cat-echizing and witnessing t6 our own people in our home missions. We are also undertaking the evangelization of other African coun-tries outside our homeland--not overlooking, of course, the invaluable assistance offered by our foreign missionaries. Taking into account the greater number of women .religious, these foreign missions are mostly operated by religious sisters. We must ask ourselves, therefore, whether there exists a corresponding mis-sionary cooperation between the various religious congregations whose members labor on these foreign missions, or whether mis-sionaries carry along with them to the missions the lack of coop-eration and perhaps rivalry which possibly exists at home. We need to remember the call of John Paul II as he spoke about the problems facing evangelization in Africa: secularization has made its mark, it is difficult to be a witness of the Gospel message. July-August 1992 513 Nwagcvu ¯ Women Religious and the African Synod Let all form one unity. Let everything be done to smooth and multiply the ways of mutual esteem, of fraternity, of collaboration. May anything that might be the cause of suf-ferings or casting aside, for one group or another, be ban-ished! May all be penetrated with sentiments of humility and of mutual service! For Christ! For the witness of the church! For the progress of evangelization!'~ With a unified front, we religious could more easily discover new approaches to problems that arise in the apostolate. These problems include the challenge of Islam and the determination of Muslims to spread the Koran from coast to coast by whatever means available. Carrying arms and matching violence with vio-lence is definitely not what the church expects religious women to accomplish in this regard. Neither is it possible to close our eyes and imagine that the friction and conflict with Muslims will even-tually ease off while we do nothing. We must, however, evaluate our strength and discover unobtrusive ways to reduce the threat of Islam for our people. In the face of such an offensive, the church has in the past usually adopted the practice of intensified prayer and a rigorous asceticism lived with generous hearts. Some apostolic religious institutes were founded to labor in countries of Islamic faith. But there are relatively few, if any, contemplative orders founded exclusively for the propagation of faith among Muslims. Such contemplative orders, which by their i~rayers, works of penance, and sacrifices labor to effect the conversion of souls, are crucial for the growth of Christian faith amidst the increased onslaught of Islamic hostility. It would be a welcome endeavor if the tendency our religious folk have to found new religious institutes is allowed to mature into communities that will pitch their tents among the Muslims of our country despite foreseeable opposition and even death. If such an inspiration of the Spirit were to happen, it would cer-tainly respond to the needs of the times. The challenge of Islam requires a radical religious decision. It calls for active institutes to reawaken their consciousness of the value and practice of the con-templative dimension of religious life. The Sacred Congregation for Religious and Secular Institutes exhorts: The contemplative dimension is the real secret of renewal for every religious life. Being a reality of grace, it preserves in the religious the commitment to bear witness before the world to the primacy of a personal relationship with God. They can thus avoid the constant danger for apostolic work- 514 Review for Religious ers who often become so much involved in their work for the Lord as to forget the Lord ofalI work,~z Another area of concern is the proliferation of sects and evan-gelical movements. The increase in their adherents means that some other churches--the traditional Christian churches includ-ing the Catholic Church--are losing members. The sects usually direct their proselytizing toward those who are already Christians and offer them what they apparently cannot get from their mother churches. Again Paul VI sounded the alarm when he noted: It is well known that in some places the church in Africa runs the risk of the fidelity of its sons and daughters being subjected to dangers and struggles, and to being tempted by false teaching. Indeed, Christian faith must become some-thing interior like a personal possession of each individ-ual.' 3 In the face of such phenomena, congregations of women reli-gious can be of immense help to the church if they include this ground among their fields of apostolate for the second stage of evangelizing Africa. By identifying the reasons Christians are attracted to these sects and the group of Catholics that are easily influenced by them, they can develop a strategy for deepening the faith of those most affected. Often a shallow faith, which offers no reply to the vital questions of suffering and pain, poverty and misery, doubts and fears, insecurity and emptiness, sickness and death and so forth, is quickly abandoned for what seems a better way out of problems. Such defections occur where people seek a church that'proffers some human warmth and mutual con-cern, an experience the larger churches cannot easily provide.'4 Even if religious themselves do not minister directly to the sects and their adherents, they can train the Christian laity to assume their role of searching out and reevangelizing their brethren. Similarly, it is important to examine the variety of means of social communications available in order to determine the ones best suited for evangelization in Africa today. Every institute is able to evaluate the effect of each of the means on individual members and on the community. For while it is necessary to know what the world around us is saying through the media, we must not allow it to monopolize our attention and dictate our conver-sational exchanges. Growth in religious commitment does not follow from an indiscriminate and sometimes imprudent use of the mass media, or with the exaggerated and extroverted activism the 3~uly-August 1992 515 Nwag-wu ¯ Women Religious and the African Synod media can generate, or with an atmosphere of dissipation which contradicts the deepest expectations of religious life. The search for intimacy with God needs silence, never involving noise and confusion.~s Presently, however, our discussion on the media is not how much we adopt them in our communities, but how well we use them for evangelization. Since the various means are each an effi-cacious tool for communication, the message of faith can be divulged to millions of our people at the same time with their aid. What prevents us, for example, from publishing a magazine that focuses on African religious life? Other Christian groups take the lead in the use of media while Catholics lag behind. Sacred songs and music on the thousands of audiocassettes that flood the market are ahnost always produced by Protestant evangelical groups. In the past there used to be a festival of the arts for Catholic schools. Now the competitions organized for parish choirs do not seem to generate the same interest. When an institute chooses to engage some of its members in apostolates using more contemporary methodologies, the initial difficulty will be lack of trained personnel. Requisite educational competence is important; however, some religious superiors are reluctant to send sisters for further studies that take time to com-plete and cause financial constraint, especially in the face of past disappointments. All the same, such reservation should give way before the conditions of our times and the needs of the church, which demand specialized training in some fields of study. No field of study can be superfluous if it furthers the mission of the institute. And since evangelization is a common mission for all, then adequate preparation is necessary for its realization. We cannot meet our contemporaries handicapped. For priests and religious to grow in requisite skills and maturity, it is essen-tial for them to receive the type of formation usually done in cen-ters of study at the university level or in institutes of higher studies. Specialized studies undertaken by religious should be prompted not by a misdirected desire for self-fulfillment with a view to achieving personal ends, but with the sole intention of meeting the apostolic commitments of the religious family itself in the context of the needs of the church.16 In view of the renewed call to evangelize, some significant changes may have to be made in the initial stages of formation. This sensitive area touches the autonomy and identity of insti- 516 Review for Religious tutes. Nevertheless, some general criteria may be adopted on the intercongregational level while the exact details can be left to the creativity of each institute. A rereading of the conciliar guide-lines for renewal shows that there is no question of simple adap-tations of certain external forms such as the habit. There is question, rather, of a deep edu-cation in attitude and in lifestyle that makes it possible to remain true to oneself even in the new forms of being present--a presence as con-secrated persons who seek the full conversion of people and of society to the ways of the Gospel through personal witness and service.~7 The challenges presented to religious women by the forthcoming synod will demand prayer, discipline, and sacrifice. It will not be easy to effect changes because part of the pattern of life and action we have grown used to will have to be renounced. Though renun-ciation may be spiritually rewarding, it is never gratifying to the ego. All the same, the changes need be made. The "signs of the times" are ripe and they offer us incentives to renew and revise our pattern of life and to give a preferential treatment to the duty of evangelization. The traditional ministries carried out in hospi-tals, schools, and social centers remain important, but their rel-evance in meeting the people of our times and engaging them in faith encounters has diminished. Women religious who are solidly founded in faith and suffi-ciently prepared and who can use their feminine qualities of devo-tion, refinement, faithfulness, and patience and their great capacity to adapt to the unexpected demands of real life can transform sit-uations which would intimidate others who lacked the weapons of faith and culture. In conclusion, let us remember the call of John Paul II and our obligation to respond to his invitation: We cannot meet our contemporaries handicapped. You have lived a first great stage, an irreversible stage. A new stage is open to you. It is no less an exalted one, even if it necessarily involves new trials, and perhaps the temp-tation of discouragement. It is the stage of perseverance, in which it is necessary to pursue the strengthening of the faith, the conversion in depth of souls and ways of life, so that they will correspond better and better to your sublime Christian vocation.18 July-August 1992 517 Nwag-wu ¯ Women Religious and the African Synod Notes i The exact date for the synod has not been set, but observers do not expect it to take place before 1994 or 1993 at the earliest. ~" Lineamenta, General Secretariat of the Synod of Bishops, Vatican City, 1990. 3 Luke 5:4. 4 Lumen Gentium §44. s Some congregations of women religious still have nonindigenous administrative personnel. 6 This includes the establishment of a local community in the area, which in turn requires.that a diocesan bishop invite the institute in ques-tion to his diocese. 7 Luke 22:32. 8 Paul VI, Evangelii Nuntiandi, §55. 9 Sacred Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples, Dans le Cadre, The Role of Women in Evangelization, in Vatican Council H Postconciliar Documents, vol. 2, p. 322. l0 Paul VI, Inaugural Session of SECAM, Kampala, 1969. llJohn Paul II, Address to Zairean Bishops 3 May 1980, in Origins 10, no. 1, p. 6. 12 SCRIS, La Plenaria, The Contemplative Dimension of Religious Life, January 1980, §§ 2, 4, and 30. 13 Paul VI, Address at the 4th Plenary Assembly of SECAM, September 1975. 14 Paul V-I, Evangelii Nuntiandi, §58. is SCRIS, La Plenaria, §14. 16 SCRIS, Mutuae Relationes, §31 and §26. ~7 SCRIS, La Scelte Evangeliche, On Religious and Human Development, January 1981, §32. is John Paul II, Address to Priests and Religious, Zaire, 1980. 518 Review for Religious JENNIFER MARY ALT Rerooting Religi ous Life in South Africa the dialogue has been to develop a religious-life spirituality that would be less foreign and more of a special flowering and inter-pretation of African human and spiritual values. These values encompass all of human life. The spiritual is never seen as apart from the material, and people are seen as depending on other people, and therefore on the Divine, for life and meaning. Outside of their social relationships, individuals are less than nothing. If religious life became better integrated with native African spiri-tual values, it would witness more clearly and bring greater hope to South Africa's strife-torn people. Religious life is not foreign to Africa. In fact, its cradle is to be found in North Africa in the early centuries of Christianity. Organized religious life took its conception from the life and work of the Desert Fathers and was rooted in the form of Christianity found among the rural tribal people of North Africa. This rural tribal Christian expression was eventually declared heretical and has since been known as the Donatist heresy.- St. Augustine, the well-known urban African, a man cut off from his Jennifer Mary Alt OP, a member of the Cabra Dominican Sisters, is director of the Catholic Centre for Spiritual Growth sponsored by the Southern African Catholic Bishops Conference. With her doctoral research in cross-cultural personality studies, she has worked with religious in developing an African religious spirituality. She may be addressed at the Catholic Centre for Human and Spiritual Growth; P.O. Box 53 505; Troyeville (JHB); 2139 South Africa. ~uly-August 1992 519 Alt . .Re~roo~ng Religious Life cultural roots, was chiefly responsible for the suppression of the Donatists. Early North African Christianity was predominantly rural. These rural Christians had been formed by their own primal reli-gion. This religion revolved around being in harmony with the spiritual in life. The Ancestors--important good people who had died and who then lived on in spirit in the living--were seen as important mediators of the spiritual. Life among humans was seen as essentially social, and people got their meaning and pur-pose from living and working in harmony with other people. To be in a group was part of life. Over fifteen hundred years separate us from these earlier times, and Africa south of the Sahara is in a different position today. Yet it too moves from a very strong primal religious back-ground. In parts of Africa, for instance South Africa, much of the primal past has disappeared, but the beauty of its spirit remains. Unless one pays attention to it, one will find it difficult to under-stand the modern movements in religious life in Africa. A primal outlook on life in terms of human values is'a profound way of looking at it. The work of the Divine is easily seen in it. The connectedness between this outlook and the teachings of Jesus is easy to recognize. Unfortunately, modern religious life has been presented in Africa south of the Sahara as something foreign and Western, as something that has nothing to do with African values. In fact, African values had to be somehow discarded as one entered a reli-gious order. Westerners find the intricacies of life in Africa very difficult to understand and, without ill will, have misjudged much of what they saw, dismissing it as primitive and pagan. It is exceedingly important for people entering religious life to realize the continuity between the values they were given in their families and the values outlined in their religious rule. African religious largely see religious life as divorced from their past, as something quite other. They see the rules and regula-tions of religious living as something totally new which has to be learned. Because of this the rules of religious life remain largely outside of them. The rules have little effect on their feelings and attitudes. The result is that religious life tends to lose its mean-ing and become more a drudgery than a life-giving program. There is a saying which is practically ubiquitous in Africa. It runs in South Africa: "People are made people through other 520 Review for Religious people." In Swahili a similar saying is: "I am, you are, and because you are, I am." This circular statement sums up the insight which Africans have about people depending on one another and the insight that without people the individual is nothing. This aware-ness of dependence and interdependence is a far cry from the individualism of the modern. Western outlook. Dependence on God is the source of all spir-ituality and is clearly discernible in the African outlook. Africa has a strong belief in the spiri-tual life. Death is seen not so much as an ending, but as a passing into a spiritual way of being. In Africa everything material has its spiritual equiv-alent. In fact, nothing exists without its spirit. It follows that religious life is seen as essentially for the purpose of bringing people into contact with the Divine in a special way. If this does not happen, then religious life for the individual tends to remain on a material and self-centered level. The religious vocation is a call to a special relationship with the spiritual realm. Religious with their vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience are marked as essentially different from others, for they are in a sense outside the primal group of family, clan, and nation. They live in an area of liminality in life and in this area make contact with the Divine. Everywhere in Africa the call to the spiritual is treated with great respect and reverence. The call is seen as mysterious and very important. It is not questioned. Take, for example, persons who discern that they are called to be a sangorna, to be one who understands the relationship between the material and the Divine and who is specially equipped to interpret rifts that occur between the human and the Divine, rifts that are seen as the cause of all mental and physical illness. Such calls will not be dismissed lightly, and people will undergo rigorous training to equip themselves for their special task as a sangoma. The religious call is seen in this context. It also comes from the Ancestors of the family, and therefore no one should interfere with it. The Ancestors will protect the person so called. Africans believe that when outstanding members of the family or the nation die, they join the living dead. They live on in spirit in another member of the family. As a human being casts a shadow, so each human in the flesh represents the spirit of an Ancestor. A parent 'People are made people through other people.' 3n-uly-Augus~ 1992 521 who first refused to allow a daughter to enter a convent remarked on her behavior: "I was fighting with the Ancestors." In Africa the spiritual revolves around the Ancestors, who mediate the Divine in life. The blessing of the Ancestors needs to be invoked in all circumstances. This ancient method of prayer might seem fundamentalist to a Western person, but it suits many people in the indigenous churches. They invoke God in all cir-cumstances: when getting up in the morning, at the beginning of all jobs--nothing, in fact, is done without prayer to the Ancestors. MI church services center on asking the Ancestors for blessing and healing of any rifts between the living dead and the humans in the flesh. Prayer then centers on the spirit of reverence and respect: through prayer, healing and forgiveness are brought to ordinary human relationships, and rifts with the Ancestors are healed. In this way the negative effects in our lives are resolved, and we become healthy again. Religious in this context are people who are especially moved by the spirit, in a charismatic sense. Prayer then is warm, spon-taneous, and real. But if religious life is seen by Africans as a bureaucratic organization in which material advantages follow the keeping of the rules, even though many of the rules may cen-ter on saying prayers; then it remains outside the person and will not lead to a true conversion of heart. Young people who enter often see a religious house as a house protected by God. They see religious as being protected by God, and the convent as a place of shelter from the storms of life; God will protect the people whom he has called. Many young people enter to be protected from the violence in the streets. Young girls come to escape being raped. Parents send children to convents in order to prevent .them from joining gangs. As people turn to sangomas (the spiritual healers) to protect themselves from the chaos around them, so they send their young girls to convents for the same protection. They feel that no evil can enter a reli-gious house. They also feel that God protects his religious from economic disaster. Young people and their parents see religious houses as places where people will be educated, fed, and housed; as places where the chaos of grinding poverty and ignorance will be kept at bay. Religious will be protected from thes~ material disasters. It is essential in these circumstances to help young people, through self-reflection, to an acceptance of their African values in 522 Review for Religious the light of the Gospel values. This helps to bring about a con-version of heart in which the person is moved to choose Jesus and break out into the wider world of other people and their needs. Young persons, in answering their call, answer it on behalf of their entire family and the Ancestors whom they embody in their life. Therefore, when young people join a religious order, they do not come as mere individuals with little significance. They come as deserving of great respect. They are not alienated people of no back-ground. They are not nobodies. God calls people through an entire network of relationships. Young religious who respond are responsible, therefore, for answering the call of the entire network. This gives the religious a great sense of sup-port and responsibility. To know that one bears the spirit of a beloved grandmother or grandfa-ther in one's life makes the path less precarious, less lonely, and more meaningful. Second, it gives the religious a great sense of dignity and worth. Religious need to respect their own call, and others must respect it too. Without this sense of reverence and respect, the young reli-gious fails to have any sense of liminality. Religious life then becomes more a question of obeying external laws which do not touch the heart and of obtaining an education. Instead of reli-gious life being a development or an exploration of the spiritual, it can become monotonous and meaningless. When the crises come, as come they must, the religious will not choose Jesus, but will make an easier, more selfish choice. A common saying in Africa expresses this lack of conviction and choice: "That person is a Christian by day and an African by night!" A difficulty inherent in the above outlook arises when a reli-gious wishes to leave the convent. Leaving is looked upon as a disaster: the religious loses her ties with God. Her relationship with him is broken. It is in the light of this broken relationship that all future troubles will be judged. The following example is typical: A young'sister left a religious congregation and then failed to pass her nursing examination. She moved to teaching and was equally unsuccessful. This was seen to be the result of leaving the convent, not the result of lack of sufficient talent. It is important to stress, therefore, that the divine call arises out of our baptismal God calls people through an entire network of relationships. j~ly-August 1992 523 Alt . Rerootin Reli "ous Life call. It is this call that must be answered, whether it is lived out in the context of religious life or not. In Africa, to be in a group is part of life. The richness of the human exchange in a community enriches the individual. The individual who is not included in this exchange is drained of life, so to speak. Group living is full of all that is human. Contentment, excitement, joy, happiness, and security are part of that living as are tensions, fears, suspicions, and disharmony. But the underly-ing attitudes of loyalty and respect can keep a group together through major emotional upheavals. In Africa, people truly live community. In the West, people tend to theorize and talk about community, but find it difficult to live it. Both lifestyles have their problems. In Africa, people are meant to live in harmony with one another and with the Ancestors. The individual is meant to enrich the lives of others and to be enriched in return. A religious group thatis not living a life filled With the Spirit will tend to exhibit the spirits of discord and chaos. In such close-knit and complex living together, the individual can feel very vul-nerable. Fear of one another, fear of authority figures, is a natural component of such living. Unless the group is living in the Spirit, fear instead of acceptance and warmth can dominate the group. Community life is held back by fear. Individuals will keep quiet at community meetings, for example. Many opinions which could build up a community are not stated. This can lead to seri-ous mistakes being made. Superiors can go unchallenged and do irresponsible things. Individuals who choose to live a life which is not in accordance with their vows are also left unchallenged because others are afraid to say anything. Those who have this fear feel humiliated and inferior; they grow depressed; in the end, tension shows itself as an illness. Such fear of disharmony, of expressing conflicting opinions, can cause great problems to social and group life in Africa. If disharmony and conflicts arise, the group tends to split and quickly polarize. This process is very evident in the histories of many of the African Independent Churches. African political leaders have generally chosen a one-party style of government in order to avoid disharmony. In so doing they have introduced a totalitarian system which in practice is marked by tribalism and greed. Modern urban societies demand that we learn to live with some disharmony and difference of opinion. In fact, differences of opin- 524 Review.for Religious ion can lead to positive growth, for without differences adaptation to changing times and circumstances cannot take place. In Africa the method of handling differences is for the entire group to°come together and to discuss fully the pros and cons of the different opinions. In these long conversations each person is listened to, and the conversation does not end until consensus is reached. This is like methods of conflict management in the West. The Gospel message of Jesus enhances and brings to fruition the message which Africa can give our world in terms of the interdependence of humans and their dependence on the Divine. The message of Jesus is close to the heart of the African experience of human living together. The message of the great religious founders like St. Benedict finds spontaneous resonance in Africa. The message of religious life, which strives to express the values of the Gospel of Jesus, is not much different from African value systems. The message of Jesus helps people choose less selfish values. In Africa, choices are made according to how a person feels. They tend to be made in terms of present time. A person might, there-fore, at one time choose some abstract Christian value and at another time choose against the same value. But people who are moved by the Spirit choose more responsibly. For instance, peo-ple might not feel like helping when help is needed, but if they are filled with the Spirit, they will go against that feeling and help nevertheless. Or, again, people may feel like getting revenge by not sharing, but if they are filled with the Spirit, they will share. The transcendent message of Jesus helps people to consider beyond this present moment. Christians need to think about the consequences of present actions: Would the future be better, more Christian, as a result of choices we might make now? Often enough, thoughtless pragmatic choices can bring immediate sat-isfaction in terms of money, goods, or pleasant feelings, but the long-term effects of these choices can be extremly destructive. Africa is full of examples of people who pragmatically and selfishly participated in their own destruction. Africans took part in the slave trade. African leaders have greedily plotted the economic ruin of the countries they govern. Tribal rural people have taken The message of Jesus is close to the heart of the African experience of human living together. AI~ o R~'ng Reli ~ou~ monetary handouts from the West, which have led to the destruc-tion of their way of life and to a dependency on further hand-outs. Other cultures can be less utilitarian and selfish by taking their heritage very seriously and protecting it. The Chinese, .Japanese, and Indians have not allowed Western materialism and individualism free access into their cultures, and they have been less enthusiastic in terms of cooperating with the West. Africa can be rather like Esau, who sold his birthright for a mess of pot-tage, because Africa does not appreciate the richness of its social and spiritual heritage for itself and for the world. The message of.jesus builds deeper trust. Christ has through his death and resurrection conquered death and despair. He is above all spirits. He is above all ancestors. There is no need for Christians to fear curses or sangomas or their neighbor. Life for Christians is secure because .jesus has already overcome the spirit of death and chaos. .Jesus speaks a message of love of one's neighbor and of one's enemy. Christians have to consider people who do not belong to their group or clan as nevertheless belonging to the family of .Jesus. Such "outsiders" are not objects, and they must be treated with love and respect. In this way the Christian message brings peace to the troubled area of ethnic and tribal violence--some-thing which has brought misery and death to many millions in Africa and has impoverished whole nations of people. If Christ's message is allowed to bring to fruition the values which the African people received from-God through the Ancestors, much that is unauthentic can be removed from African life even as its contact with the West increases. 526 Review for Religious ALBERT DI IANNI Religious Life and Religion Some recent discussions on "refounding" religious life in which I participated were passionate and at times ended in discord. Admittedly the groups involved were tired and overworked, but this was not the whole explanation. The heat manifested in exchanges about potential cures for the ills of contemporary religious life springs from a deeper source, from a basic disagreement about the nature of Christianity and of religion. When I first encountered the notion of"refounding" currently in vogue, I welcomed it as an improvement over "renewal" because it seemed to demand a deeper conver-sion and a more radical rebuilding. It brought to mind the Carmelite reform at the hands of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross through an inventive retrieval of the spirit and discipline of the founders. Refounding seemed to invite us to set out once again upon a religious adven-ture demanding both great sacrifice and an engagement with the world that remained in some way separate from the world. Resistance to the notion mounted, however, with the repeated calls to identify "change agents" in the group who might encourage creativity in ministry and develop alternative community lifestyles. The more speakers lim-ited their discussions to talk about "delivery systems" for Albert DiIanni SM serves as vicar general of the Society of Mary (Marist). His address is Via Messandro Poerio 63; 00152 Rome; Italy. living religiously ~-uly-dug~_st 1992 527 Dilanni ¯ Religious Life and Religion change, namely, leadership models derived from anthropology and from corporate-reflection techniques borrowed from busi-ness psychology--the more they discussed only means--the more I felt I was being bundled down some primrose path. Before I discuss means, I want to discuss goals; before I accept help to move forward, I want to determine where I, where we, should want to go. This is possibly because I suspect that I do not want to go where some speakers want to lead me or that their advice about means carries some hidden freight about goals with which I do not concur. In a recent conversation about refounding, I found myself suddenly compelled to ask some strange, basic questions, not about religious life but about religion: What, for you, constitutes the heart of the Christian religion? What is its basic meaning or purpose? What engenders religion in the first place? Such ques-tions came to mind because I suddenly realized that our dis-agreement lay at a deep level, that we could not simply assume we would all answer such fundamental questions in the same way. This was not because anyone had expressly denied any belief which I held, but becaus{ they seemed to deflect or sidestep cer-tain ideas as old-fashioned or not in line with the particular action steps being recommended. The urge to ask fundamental questions comes upon me espe-cially when I sense that religion is being reduced to sociology, psychology, or even to morality, be it personal, social, or ecolog-ical morality. In fact, any tendency to reduce religion to morality fires me up more than sociological or psychological reductions because it is more subtle and plausible and thus more seductive. But let me put my own cards on the table. What do I believe is at the heart of the Christian religion? (I will ignore the eso-teric distinction drawn by some between faith and religion and the theory that Christianity is not a religion but.a faith.) Though Christianity like other religions is an amalgam of many compo-nents, I believe that its strictly religious aspect lies in its being an answer to the experience of human contingency and the con-tingency of the world. Most people at some time in their lives have felt wonder that the world exists at all and have faced into the void of their own death. They moved beyond the taken-for-grant-edness of the world and became frightened by the thought that nothing at all might have existed and no possibility of anything. They wondered if there were an ultimate meaning to life or if 528 Review for Religious humans were but a sport of nature. Christianity's central doctrine is that the world need not have existed and that it was the object of creation by a good God. A Christian believer is convinced that at the center of the universe is not a surd but a personal Love. The philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein was not a believer. Norman Malcolm, his former student and biographer, says that he could not be called a religious person, but that he was passionately interested in religion and always seemed close to the possibility of religion. Wittgenstein once produced two examples of what he consid-ered bona fide religious experiences as opposed to moral or aesthetic ones. He respected them even if he thought that in entertaining them he was running up against the limits of language. One was the experi-ence of uncanniness that the world exists at all. The second was the conviction he some-times had that, whatever might happen, he would be safe. Neither of these experiences points of necessity to the existence of some transcen- The urge to ask fundamental questions comes upon me when I sense that religion is being reduced to sociology, psychology, or even to morality. dent reality, but they provide, the experiential ground from which many people move to affirm the existence of God. In such feelings and experiences, the affirmation that God exists is existentially grounded, becomes more than an intellectual proposition, takes root, finds a home. The first experience is the sense that a fleet-ing world must be rooted in a stable fundamental Reality. The second bespeaks a trust that cannot be explained without the pres-ence of a loving center of the universe. My own thoughts about religion center on experiences of this type. Admittedly my idea of religion has strong mystical over-tones; it is our response to radical contingency and, in its most primitive and deepest meaning, has little to do with morality. Religion refers primarily to a "holy" space out of which we and the world spring and gives rise to the imperative that each of us become holy, living our life in and for God. Beyond this I know that religion and morality are intimately intertwined and that a religious or holy person must also be morally good. One can hardly be holy and evil. Holiness means in part being extraordinarily kind, socially just, honest, temperate, a ~dy-Augvmt 1992 529 Dilanni ¯ Religious Life and Religion peacemaker. Yet it cannot be reduced to the practice of these moral virtues. For it is conceivable that someone could be morally good, could follow punctiliously the rules of a moral system, fos-ter social justice, be chaste and kind, and yet not be a religious per-son. He or she could be moral out of personal taste, by temperament, for aesthetic reasons, or out of natural sympathy toward others, and not because of his or her relationship to God. Philippa.Foot, an Oxford moral philosopher and avowed atheist, once told a seminar group that she was such a moral person and that she refused to be patronized by being called an "anonymous Christian." A Christian religious person not only acts morally, but also sees the world in a new way--that it is dependent for its very existence on a transcendent reality and that this makes all the dif-ference. Because it is focused upon the transcendent, the Christian vision has specific ethical implications different from Enlighteflment theories which place the human person or freedom at the center of the moral endeavor. For the Christian the pri-mary response to the world is not that of owner and Promethean creator, but of humble and obedient creature; not an entrepreneurial relishing of power and freedom, but a Marian gratitude before God for all that God has wrought. From this Christian gratitude is born the imperative to love God and God's creation, to allow God to express the divine mercy through us, especially toward the weak and the abandoned. This Christian gratitude and its ethical implications are nourished and deepened through a close union with God in prayer. It is this vision, it seems to me, which should be at the heart of the life of consecrated religious. If they are to be prophetic, it is in this: that in their lives they point constantly to the tran-scendent moment of the universe and try to develop what it means. It is up to each group to decide how it will express this. Christian meaning exists in--and is to be found in--religious sis-ters, brothers, and priests when they are rapt in contemplation of God as well as when they are picking up dying persons from the streets. When people see one of them unremittingly engaged in both, they believe they are in the presence of a saint. Some contemporary Catholic lay people and members of reli-gious congregations seem to have lost sight of the transcendent pole of Christianity. Their model of Christianity has become what Charles Davis labels "pragmatic." The pragmatic version of 530 Review for Religious Christianity arose, he says, when "the Christian religion ceased to function mythically as an overarching totality . The emphasis therefore shifted to Christianity as a practical way of life or eth-ical system. This is still conceived in religious terms, such as the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of God's children, the kingdom of righteousness . But all these expressions are different ways of formulating the moral imperatives gov-erning human existence." ~ Both conservatives and liberals have made this pragmatic shift in Christianity. Conservatives stress per-sonal and family morality and such questions as abortion and euthanasia, and progressives stress social justice, ecology, and women's rights. Future historians may judge that the Vatican itself, but to a lesser degree, has been drawn into what I am characterizing as an overemphasis of morality. They may well remember Pope John Paul II as the "morality pope" because of his repeated statements about both per-sonal and social morality. In practice if not in theory, love of neighbor and enemy seem to have taken precedence over con-cern about union with God. Today's heresies all seem to be moral heresies. Not many Catholics seem concerned about dogmas, about trinitarian, soteriological, or Christological errors. And yet the history of the early church reveals that this was not always so. (I am at times tempted to fashion a brand-new trinitarian heresy to spur people to think more about God and less about themselves!) In this excessive emphasis on morality, the modern church reflects our secularized times, the age that mistook the world for God. In the late sixties, a time noted for its air of revolution, our seminary faculty once gathered the seminarians for a discussion on the question: W'hat are the most important qualities for being a priest and religious today? Some suggested approachability, oth-ers learning and competence, still others kindness or some other human virtue. I was surprised that no one spoke of holiness--a sure candidate just ten years before--and I pointed this out to Someone could be morally good, could follow punctiliously the rules of a moral system, foster social justice, be chaste and kind, and yet not be a religious person. ~dy-August 1992 531 Dilanni ¯ Religious Life and Religion the group. One of the seminarians fixed me with a stare and said with an air of disdain: "Just be human, Father!" Recently I had the pleasure of interviewing Kiko ArgOello, the Spanish layman and artist who founded the Neo- Catechumenate movement, which offers a series of steps, a way, for modern Catholics to rediscover their baptism and be com-mitted to evangelization. I played the devil's advocate and asked whether his way (camino) of training lay people over a period of years did not produce an arrogant elite and end up creating more division than unity in parishes. His answer was in strict contrast to the seminarian's. He insisted that becoming a Christian today was not easy, regardless of what many priests trained since Vatican II seemed to believe. It did not suffice to simply shout the love slo-gan. Belief that God exists and that Jesus is in some way the son of God was difficult in a secularized culture. Besides, our world of drugs and violence, suburban adultery and abortion, euthana-sia and consumerism, was full of snares. It would not be suffi-cient simply to limit our preaching to a form of positive reinforcement. People had to be called to a public confession of their belief in God and Jesus, be brought to a felt need for con-version, be tested in their resolve, b~ supported by a tightly knit community, and be nourished by an adequate participative' liturgy. Needed, in his view, was a method, a way, a structure, a catechu-menate, 'to bring people squarely before their baptism and its implications for their lives. In so many words he was saying that it was simplistic for the 1968 seminarian to have said: "Just be human, Father." Yes, Christ is at work in the world wherever human good is being done, and we have to recognize and foster such work wher-ever we find it; but we must be aware, too, that fostering human-istic values and being a Christian are not in every way identical. Besides demanding that we be thoroughly moral, Christianity demands belief in many strange things, like the incarnation, the need for redemption, the resurrection, the presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, and the role of Mary. For a time in my adolescence, I wished I had been brought up neutral vis-~a-vis religion so that at the age of twenty-one I might consider all the major religions and choose among them without the prejudice of early Catholic training or brainwashing. But I know now that this is naive, for I have recognized that young people who have not been brought up in any religion end up by 532 Review for Religious having no religious sentiment or religiosity. They tend to remain religion-neutral, unable to make a choice in favor of any religion. George Lindbeck, a Protestant theologian, believes that, unless some religion is taught to us when we are young, unless we are brought up in some religious prac-tices, we might not even be capable of religious experience. This may be exaggerated, but I am sure it contains a grain of truth. One thing is certain: People are never brought up in a vac-uum of vision and values. If they do not absorb religious vision and val-ues, they absorb the secular vision and religion-neutral values of the movies and television. Especially in Europe several new lay Christian movements and reli-gious orders have been born in full awareness of this: the Focolarini, the Sant' Egidio community, the Neo- Catechumenate, the Lion of Juda, the Legionaries of Christ, and so forth. They all believe that becoming Christian in a secularized world is especially difficult and demands a way, a method, an entry through a kind of Christian subculture. It means leaving behind a lot of things that can seem very important from the world's point of view, but really are not. It demands kenosis, emptying oneself, in preparation for a radical decision in favor of Christ and God. Karl Rahner once declared: "A Christian in today's world will be a mys-tic or else he will not exist." And he went on to speak of mystagogy, the need of a method to lead people to see everything in God. I believe that one reason why religious congregations are in a mere survival situation today is that, in their admirable effort to take a positive view of the world, they have identified religion too strongly with a humanistic morality that tends to be secular-istic, individualistic, and overly egalitarian. History shows that almost all religious congregations enjoyed strong growth at their beginnings. They were exciting and attractive in part because they were new, but part of their attraction lay elsewhere. The early members had a sense of a religious adventure and cause larger than themselves which rendered them willing to forgo many personal rights and privileges.~They were members of what Besides demanding that we be thoroughly moral, Christianity demands belief in many strange things, like the incarnation, the need for redemption, the resurrection. July-August 1992 533 Dilanni ¯ Religious Life and Religion have been called "intentional" communities as opposed to various "associational" and "bureaucratic" ones that have come into exis-tence since Vatican II.2 They were quite unconcerned with self-expression and equality, not because they were naive and subservient (today's caricature), but because they were caught up in a higher religious vision that enhanced and focused their ener-gies for God and the church. Most religious congregations were founded for three main purposes, the salvation of the members, the salvation of others, and dedication to a devotion or a way of the apostolate. Their charism did not lie only in the third element but in all three. Their purposes were decidedly religious and eschatological as well as incarnational. Today the eschatological has been pushed aside by an incarnational theology interpreted too secularistically and humanistically. Transcendent themes have been toned down in favor of an emphasis on egalitarian rights, on a type of justice interpreted not only as equity but as evenness, a kind of unifor-mity without differences. Everyone knows that only in unity is strength. But egalitarianism, by its very definition, effects an atomism and separateness within a group inasmuch as it deems individual rights and desires more important than the group's religious cause and adventure. Such stress upon egalitarian and humanistic ideals is an ide-ology. It is one way--and only one way--of interpreting democ-racy and justice in society and in religious groups. To oppose that ideology is not to give up democracy but to give it another inter-pretation. This was brought home to me recently as I overheard a conversation between an Mnerican priest--a born-again egali-tarian- and a young female member of the lay Sant' Egidio com-munity in Rome.3 Describing how the community functioned, she mentioned that in her particular community, because of its makeup and history, only certain men and no women were asked to speak at the prayer services. The American priest objected that this was a grave error, that it was supremely important--as a sym-bol and sign to others if not for her personally--that women be allowed to preach in every community. She answered that the Sant' Egidio community did not approach questions ideologi-cally, but pragmatically. Some of the other communities did have women preachers, but because of its particular history and tal-ents, her group preferred not to have them and she was happy with things as they were. She explained that for the Sant' Egidio 534 Review for Religious group three things were of paramount importance: (1) prayer together over the word of God, (2) friendship or mutual support, and (3) work for and with the poor. All else must cede before the achievement of these goals. The American priest's voice rose as he insisted that she was wrong and that the American interpretation of women's rights was correct. But she stood her ground and deftly changed the sub-ject. We have come full circle. In the 1960s, after many years of repression and an exaggerated supernaturalism, we needed to stress personal free-dom and responsibility and a true equality among the races and sexes. We had to recognize our duty before God to take responsibility to build up a world of justice and peace. But this did.not mean that such concerns should come to prevail in reli-gious congregations and sweep all else away in their wake. Now that we have seen the shadow side of such emphases in religious life, we can bet-ter take stock and rediscover that our involvement with the world must begin beyond the world. While the psychological and political agendas were very important for religious life, neither of them was the "one thing necessary." Religious life should center upon that in Christianity which relates our lives to the transcendent. It is here that we must seek its prophecy. It is in reminding people of the divine enchant-ment of the world that it must be countercultural. It is upon this that reflection on refounding religious life must insist. In her arti-cle "Religious Life and the Need for Salt,''4 Joan Chittister asks the right questions regarding contemporary religious life. She wisely concludes that the project of encouraging self-expression in traditionally repressed religious has now been achieved. She says we must now move to questions about the group and how it can be prophetic in today's world. But her answers, giving her interpretation of prophecy, are still too much centered on ecology, social assistance, and human rights and thus, by remaining within a pragmatic model of Christianity, seem but another reiteration of the program of liberal politics. These liberal concerns are impor-tant and must be addressed by the church: the laity, the clergy, and the religious. But addressing such issues, in my opinion, is not going to be the salvation of religious life. Its problems do not 'A Christian in today's world will be a mystic or else he will not exist.' .July-August 1992 535 Dilanni ¯ Religious Life and Relig4on arise from a neglect of them. Religious lack, not moral outreach, but religious centering. They fail to realize what the poor them-selves realize and express in their popular religions, that our union with God through Jesus is central, that we must work at it, and that it is primarily in this that we will be countercultural. Which is more countercultural--to say we must strive to save planet earth or to say we truly believe that the dead are with God because Jesus rose from the dead and that this makes all the difference? I have made some hard remarks and asked some hard ques-tions, and I would welcome a dialogue about them. I am sure I have not expressed them adequately, but I am convinced that they contain at least a grain of truth. I am encouraged in uttering them by the swing of young people in both Europe and North America toward an interest in the mystical sense of religion. In the 1960s the young were caught up in the humanistic values of psychol-ogy and sociology, but today's youth exhibit a great interest in mysticism, religious cults and movements, apparitions and heal-ings, the afterlife; and even reincarnation and the satanic. Does this not indicate that they are experiencing a deep void of mean-ing in an anorexic and bulimic world where money, notoriety, power, individualism, and equality have become the primary val-ues? Does not this cultural change signal that secular humanism for all its ethical achievements has also been an impoverishment by reason of a dearth of religious imagination? Is it not a sign of the times when people living in sophisticated technological cul-tures begin to be attracted to religious beliefs interpreted in a most .simplistic fashion? I know the good responses to the distinction I draw within Christianity between morality and religion. Most will describe it as dualistic--for contemporary pundits the most damning of epi-thets. They will say, "You are separating things that are essen-tially linked." Love of God and love of neighbor are two aspects of the same thing. If you do not care for the person you see, how can you say you love the God you do not see? Those who love God should find their love's primary expression in their dedica-tion to caring for their neighbor, whether friend or enemy. Prayer is missionary and missionary activity is prayer--and on and on. Others will say that I give a false description of the present sit-uation of religious life; they will deny that those engaged in social justice and ecology tend to pray less and to be less interested in the transcendent, in sacraments, and in the eschatological. 536 Reviezv for Religious I know these rejoinders are partly true, but also that they are partly false. I know that the two aspects of Christianity, religion and morality, love of God and love of neighbor, are very closely intertwined, and I am aware of Karl Rahner's brilliant attempt to conjoin them.5 But I know too that they are conceptually distinct because I have seen them separated in the history of the church. At times the church has experienced the extreme of quietism, an overem-phasis on faith without good works, and other times the heresy of action, a hectic involvement in important works of justice and charity to the detriment of prayer and interiority, the soul of the apostolate. It is up to each of us to examine our life to determine where we are. But I am convinced that the problems of religious life stem only partly from a lack of adequate delivery systems and from ignorance about psychol-ogy, social systemics, and anthropo-logical models in an age of rapid change. I am convinced that their deeper source lies in the confusion between religion and morality and in an insistence upon moral-ity because of a loss of faith and interest in religion. If Christian religion is centered almost exclusively upon doing the moral good, upon promoting social justice and ecology, or upon fighting pornography and abortion, then what is the mean-ing of doctrines and dogmas? Are they but religious, accouter-ments? If so, why not be honest and simply drop them? What is the meaning of the redemption through Christ for a religion reduced to morality? What is the meaning of the Eucharist? Are these dogmas and sacraments only stimuli for action, stories and symbols subtly swaying us to do what is truly important: foster-ing the construction of a socially just and ecologically sound world, creating the. kingdom of morality? Is the resurrection just a story whose real cash value is all those smaller resurrections which can occur in a society, in history, or in each human life? How is a religious congregation which centers so strongly on morality to be differentiated from such groups as UNICEF or the Which is more countercultural - to say we must strive ~ to save planet earth or to say we truly believe that the dead are with God because Jesus rose from the dead and that this makes all the difference ? ~dy-Augzlst 1992 537 Dilanni ¯ Religious Life and Religion A life steeped in prayer will produce something we may have lost: a solid number of holy men and women whose life clearly is centered on God. FAO wherein men and women devote themselves to humanitarian causes at times for wages far lower than they could obtain else-where? I know that, since Vatican II, theologians including Rahner and Schillebeeckx have highlighted the thesis that Christ is at work in the world wherever good is. being done and humane causes are fostered. I am acquainted with the theories that the work of building up the kingdom of God is primarily a matter of our present life in the world, that salvation is not only after death but begins here, that the glory of God is man and woman fully alive. I am in sympathy with such emphases, but must also admit that they do not set me on fire; and judging from the vocation statistics of "progressive" congregations, I know that they have not stirred the young. For in my heart I suspect that such emphases are quite incomplete and were (in part) born of a loss of faith in the transcendent. For me Christianity centers not on us but on God. It demands a different vision of the world and reality, which generates a humble gratitude to the God who is responsible for all that is. One of Christianity's concerns is our inborn tendency to distort our freedom, arising from what Luther called the "in-curvedness" of our will. Christianity is about God and sin and the need for God's grace-ful hand to help us make proper use of our freedom. Christian religion must be about God and our relationship with God not only implicitly but also explicitly. It is from a union with God in prayer that light will emanate on how we are to relate to God, the world, and each other. And if a life is to be devoted to religion in a special way, if it is to be a consecrated religious life, it must be lived primarily in view of this relationship to God, not only in ideal but also in structure. It must be structured in such a way that the life of,the group abets in its members this concern about each one's relationship to God and gives witness of it to others. Such a life steeped in prayer will produce something we may have lost: a solid number of holy men and women whose life clearly is centered on God. If this proves true, young people will surely again be attracted to this kind of life, not so much because 538 Review for Religious it is relevant or more interesting than the world, but simply because religious life so construed and so lived is what it purports to be--religious. Notes ~ What is Living, What is Dead in Christianity Today? (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1986), p. 39. -' See Patricia Wittberg SC, Creating a Future for Religious Life (New York: Paulist Press, 1991

Issue 49.6 of the Review for Religious, November/December 1990. ; Liberation and thel~iturgical Year How to Read St. John of the Cross Lasting Friends Volume 49 Number 6 November/December 1990 REVIEW I:oa REL~GIOUS (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly at St. Louis University by the Mis-souri Province Educational Institute of the Society of Jesus: Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Blvd., Rm. 428; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis MO. Single copies $3.50. Subscriptions: United States $15.00 for one year; $28.00 for two years. Other countries: US $20.00 for one year; if airmail, US $35.00 per year. For subscription orders or change of address, write: REVIEW FOR RELIGOUS; P,O. BOX 6070: Duluth, MN 55806. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, MN 55806. ©1990 REVIEW yon RELIGIO~S. David L. Fleming, S.J. Philip C. Fischer, S.J. Elizabeth McDonough, O.P. Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe Editor Associate Editor Canonical Counsel Editor Assistant Editors David J. Hassel, S.J. Iris Ann Ledden, S.S.N.D. Wendy Wright, Ph.D. Advisory Board Mary Margaret Johanning, S.S.N.D. Sean Sammon, F.M.S. Suzanne Zuercher, O.S.B. November/December 1990 Volume 49 Number 6 Manuscripts, books for review and correspondence with the editor should be sent to REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the department "Canonical Counsel" should be addressed to Eliza-beth McDonough, O.P.; 5001 Eastern Avenue; P.O. Box 29260; Washington, D.C. 20017. Back issues and reprints should be ordered from REVIEW roR RELIGIOUS; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. "Out of print" issues are available from University Microfilms International; 300 N. Zeeb Rd.; Ann Arbor, M! 48106. A major portion of each issue is also available oft cassette recordings as a service for the visu-ally Impaired. Write to the Xavier Society for the Blind; 154 East 23rd Street; New York, NY 10010. PRISMS. As we come to the end of another calendar year, we also find our-selves bridging the end and beginning of our Christian liturgical year. November is like a summary or review month--a past looking towards a future. It always begins with the two days commemorating all the saints and then all the faithful departed; it closes with a Sunday celebration of the eschatological feast of Christ the King. With Advent and with the Christmas season, we listen and we look--listening anew to the words of biblical prophets and looking upon the Word become flesh. Perhaps we better describe it as a future looking to the present. The divine call of hope coming through the prophets and being enfleshed in Jesus touches the human heart. It rouses the deepest of hu-man desires--to experience oneself as free in a world which is free and to experience peace within oneself and peace without. Most of the arti-cles in this issue involve a looking back and a looking ahead. At the same time, they also touch the present--with our experience of peace in its vari-ous forms, and with our experience of freedom. The articles by Kennington, Rich, van Breemen, and Kerr take up various implications of what has been identified as liberation theology. The origins of liberation theology are found in the so-called Third World countries, particularly in theological writers of South America. More broadly used in the Church, this theology has become a studied way of understanding, articulating, and living out our Christian faith so that we may affect situations and policies which tend to breed injustice and un-freedom. Liberation theology can sometimes seem to condone or even advocate some kind of violence. But no theology can merit the name Christian which is not permeated with a peace which only God can give. Liberation ~theology, especially when viewed in its spirituality, is most of all a theology of the kind of peace sung about by the angels on that first Christmas night. Perhaps one or other of these articles will be a kind of Bethlehem star for us, leading us to a place of greater freedom and peace, either within ourselves or without. Of special interest to a number of our readers are certain upcoming anniversaries. With the feast of St. John of the Cross celebrated in De-cember, there begins the 400th anniversary of the death of this great mys-tic, 1591-1991. Steven Payne, O.C.D., editbr of the Carmelite journal 1101 Review for Religious, November-December 1990 Spiritual Life, provides us with some contemporary approaches to John's spiritual doctrine. Thomas Moore, O.C.D.S., tries to provide us with some basic directions to enter more profitably into the rich teaching of John. In celebration of another anniversary, our January/February 1991 is-sue will be unique in its focused selection of Ignatian spirituality arti-cles and book reviews. The year 1991 marks the 50th volume of REVIEW FOR RELiGiOUS, and the first issue of this volume will honor the Ignatian spirituality tradition, which is celebrating the combined anniversaries of 450 years since the founding of the Society of Jesus and 500 years since the birth of St. Ignatius Loyola. As we close out the first half century of this publication with this is-sue, the staff of REVtEW FOR RELmtOUS wishes all of our readers a Christ-mastide full of the blessings of peace and of freedom. David L. Fleming, S.J. Bethlehem Star: Spiritual Direction in Social Action Ministries Paddy Kennington Paddy Kennington is presently teaching literacy education in shelters for homeless people in Raleigh, North Carolina. With her master's degree in counseling and psy-chology and a graduate certificate in spiritual direction from Washington Theologi-cal Union, she also serves as an area formation director for the Third Order, Society of St. Francis, Episcopal Church. Her address is 2404-1C Bradford Dr.; Wilson, North Carolina 27893. Spiritual direction training and spiritual directors can become part of the praxis of social ministries. If the goals and purposes of social ministries are restricted to serving food, providing shelter, and legislative advo-cacy, worthy as those activities are, then God's wider plan of transform-ing grace and unity may never happen. The learning accumulated in spiri-tual direction training and experience can be part of the organization and spirituality of a social ministryin the Church. A graced life is not a pri-vate life. We are meant to become "breach menders and restorers of ru-ined houses" (Is 58: 12). One way to rethink thb relationship betWeen spiritual direction and social ministry as spirituality in action is to 'draw parallels between the two in the context of the concrete experiences of volunteers and street persons in a soup kitchen. This seems to me to be one method to dem-onstrate the thesis that spiritual direction has a role in social ministry. The Center for Spirituality and Justice in New York City has investigated the necessity to include an awareness of social consciousness as part of the spiritual direction relationship, t The reciprocity between spiritual di-rection skills and principles and social action is equally important in the daily hands-on ministries of shelters, clothing banks, and soup kitchens. 803 Review for Religious, November-December 1990 Two stories of volunteers and street people illustrate the need to include spiritual direction with social action. The Soup Kitchen Antonio In early 1983, four of us from the Social Apostolate soup kitchen in Savannah, Georgia, organized an emergency winter night shelter. The next year, we added an evening soup kitchen and health care. Eventu-ally, I became the first director. 1 met many men and women like Anto-nio who appeared one fall evening in our soup line. He was wearing an over-sized woman's coat. Antonio's suitcase had remained on the bus that left him while he was looking for food. What funds Antonio had in his pockets had vanished quickly into slippery street fingers. After visiting the health-care clinic in our building, we discovered Antonio was thoroughly infested with lice. We also realized he had a men-tal disability and with his friendly, innocent manner, was not able to cope with the violence of street life. Antonio arrived in town in time for the opening of our winter shelter. Luckily, we were able to get him off the street each night. After a few days, the local Catholic Worker became Antonio's tem-porary home. He was an outgoing person and tried to fit in with our com-munity at the soup kitchen and with the Catholic Worker family. Anto-nio wanted to work and contribute to his keep. But his attempts at typ-ing for us and for the health-care nurses were disastrous. One of the nurses convinced him to write to his family in New Jersey. We began to get frantic phone calls from them, and were able to persuade his fa-ther not to get on the first plane to rescue Antonio. One winter evening as the volunteers were converting the hall from soup kitchen to night shelter, Antonio and I sat next to the front door while we waited to take the names of that night's guests. He turned to me and with his eyes averted as usual, asked, "Paddy, what's this place really all about?" I thought a moment and then said, "It's like a bus station, Antonio. People get off the bus, out of the streets, for a little while. They stay with us until they get back on the bus and move on." He turned that over in his mind and said, "Yeah, that's right. That's what I did. I'm staying here and then I'll move on, too." Antonio did leave eventually but not before he had struggled with his reasons for suddenly running away from his home in New Jersey. I think he struck out on his own because he wanted to know if he could take care of himself. Antonio's parents were overly protective and his Spiritual Direction in Social Action Ministries / 805 brother pushed him hard to excel beyond his handicap. On the other hand, his disability did not keep Antonio from searching, questioning, and striving for what he believed to be his freedom. His questions and sense of independence may have taken a different expression from yours or mine. But the restless heart of St. Augustine was the same for Anto-nio as it is for all of us. In the spring while the azaleas and dogwoods were blooming, Anto-nio returned to his home and family. In the last letter we received from him, he told us about the computer course he was taking. One afternoon the following fall, a care-package of used jeans and winter shirts from Antonio arrived at the shelter. He had not forgotten those still on the bus. St. Teresa discovered after experiencing the prayer of union, that the Lord had been waiting many years for her "yes" to the Creator's gift of spiritual treasures and blessings.2 In his desire to d~cide the course of his own life, Antonio had said yes and gone out to find the courage to make his dream of freedom and independence come true. Bonnie I am always amazed at the intensity of emotion sometimes shown by volunteers toward the poor and street people. Initially, most soup kitchen volunteers are hesitant and even afraid. Few are prepared for the reality of human degradation, begging, and manipulation one is exposed to as part of the daily routine of providing minimal food to hundreds of hungry men, women, and children. Some turn away in tears or disgust; others are drawn to their fellow human beings through compassion, like moths to a flame. But sooner or later if they don't walk away, the inevi-table questions will arise. How can they live like this? Why doesn't the city do something? Where will they sleep tonight? They are all so sad; doesn't this get to you after awhile? Bonnie was a kind, loving woman from one of the many church groups that volunteer on a regular basis one evening each month. I had noticed Bonnie on her firsf day of volunteering while she was serving sandwiches. During her next few evenings in the serving line, she was withdrawn and reluctant to interact with the guests, as though she would rather be in the kitchen. Bonnie avoided any friendly contact except to plop a sandwich on a waiting plate. I had hoped for an opportunity to speak to Bonnie privately during the cleanup routine. "Well, how was it in the serving line tonight, Bon-nie?" I asked as dishes and pots were being scrubbed. She looked down at her feet and said anxiously, "Seeing all those men eating here really bothers me. My husband and I work hard for what Review for Religious, November-December 1990 we have. Why can't they get a job? Why am I expected to take care of them with my hard-earned tax money?" Clearly, Bonnie was torn emotionally between the teachings of Je-sus on love and charity she had heard all her life, and her present feel-ings of indignation, anger, and disgust. And the ~onflict inside showed on her face. This was not a time for reminders that we are to pray for God's forgiveness and strive for empathy for others. At that moment, what Bonnie needed was understanding and peace. I knew she could not yet be aware that coming to resolution about her feelings and attitude to-ward the soup kitchen guests meant that she herself would become the broken bread offered by Christ on the cross. Bonnie was too full of bit-terness and frustration. "I'd like you to meet one of our guests sometime, Bonnie," I said to her gently. "He's quite a character. And I hope you'll give us and yourself a second chance before you make up your mind about soup kitch-ens and street people." "I don't think I'll be back," Bonnie said. 'I just can't stand seeing all those lazy men ripping us all off, when they could be working and taking care of themselves." Her face was lined with anger and she pushed the broom even harder on the dining hall floor. I shared a few words of comfort but I did not push her to commit to another volunteer shift. Bonnie needed time to sort out her feelings. About two months later, I saw Bonnie walk in the front door with her church group. She still had a look of hostility and reluctance. I was afraid that if she could not get beyond her anger, she might lash out at one of the guests, or cause them to react to her in a negative way. "I'm glad you came back, Bonnie," I said. "Maybe you'd rather work in the kitchen instead of the soup line today." "No," Bonnie replied grimly. "I'm going to try the serving line one more time." "Maybe you'll get to meet Jim later," I suggested. "We'll see," she said. I was busy that suppertime and didn't get back to Bonnie until the end of the serving. I had Jim by the hand when we approached her. "Jim, I want you to meet Bonnie,'" I introduced them. Jim smiled a semi-toothless grin and shoved his hand toward Bonnie for a friendly shake. She shook his hand. I wondered what it took from her to give that little inch. "Jim is a regular here, Bonnie. He's been with us a long time," I explained. "Jim is one of the first guests we were able to help get off Spiritual Direction in Social Action Ministries / il07 the streets. Now he helps out with cleanup and carrying in heavy food boxes." I backed out of the conversation as Jim was bending Bonnie's ear about his latest fishing exploits. Later Bonnie found me in the laundry room. "Jim's a real charac-ter and I realize why you brought him over to me," she said. "I haven't changed my mind about the rest of the men. But I do see that there may be more to the soup kitchen and the guests than I've been willing to admit," Bonnie confided. "I guess I need some time here to figure it all out." "All of us had to begin somewhere, Bonnie," I replied. "Maybe a place to start is thinking of the guests, volunteers, even the food--the whole soup kitchen--as sharing God's love. I would be glad to listen any-time you want to talk through your frustrations," I said encouragingly. We exchanged a hug. Bonnie gave me a big grin when she left with her friends. As a shelter and soup kitchen director, I found I needed to be teacher, counselor, community organizer, and peacemaker. But there was also a greater need than crisis intervention and social work referral for housing and health care. In the context of providing meals and shel-ter in a church social ministry, people were drawn closer together. They were forced to interact, ask questions, and struggle with conflicting emo-tions and injustices. I saw the need for a guide who had been exposed to the tradition and teachings of spiritual directipn. One who has lived enough of his or her own spiritual journey to be able to recognize oth-ers' struggles and to offer spiritual leadership beyond cooking, cleaning, and begging would be a good job description. Spiritual Development and Social Ministry Antonio, Bonnie, and many others in the soup kitchen have shown me that there is a lot more to hands-on church social ministries than giv-ing out sandwiches, collecting clothes, and providing shelter. I had scarcely been at St. Luke's soup kitchen (Atlanta, Georgia) two months before I realized that volunteers' needs were as critical as those of street people. Having worked with a large number of soup kitchen participants in the last eleven years, ! have seen that they often progress through spiri-tual growth stages. These stages generally correspond to the spiritual de-velopment outlined in the writings of such spiritual masters as St.-Ter-esa of Avila, St. Ignatius, St. Augustine, Thomas Greene, and Bernard Lonergan to name a few. 1. Awakening:3 Soup kitchen volunteers and guests are spiritual seek-ers in much the same way as directees are in spiritual direction. The soup Review for Religious, November-December 1990 kitchen director must establish an atmosphere which nurtures the possi-bility that all participants might be seeking spiritual growth along with advocacy, washing dirty dishes, and consuming numerous cups of sugar-filled coffee. Often the food sought and given is as much spiritual as physi-cal. The social ministry as a community needs to encourage the devel-opment of relationships as brothers and sisters rather than helpers and de-pendents. The Holy Spirit prods us all and no less so in the serving line of a soup kitchen. One of the most frequent comments from new soup kitchen volun-teers is one of surprise. They cannot wait to tell me, "I never knew it would be like this." The new volunteers sometime become so enthusi-astic they want to solve all the social ills and problems at one time. In their hurry to do something, they fail to let the totality of the soup kitchen experience filter into their inner depths. The impact of the similarity be-tween their own lives, hopes, and desires and those of the street people may elude them. Street people would seem to come to a soup kitchen because they need to eat, get out of the rain, or read the newspaper for a job. All of these reasons are usually true. But many also come from spiritual and psychological hunger. They need to be affirmed as human beings. They want friendship and to know that someone cares about them in the midst of their loneliness and alienation. And like everyone else, they have dif-ficulty in asking for what they want. Anger, manipulation, begging, pro-crastination, and even lethargy can mask a more basic plea for the love and compassion that cannot be found on the hostile streets. Casting volunteers and guests as mutual seekers of God's love helps to lessen the artificial line between dependent and provider. However, raising the awareness of both that each has gifts to offer the other may carry some risk. Life in'the streets dictates survival at all costs and is a set of learned behaviors. This might mean guests are immersed in the violence of poverty and substance abuse. Emotional problems, poor so-cialization skills, and mental illness are magnified by the stress of not knowing where the next meal or bed for the night will be found. Volunteers may come to a soup kitchen to play out an unhealthy need to dominate. They may see themselves as rescuer or savior. Volunteers can even burden already embtionally drained street people with their own consuming need for acceptance and love masked by acts of charity. These are reasons enough for soup kitchen managers and volunteers to have some training in lay qgunseling and spiritual direction. Meager funds for supplies and staffing and lack of housing, jobs, and Spiritual Direction in Social Action Ministries services may force participants into a negative emotional drain and the constant crisis of problem-solving. The stereotypes of despair and dis-ease of social distance can be lifted from guests and volunteers. Despite a naive or discouraging beginning, guests and volunteers can progress beyond the initial stage of being locked into a give-and-take, us-versus-them, relationship. The community's life depends on its ability to jug-gle logistical and physical demands with emotional, psychological ones. An awakening to the spiritual life of the soup kitchen for both volunteers and guests is enabled by the continual return to the wellspring of hope, the Holy Spirit. 2. A Hard Look: After the introductory experience, the volunteer usu-ally begins to ask, why? Why are so many people living on the street? Why are the mentally ill and sick not hospitalized? Why am I expected to take care of the lazy? And then, why am I going home to comfort when these people have so little? Why does not somebody do something? This may create conflicted feelings for those who see themselves as car-ing, religious people. The good intentions of even the most dedicated vol-unteer can fade into frustration and resentment. But in spite of these dif-ficulties, questioning becomes the seed of opportunity to widen one's ho-rizons and allow a graced transformation. If questions arise and expectations are challenged for volunteers, they are doubly so for guests. Even the most dejected and apathetic of the poor hold their dignity and self-worth as a jewel more valuable than food or shelter. A bowl of soup or a sandwich firmly thrust back to a surprised volunteer will attest to a guest's rejection of real or imagined insensitivity. While many long-term street residents have given up ques-tioning injustices or reasons for their meager living, just as many will talk for as long as anyone will listen to a recollection of past slights, in-dignities, or woes. We all need to tell our stories. And once in awhile, some thought-provoking wisdom and insights can be the reward of the patiently attentive volunteer. The volunteer's emotional struggle with the realities of soup kitchen and street people can be everything from threatening to enlightening. Con-fronted with painful feelings, the need for empathy with guests, respon-sibility, and sometimes guilt, some soup kitchen volunteers turn away. They seek other ways to express an option for the poor. Others find ex-cuses to reject the homeless. They blame the victim. Barriers may be erected; barriers of power disguised as benevolent decision-making and anger as righteous indignation. Still other volunteers begin to realize the humanity and humility they share with all peopl+ as children of God. The Review for Religious, November-December 1990 same compassion that emerges from questioning and consciousness-raising impels these volunteers to seek a deeper understanding and ex-perience of the wounded Christ-of-the-streets. 3. Judging--the Bottom Line: Volunteers who persevere join the regu-lars in the social ministry community. They adopt a favorite job or rou-tine of doing the various daily tasks. They come to accept the dilemma of soup kitchens and street life as having no comfortable answers nor neat solutions. Success becomes enough soup or sandwiches for a day's meal, finding eyeglasses for a guest who needs them for work, or locat-ing temporary housing for a young family with children. Old hands be-come well acquainted with the idiosyncrasies of particular guests. Friend-ships develop. New, bewildered guests are shepherded through the soup kitchen routine which has over time become the bricks-and-mortar of daily operation. Success in social change is also expected. Volunteers point with pride to street people who attain middle-class goals: jobs, apartments, sobriety, and normalcy. Experienced volunteers begin to draw parallels with some of Jesus' teachings and parables: the Good Shepherd, those who are last will be first, and workers paid equally for differing times of service. More enthusiastic volunteers may take on the task of main-taining the organization with fund-raising and building renovation proj-ects. The disparity between the homeless people who remain jobless, clothed in rags, and in need of food and shelter and coworkers and fam-ily who enjoy a more comfortable lifestyle is less a focus than getting the job done. Many of the poor who have lived on and off the streets are way ahead of new volunteers in a spirituality of detachment and interior search-ing. Destitute and lacking the basic necessities of food and shelter, they. are forced to fall back on inner resources. Some street survivors exhibit an inner depth of understanding and resilient wisdom of Jesus as Libera-tor. They reflect an unshakable faith and contemplative spirituality. I sometimes wish I could be as in touch with my dark side as they seem to be. However just as often, incredible stress, fear of violence, and physi-cal and mental deprivation block the development of these means to over-come depression and despair. The rhythm of daily life of the soup kitchen community rises and falls with the extreme heat of summer, winter cold, Friday paydays, and surplus holiday charity. Volunteers and guests come and go. When guests do not meet expectations of a middle-class work-ethic or a period of sobriety or mental stability ends, volunteers may become discouraged Spiritual Direction in Social Action Ministries and leave to find greener pastures and better shepherds. But the very rest-lessness that seems to hinder an inner, spiritual examination is also an invitation to challenge preconceived ideas of what is success in a social ministry. The soup kitchen and night shelter offer daily opportunities to let go of cultural or popular false standards of guests' worthiness. 4. Light from Darkness: Volunteers who get beyond the questioning stage and embrace the compunction that follows a realization of their so-cial and inner blindness witness to an enlightened conversion. Their pri-orities change. They begin to view themselves, their families and friends, churches and institutions, and most of all, the guests, with changed hearts and minds. Ragged clothes, disagreeable behaviors, and unwashed bodies fade from importance. Guests are no longer bums and derelicts but James, Mary, and Charlie. "I've been given so much more than I could ever give" is the comment most often heard. This social conversion is possible because participants have experi-enced nurturing community with other volunteers and guests. They have shared in the applied collective wisdom of spiritual guides and masters conveyed by effective social ministry managers and leaders. The soup kitchen manager/spiritual director must focus on community building that encourages everyone processing through the four steps of spiritual growth. After facing the disheartening reality of streetlife poverty and violence, volunteers and guests come to realize through the attentive di-rection of experienced ministry leaders that their only meaningful re-sponse must be one of being as well as doing. Social ministry teachers can model a definition of being that elimi-nates the artificial yardsticks that manipulate and shape people's lives in ways our Creator never intended. Being comes to mean accepting the brother or sister, volunteer or guest, who chooses self-defeat or an un-sympathetic and often critical, closed mind. And most of all, being means seeking the Psalmist's humble and contrite heart in the midst of rejection and the temptation to put distance between self and other. A simple illustration is the end piece from a loaf of bread. Uniniti-ated volunteers might toss the heel into the trash without a second thought. Seasoned veterans however, make use of every scrap by turn-ing the heel outward. They remember lean days of not enough bread for the many sandwiches needed. They have seen men, women, and even children go hungry. Not only are they grateful for our daily bread but they appreciate their own helplessness in the face of grinding poverty and suffering. These volunteers have come to see God face-to-face in the eyes of the poor. Every gift of Creation has become precious to them. Review for Religious, November-December 1990 This is only one of many daily lessons the soup kitchen community can teach and the conscientious director can encourage. Success in the soup kitchen is God's gift to define and to give. Bib-lical personhood and scriptural freedom empower a realization of our need to be vulnerable to each other. We bring all we are, past and pres-ent, to the soup kitchen serving line. Through our relationships, our hearts are stirred to question and search our inner selves and to reach out to our neighbors as to God.4 After finally co.ming to understand and em-l~ race Jesus' meaning of Go.spel poverty, the point of conversion for the social ministry activist becomes the same as the contemplative/directee: the unitive experience. Antonio and Bonnie taught me through their searching and struggle that social ministry can be as much a place of spiritual seeking and guid-ance as my experience of spiritual direction. I saw that people in soup kitchens and shelters were asking for what spiritual direction had to of-fer. God's love for us and desire to be with us through the gift of Son and Spirit is the eternal constant. Our task as both spiritual directors and spiritual guides in social ministries is to be willing to struggle for con-tinued openness and vulnerability to that gift brought to us by guests and volunteers. Soup Kitchen Managers and Spiritual Directors The previous illustrations invite practical ways to integrate action and contemplation, the personal and the social, in soup kitchens and spiri-tual direction. The work of both soup kitchen manager and spiritual di-rector is a good example of the interconnection of spirituality and spiri-tual direction with social ministry. Volunteers and street people usually do not ask for spiritual direction from soup kitchen managers. And di-rectees do not often associate social ministry with their prayer life un-less encouraged to do so by their spiritual directors. But hunger of the heart and searching for God's love and guidance pervade both environ- I am suggesting that soup kitchen managers and spiritual directors must examine the opposite side of their area of expertise to lead to a more balanced ministry and to be more open to God's promise for justice and mercy. However, social ministry managers need not become spiritual di-rectors nor directors, soup kitchen managers. The interactions between a soup kitchen manager, volunteers, and street persons are not the same as those in spiritual direction or intervention. The methods of social min-istry organization and management, schools of spirituality (Ignatian, Fran-ciscan, Carmelite, Augustinian), socio-political thought, and even life Spiritual Direction in Social Action Ministries goals for directees, volunteers, and street people may vary widely. But these two activities have more similar than dissimilar aspects. Identifying the importance of spiritual direction and social action as part of an integrated whole in both ministries is the concern of effective managers and directors. The issue is the recognition of the reciprocal con-nection between the two ministries. The question is not whether the soup kitchen responds first to physical or spiritual needs. Nor is it whether con-templative prayer or an awareness of social consciousness predominate in spiritual direction. There are several points where spiritual direction and social mifiistry coincide: A. Holy Spirit: Our ministries and our lives must flow from Holy Scripture and the indwelling Spirit of Christ. The guidance of the Holy Spirit must always be foremost in our own paths and our involvement in the journeys of others. Discernment of that guidance is discovered in community with others in both individual spiritual direction and in so-cial activities such as soup kitchens. We need to support and nourish each other in our experience of and search for God's gift of love. B. Purpose and Goals: Any spiritual director will admit that before a working relationship can be established with a directee, a determina-tion of what the directee desires from direction must be explored. The goals and purpose of direction must flow from the life, prayer, and ex-periences of the directee. A soup kitchen is no different. On the surface, the purpose may seem to be distribution of food, social work, a sympa-thetic ear, and hopefully, the strength to go on another day. But the mo-tivations of the volunteers, manager, and street people in the soup kitchen community must be considered as important and basic as pro-viding soup, sandwiches, and even friendship. Unconscious messages about worthiness, authority, manipulation, and social statements can creep into the daily life of any hands-on social ministry or spiritual direction relationship. We must be clear in what we are about as helping people and .as concerned, activist communities to-ward those who seek direction or bread. The consequences can be the perpetuation of the suffering and oppression of the poor, a hindrance of the spiritual unfolding and growth of direct.ees, and a floundering for guid-ance by volunteers and workers. The ministry can become part of an on-going or potential problem instead of an instrument of God's peace. Openness to seeing God in my neighbor is fostered by encouraging healthy interaction between guests and volunteers. Joint meetings of both provide insights for planning, alleviate misunderstandings, and build com-munity among participants. Goals clarification and the scriptural basis Review for Religious, November-December 1990 or theme of the soup kitchen needs to be discussed and reiterated through training sessions with volunteers and in meetings with volunteers and guests. Quarterly soup kitchen orientations can offer the opportunity to learn communication and listening skills, positive ways to vent anger and frustration, and sharing feelings of sadness and pain. Attention to detail can encourage the mandates of the Gospel good news, peace and justice for the people of God. Trained volunteers who mingle ';vith guests during mealtimes can facilitate a calm release of the pain, rejection, and dehumanization of street life. Colorful banners do-nated by supporting churches or made in guest/volunteer sessions help to illustrate and affirm the soup kitchen's scriptural themes, such as the Good Shepherd, Matthew 25, and the Bread of Life. Seasonal celebra-tions, monthly birthday recognition, and encouraging on-site social ser-vices help to foster a family-oriented environment. We must live what we believe especially when becoming open to an awareness of the real-ity of the peace and justice of Jesus. C. Street People and Directees: People who live on the streets in ab-ject poverty are God's children in crisis. The wounded, hungry bodies that line up each day for food are also wounded spirits who directly or indirectly seek the fellowship that feeds the heart. All participants in the social ministry community, volunteers, staff, and street people, need to be aware of and be sensitive to the friendship needs as well as physical needs of the other members. The requirement goes both ways amongst volunteers and guests. Soup kitchen managers can no more ignore the Gospel good news of empowerment for the poor than can a spiritual di-rector become heavy-handed with advice and admonitions for the di-rectee. This sensitivity is necessary if everyone is going to move beyond lim-iting their efforts to subsistence needs and toward the mandate of Jesus, friendship, peace, and justice. Tho.ugh the goal of personal and commu-nal empowerment of poor people may seem distant and unobtainable, it is our Bethlehem star. If we do not keep in our awareness and striving the justice promised by God and echoed by Mary in her song, the Mag-nificat, our ministry, faith, and words will become St. Paul's metaphor, the clanging cymbal. The guidance and leadership for discernment to-warc~ this justice most often falls to the manager and spiritual director. Likewise, with directees, the spiritual director has a responsibility to dispel the myth of our tradition that the experience of God and the love of Christ can be a personal, private affair.5 The totality of a graced, trans-formed life is not for the benefit of the directee. St. Teresa of Avila re- Spiritual Direction in Social Action Ministries / ~1"15 minded us that we are meant to be the eyes, hands, and feet of Jesus in the world today. The Center for Spirituality and Justice has demonstrated a social-consciousness aspect to spiritual direction that must be part of the journey of director and directee if there is to be true discernment of .God's will~6 D. Volunteers: Church social ministries can be an extension of Je-sus' example to share ourselves and the fruits of the earth, food, shelter, and resources, with those in need. A deeper responsibility and outgrowth of the working of God's grace in everyone's life is stretching out a physi-cal and spiritual hand in friendship and unity. But for many middle-class volunteers who have never experienced the poverty, degradation, and suffering of those who live on the streets, a first-time exposure can be unnerving and challenging to their comfortable lives. Street people are not the only soup kitchen participants who experi-ence emotional crisis. Seeing firsthand the suffering and dehumanization of street life, many volunteers are distraught when they connect their rela-tively comfortable lives with the misery of homeless people. When food, clothing, an offer to listen, or a smile is refused with unkind words, vol-unteers may feel confused, rejected or angry. A misunderstanding be-tween guest and volunteer can result in "yes" instead of "no" as the answer to an inappropriate query. Just as street people bring their emotional baggage in the front door, volunteers can unload psychological traumas, too. Unresolved sexual needs, psychotic disorders, substance abuse, and authoritarian domi-nance can cause serious problems in the soup kitchen, community. Even though volunteers' emotional issues can't be compared to the sufferings of street people, a soup kitchen manager having some training in lay coun-seling and spiritual direction is helpful for the emotional and spiritual di-lemmas faced by volunteers and guests. For the social ministry manager just as for the spiritual director, their own spiritual direction and a peer group providing support, wisdom, and guidance needs to be part of the organization of the ministry. E. Leadership: Managers and Directors: The relationship between a soup kitchen manager and volunteer or street person is not identical to that of a spiritual director and a directee'. However, the responsibilities of the manager and director in regard to the spiritual foundations of their work with others and their own spiritual journey are so similar that com-parisons can be made. If a soup kitchen 6r.any social ministry is not to become a sterile institution, the guidelines or working plan of operation must be thoughtfully and prayerfully discussed and discerned over time. Review for Religious, November-December 1990 "What is God's will for me" in spiritual direction is parallel to and comparable with "What is God's will for us, volunteers and street peo-ple," in a soup kitchen. The spiritual director and the direction relation-ship provide the backdrop against which the directee wrestles with his or her issues in listening to a loving God. Likewise, the basic rules and logistics of feeding hundreds of people daily must be wrestled with so that dignity and the love we show each other are not compromised using the excuse ofjoblessness, smelly clothes, or efficacy in operation. While including the poor and powerless in decision-making roles can be threat-ening, it is the fulfillment of Jesus' Good News. The soup kitchen manager and the spiritual director are responsible not for the success of the kitchen, the progress of the directee, or even determining what connotes that success or progress. One who seeks to lead must be a follower; a manager or director must create an environ- " ment whereby volunteers, street people, and directees seek their own spiri-tual journey with support and guidance for discernment of God's will for them. The outward emphasis may differ from soup kitchen to spiritual direction but for the director and the manager, the spiritual task is the same. Conclusion There is value in drawing parallels in principle and practicality be-tween contemplative spirituality, spiritual direction and social conscious-ness, and the theological and spiritual organization of social ministries. Flexibility and imagination are necessary to compare the leadership and organizational abilities of a soup kitchen manager with the skills and train-ing of a spiritual director. We can show that the experiences of the vol-unteers and street people can follow a pattern of spiritual development. And directees and their spiritual directors can explore the social as well as personal experience of the Holy Spirit in their lives. In the face of violence, learned dependency, ignorance, and biased prejudices, hearts and minds as yet unawakened are waiting for the power of God's transforming grace: Spiritual direction and social min-istry are not two journeys originating from disparate starting points. Each of these spiritual paths flows from the other and back to nourish those who find themselves to be both contemplative and activist. Spiritual Direction in Social Action Ministries NOTES i D. Bernsweiger, D. McCarty, and L. Rhodes, Eds. Spirituality, Ministry, and Field Education: Theological Field Education, Key Resources, Vol. V. (San Francisco: Assn. for Theological Field Education, 1986), p. 52. Research by the Center for Spiri-tuality and Justice, Bronx, New York, on spiritual direction and social conscious-ness. "Social consciousness" as based on Peter Henriot's, (S.J.) thesis that the re-ality of the human person must take into account the individual, interpersonal, and public dimensions of human existence (p. 5 I). A person is simultaneously engaged in intense intrapersonal activity and consciousness, ongoing interpersonal relation-ships, and living out her or his life within a set of established and defined structures and institutions in the societal area (p. 52). 2 St. Teresa of Avila, The Collected Works of St. Teresa ofAvila: Vol. One, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. and Otilio Rodriguez, O.C.D. (Washington, D.C. : ICS Pubs., 1976), p. 125. 3 Bernard Lonergan, Method in Theology. (New York: Seabury Press, 1972), pp. 8- 20. The four stages of enlightenment for soup kitchen participants is based on Lon-ergan's transcendental method. '~ Karl Rahner, "Reflections on the Unity of the Love of Neighbor and the Love of God." Theological Reflections, Vol. VI. (New York: Seabury Press, 1971), p. 232, p. 239. 5 lbid, pp. 242-244, 246. 6 Bernsweiger, McCarty, and Rhodes, pp. 53-54. Morning Office Here in my house of silence I stand beside you, Zachary. The song you cannot sing Trembles on your lips;. My song Pours in wordless rivers From quiet eyes. We stand together Lonely, waiting to sing Our canticle. Suzanne Zuercher, O.S.B. St. Scholastica Priory 7430 North Ridge Chicago, Illinois 60645 Living Our Liberation Through Justice and Spirituality Linda Rich, C.D.P. Sister Linda Rich, C. D. P., is a graduate of the Institute of Pastoral Studies at" Loyola University of Chicago. She currently works as part of the administrative team of NET-WORK, a national Catholic social justice lobby in Washington, D.C. Her address is 806 Rhode Island Avenue, NE; Washington, D.C. 20018. In the past one hundred years, and more vocally in recent years, part of the Christian community is specifically addressing social problems through systemic and structural analysis and applying Christian value prin-ciples to these problems (for example poverty, war). In the North Ameri-can and European culture, theologians, bishops, and the Vatican are do-ing this analysis and reflection by developing social ethics and a large written corpus of Catholic social teaching. In other cultures, Christians are interested in finding ways to make the Gospel real through experiencing liberation from injustice. This in-dicates that the developing social ethics need a lived reality, an experi-enced spirituality if we, as a whole community of the People of Go~l, are to respond to this recovered Gospel of social justice. That void is now being filled in and fleshed out. The writers and think-ers in the fields of spirituality and social justice are beginning to coa-lesce, to meet on mutual ground. Liberation theologians are now writ-ing about the spirituality of liberation: for example, Spirituality of Libera-tion: Toward Political Holiness, Jon Sobrino, Orbis Books, 1988, and The Way of Living Faith: A Spirituality of Liberation, Segundo Galilea, Harper & Row, 1988. North American spirituality writers are now speak-ing of how spirituality is intimately linked with social transformation: for example, Social Re~,elation: Profound Challenge for Christian Spiritu- 818 Living Our Liberation Through Justice and Spirituality ality, James E. Hug, S.J. and Rose Marie Scherschel, Center of Con-cern, 1987, and Spirituality and Liberation, Robert McAfee Brown, West-minster Press, 1988. Grass-roots movements within the Christian community are also bring-ing spirituality and justice together. The Catholic Worker movement con-cretely lives out social spirituality as envisaged by Dorothy Day and Pe-ter Maurin more than fifty years ago. They feed the hungry and welcome the homeless, while at the same time challenge the social structures that create this reality. As such, they speak against the national budget pri-orities for weapons instead of a priority for food and housing, for exam-ple. They are joined with others in the peace movement, the feminist/ women's movement, and the racial and economic equality movements, which all have collectives of people who are motivated and sustained in this activity by the Christian call to discipleship and by other spiritual values and beliefs. While these manifestations of justice spirituality are all happening within the Christian community, the message of the social justice dimen-sions of spirituality have not yet been carried into the mainstream, how-ever. A new theology and practice of spirituality needs to be unfolded, articulated, and fostered in the Christian community-at-large. A new un-derstanding of how spirituality is, and needs to be, vitally connected with justice will then begin to emerge for the average Catholic in the pew. Donal Dorr comments: "Perhaps the most effective way in which the Church can influence human behavior is by promoting a particular kind of spirituality." ~ Personal and Social Transformation Spirituality and social justice are closely related, both being trans-formative processes. Spirituality, as I am using it here, is our process of personal transformation. Through spiritual practices (meditation, prayer, liturgical ritual) and through the living out of the fruits of these in our lives, we become better persons, more loving, more congruent with the values we profess. We grow and mature as persons and become psychologically and spiritually integrated. Justice is the process of bringing social groups into right relation-ships with each other. It is the transformation of legal or violent enforce-ment of the domination of one group of people over another (men over women, rich over poor, one race over another). Justice transforms domi-nant/ submissive relationships into partnerships.2 Oppressive violence is transformed into peace and freedom when justice is present. Both justice and spirituality are journeys into freedom, moving from 820/Review for Religious, November-December 1990 being bound to a more free state. There is movement from being en-slaved by forces outside our control to having choices about our lives. This movement happens (and power is shifted) by our being able and will-ing to take up the struggle for freedom and undergo the suffering re-quired. "There is no transformation of person or society without suf-fering, and the suffering which brings about such change is truly re-demptive.' ,3 And so, it is very important to discern and determine which particular path leads to greater life through death and which path leads to dead ends, defeat, and a conquered death. Each choice, whether stay-ing with things as they are or choosing for change, has its own risks and consequences. These must be carefully considered. And as in any authen-tic journey, there are risks and perils along the way. Courage, persever-ance, and support from others are required for both the personal and so-cial transformative journeys. We can see some parallels between justice and spirituality. There is also an integrity present that is often missed. Both are needed in con-junction with each other to have true justice and true spirituality. This is so because either of these in isolation from the other is destructive. Historical examples include the way the Church sometimes has pro-moted an escapist spirituality which accepted injustice for other operat-ing benefits by the political powers that be. On the other hand, in socie-ties that have repressed spirituality and religion, great violence has been done in the name of social equality. This also plays itself out within the Christian community where division is created, with splits of "devout" and "activist" factions who distrust each other. Experience shows that spirituality and social justice are a graced dynamic, and split off from each other render both ineffective, irrelevant, and destructive. When these two are integrated, however, the world and the Chris-tian community are graced with life-giving energies. There are many ex-amples in our North American experience. Pax Christi, a Catholic peace organization, uses a threefold approach of prayer, study, and action, com-bining the elements of spirituality and activism. They are in the forefront of efforts to promote a vow of nonviolence, a wonderful way of rooting a committed life of peace within a rich spiritual tradition. The commu-nity of Sojourners (Washington, DC), as part of the Christian evangeli-cal tradition, ministers through their monthly publication, neighborhood organizations, justice resources, and organizing national days of prayer and nonviolent resistance. NETWORK is a national Catholic social jus-tice lobby that attempts to influence the formation of public policy in the interest of the poor and powerless. It lobbies members of Congress to Living Our Liberation Through Justice and Spirituality enact laws providing access to economic resources, fairness in national funding, and justice in global relationships, Another facet of the relationship of personal and social transforma-tion is that these two are not necessarily simultaneous or synonymous; one does not automatically follow the other. A liberation scholar states it this way: Social change by itself does not create a new person, in the same way that transforming persons do not automatically induce a new social or-der. The creation of a new person and a new social order takes place within a dialectical interaction.4 So we can see that a conscious link needs to be made between our spiri-tual growth as transforming persons and our justice work of transform-ing society, or that link will not be made. Some people who invest time and money in the human potential move-ment for personal psychological and spiritual growth make the social con-nections beyond themselves, and some do not. Those who fail to con-nect their personal growth to a wider social vision will probably become shortsighted, turned in on themselves (stunted), and "whistling in the dark while the world goes to hell in a hand basket." Likewise, some so-cial activists who spend tremendous amounts of personal time and en-ergy organizing campaigns for justice do so from the fruits of their spiri-tual growth, and some do not. Those who fail to connect to a spiritual source will probably fall victim to burnout, cynicism, and self-righteous-ness. It is essential, I think, to recognize the inherent integrity of spiritu-ality and social justice within a "both/and" holistic framework. Too often they have been split apart, to the detriment of both. This dichot-omy needs to be healed and is being healed in the coming age. Conversion and Social Liberations In my experience, the education and consciousness-raising of justice work begins to effect a real transformation process in individuals, and in groups of people. This journey of transformation and liberation is one of conversion, a qualitative change, a living of life in new ways. Con-version (whether religious, intellectual, individual, or social), involves a three-part process of !) dying to the old, 2) an in-between period, and 3) a new orientation. Initially we feel confusion and conflict, we experience a resultant in-ability to continue living as we have been, and we know the need to find ~199 / Review for Religious, November-December 1990 new ways of living. Once this process is entered into, things will never be quite the same again. (You cannot put the toothpaste back in the tube.) We find that we may creep slowly or may suddenly leap into a different frame of reference. We are brought into a whole new level of relating-- with a social consciousness~to God, to ourselves, and to others. Albert Nolan describes our growth into social consciousness in four stages.6 (He addresses this to the specific problem of poverty, though the principles can be applied in regard to other oppressed groups of people as well, it seems to me.) The first stage is characterized by our compas-sion, brought about by exposure through experience or information re-garding the sufferings of the poor. This compassion is generally ex-pressed in two kinds of action: relief work (distributing food and alms-giving), and simplification of lifestyle (voluntary poverty). The second stage is entered when we acknowledge the structural prob-lems as social in.justice. Things are the way they are because social struc-tures are set up to serve the interests of some people over others. Anger and guilt may arise when we become aware that poverty is largely a re-sult of oppression. Now our charity of the first stage is joined by justice in the second; both are necessary. In the third stage, we join humility with service to the poor. We need the poor for our liberation, also, and often we are unaware of the gifts they are and have for us. It is this humility (owning our own poverty) that tempers our "doing for the poor" into befriending them. At the same time, one hazard here is to put the poor/working class on a pedes-tal, to idealize them into something they are not. This can lead to disil-lusionment, disappointment, and burnout when we discover the illusion of our own making. The fourth and last stage is one of.real solidarity. This is the experi-ence of recognizing the faults and weaknesses of the poor as well as of ourselves, and at the same time, knowing that we can be on the same side against oppression. Now we experience the struggle of liberation to-gether. The second major aspect is that social consciousness is an essential part of conversion, not the results of it. Socioeconomic life is not a corollary to our relationship with God. It is not simply the arena in which conversion and love of God flow out into love of neighbor--if God so leads us. Social concern and work for jus-tice are not just the outgrowths of Christian conversion. Prayerful involve-ment in socioeconomic life and reflection on it are prerequisites to know-ing and relating intimately with God, not the results of it.7 Living Our Liberation Through Justice and Spirituality/ This concept is rife with implications for the i~ntegration of social con-sciousness into our spiritual life. If we discern God's revelation to us ex-clusively in our interior movements (within ourselves), then "we receive only a partial, distorted image of God. We are ignoring part of the reve-lation of God. We run the danger of fostering, . . a selfless, dedicated and energetic service of the status quo with aH its unjust institutions."8 Our spirituality, without the social revelation component, will most likely, though unwittingly, serve the continuance of injustice. A third connection between conversion and the transformative pro-cess of justice is the image of liberation for the spiritual process. Rather than relying exclusively on the traditional image of union and intimacy with God for spiritual growth,9 we may well include "conversion as lib-eration" as a complementary image. For truly all conversion is a liber-ating experience from our false selves and an enlivening and freeing ex-perience of our true selves. As the image of spiritual union speaks to the part in each of us that seeks attachment, belonging, and inclusion, the image of liberation speaks to the part in each of us that seeks freedom and autonomy. For people who are victims of others and/or society, for people who feel enslaved interiorly by addictions or by life circumstances, this lib-eration process imaged and named as such can be a tremendous motiva-tion and empowerment for change in personal and spiritual development and for social activism. Paul proclaims: "The world itself will be freed from its slavery to corruption and share in the glorious freedom of the children of God" (Rm 8:21). Implications A great challenge lies before us. World crises every day remind us of how fragile and precarious our planet and our common situation is as human beings. We can deny and numb ourselves to this reality. We can let it in and live in despair and be crushed by it. Or we can forge new ways of living, "ministering to the breakthrough" (as named by Pat and Gerald Mische of Global Education Associates) of a surviving and just world. Members of religious congregations can be in the forefront of this breakthrough, on the prophetic cutting edge a's it were. We have a pub-lic role in the Christian community and many congregations are interna-tional. More than one congregation now has Non-Governmental Organ-izational (NGO) status at the United Nations. These and other innovative ways to minister to the breakthrough can be communally explored and implemented. Though each congregation faces the lack of personnel and 8241 Review for Religious, November-December 1990 finances in a different way, we can continue to be supportive of those people and organizations that integrate faith and justice. The integration of spirituality and justice is a key component of min-istering to the breakthrough. It requires a change in thinking as well as in acting, in theory as well as in praxis. Only the combined strength of the theory and practice of spirituality and justice will carry us through into the future. NOTES ~ Donal Dorr, Option for the Poor: A Hundred Years of Vatican Social Teaching (Ma-ryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1983), p. 59. 2 Riane Eisler, The Chalice and the Blade: Our History, Our Future (San Francisco, CA: Harper & Row, 1987), pp. 198-203. This shift is elaborated on in depth here. 3 Carolyn Osiek, R.S.C.J., Beyond Anger: On Being a Feminist in the Church (Mah-weh, N.J.: Paulist Press, 1986), p. 83. '~ lsmael Garcia, Justice in Latin American Theology of Liberation (Atlanta, Geor-gia: John Knox Press, 1987), p. 80. 5 See Osiek, Beyond Anger, p. 44-63, for an insightful development of conversion and transformation in a liberation context. 6 Albert Nolan, O.P., "Spiritual Growth and the Option for the Poor," Church (Bal-timore, MD: National Pastoral Life Center, 1985), Spring issue. 7 James E. Hug, S.J., and Rose Marie Scherschel, Social Revelation: Profound Chal-lenge for Christian Spirituality, (Washington, D.C. : Center of Concern, 1987), pp. 22-23. 8 Ibid, p. 23. 9 In Francis Kelly Nemeck, O.M.I. and Maria Theresa Coombs, The Spiritual Jour-ney: Critical Thresholds and Stages of Adult Spiritual Genesis (Wilmington, Dela-ware: Michael Glazier, 1987), union and intimacy image is used throughout. Spirituality of Liberation Peter G. van Breemen, S.J. Father Peter G. van Breemen, S.J., author of well-known books such as As Bread That Is Broken and Called By Name, has most recently been serving as Jesuit tertian director in Berlin. His address is Peter-Faber-Kolleg; Postfach 220018; Am Schwemmborn 3a; D-1000 Berlin (Kladow); West Germany. Much is being said and written nowadays about Theology of Liberation. The deliberate alteration to Spirituality of Liberation suggests a shift to-wards a less controversial and a more meditative approach. Spirituality The word spirituality stems from spirit. In the Old Testament it re-fers to the ruach as the divine source of human life, and in the New Tes-tament to the active presence of the Holy Spirit in our everyday personal and communal life, where it renders our faith concrete in our actions and behavior. The word spirituality also intimates that life has come to a cer-tain harmony and synthesis: what could remain a fairly objective and sometimes even abstract doctrine has become a source of life and inspi-ration; it has become integrated and operative. Spirituality is lived in the community and becomes fruitful within it, since the Spirit 'is given pri-marily to the community, and to the individual only in the community. So much about the first word of our title. Liberation The word liberation has generally more political overtones than the related word redemption. When Gustavo Gutti6rrez coined the expres-sion "Theology of Liberation" and used it as the title of his book (Lima, 1972), and when a number of his Latin American colleagues took over this expression, they wanted to make redemption more down-to-earth 826/Review for Religious, November-December 1990 and more relevant for the struggle for life. There should be no real doubt that the theologians of liberation want to articulate the Christian faith-- drawn from Scripture, received from Jesus Christ, and handed on through the Catholic Church---even though the Instruction of the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith "On Certain Aspects of the 'Theology of Liberation,' " published in 1984, had a number of criti-cal remarks and even though one of its leading theologians (Leonardo Boff) was silenced for a year. In fact, that very Instruction plus another one of March 22, 1986 basically approve and praise the Theology of Lib-eration. It is not surprising that the rapid development of the Theology of Lib-eration in the last two decades has led to a variety of meanings of the word liberation. What unites, however, all the different schools of lib-eration theology is that--in various ways--they are all inspired by and support a movement, a dynamic, in which the poor and the underprivi-leged draw strength from their faith to fight for their dignity and against unfair exploitation. The heart of the Theology of Liberation is to be found in this movement; it is lived before it is articulated. Undoubtedly this theology (and this movement) began in Latin America, but it is equally certain that they are to be found in other parts of the world as well, like the Philippines, South Africa (Kairos document), India (State-ment of the Indian Theological Association), and other countries. What these countries have in common is obviously their great need for libera-tion, but also that Christianity is fairly recent there. Quite often, with a touch of humor, the Church in these countries is compared with a young woman, hardly twenty years old, in which comparison the Church in Europe is portrayed as an elderly lady. Along with their youth, these Churches also stress their vigor and their hope. It is a little touchy, though not unfair and not disrespectful, when they describe the climate in the European churches as winter and in theirs as spring. Let me just conclude from these remarks that a spirituality of liberation and the di-vine virtue of hc~pe go together. Pope Pius XI (1922-1939) was the first Pope tostress the place of indigenous churches. In 1926 he consecrated in St. Peter's in Rome six Chinese bishops, the first non-white bishops since the early Church. That is less than seventy-five years ago! Whereas all the Fathers of the First Vatican Council (1869-1870) were natives of Europe or North America, the Second Vatican Council gave a completely different picture. Thus it is not surprising that Vatican II speaks highly of the variety of local churches with "their own discipline, their own liturgical usage, and their Spirituality of Liberation own theological and spiritual heritage" (Lumen Gentium 23). "The Chair of Peter, it is said, protects legitimate differences, while at the same time it sees that such differences do not hinder unity, but rather con-tribute to it" (LG 13). Though not without friction and pain, this shift of the center of gravity from the Western world towards other continents goes on speedily. The prognostic indicates that in the year 2000 thirty percent of the world's Catholics will live in Europe and North America, and seventy percent in the southern hemisphere (that is, Latin America, Africa, Asia, and Oceania). We live on the eve of a new equilibrium of the Church. One sign of this is that non-western schools of theological reflection arise. They form a challenge and offer a chance. They can en-rich the people of God immensely. Covenant In a spirituality of liberation, the covenant plays a vital role-- indeed, the covenant is the very origin of our liberation. This may sound rather paradoxical, since covenant denotes a bond that binds us, which looks like the exact opposite of liberation that sets us free. Yet, Sacred Scripture is basically the long story of human liberation, precisely be-cause it is the history of the Covenant of God with his people--first with the Jewish people in the Old Testament and later in the New Testament with all God's people. From the bond of this covenant true freedom springs. This brings home to us the important truth that freedom in the Bible is not unbound, arbitrary, individualistic or irresponsible. Freedom does not mean that one can do what one likes; on the contrary, truly free per-sons are not governed by likes and dislikes, but act according to their inner convictions and conscience--in short, their true self. Freedom im-plies honesty and courage, transparency and authenticity, maturity and responsibility. Sometimes God is called the deepest Ground of our being. Even though the expression may be rather recent, the idea is not new at all. The classic phrase of St. Augustine "God is closer to me than I am to myself" says basically the same thing. If God is the deepest Ground of our being, then it is only in union with him that we can be our true selves and act freely. God is not constraining, but it is only in and through him that we come to life and freedom. Modern psychology confirms this view. It is only in a basic trust in another person (normally the mother) that the child reaches self-confidence. It is only in the security which the mother gives to the child that the latter finds the courage and even the ability to reach out. The 828/Review for Religious, November-December 1990 greater the confidence in its parents, the more open the child will be. What we can observe very clearly in children reveals a characteristic which remains through the whole of life. A person who is secure in the love of someone else can afford to go out into the ever widening space of life and to respond to the world's ever growing challenges. True freedom is the fruit of true love which one has experienced and/ or is still experiencing. I shall not dwell on the sad and often tragic as-pects of the counterpart of these psychological data, but rather state that for me these psychological insights point to God as the ultimate fulfill-ment of our basic need. Of course, I am aware that I make a jump from the level of psychological experiences to the level of faith. I am not try-ing to prove anything, only to suggest and to hint. It is in the covenant that God gives his chosen people the security we are talking about. "I shall be your God and you shall be my peo-ple" is God's summary of the covenant. God binds himself to his peo-ple; he is their support and guarantee. In doing so, he invites the people to bind themselves to him in faithful obedience. When the people accept this invitation, the bond of the covenant is the basis of their freedom. At an early stage of the Jewish history this mighty care of God as the origin of their freedom is exemplified in the exodus from the slavery in Egypt. In fact, one can say that the Exodus is the beginning of the Jews as a nation; up until that moment they were no more than a gang of slaves, who were exploited in unbearably hard forced labor (Ex 2:23). It is in the miraculous event of their liberation from Egypt and their pas-sage through the Sea of Reeds that they become a people. God reveals himself as their God, their liberator, the origin of their national identity. From generation to generation they keep celebrating the marvel of their liberation as the outstanding evidence of the covenant. It is in the context of this liberation from slavery that God reveals his name: Yahweh. Volumes have been written about the meaning of these four Hebrew letters, yet the scholarly research of centuries remains inconclusive. Is it a sign of God's transcendence or of his sense of hu-mor (or of both) that his name remains mysterious in its being revealed? So much seems certain that the name Yahweh is existentially a boundlessly affirming word and intellectually just as boundlessly com-prehensive (that is, not to be grasped). He is there, absolutely reliable and absolutely incomprehensible. In their exodus the Jewish people have experienced their God, whom they gradually discover to be the God of all nations and of all creation. In their exodus they have learned that God hears the cry of the poor and takes their side. We meet here the begin- Spirituality of Liberation ning of a strand that runs through the whole of Scripture, stressing God's care for the poor and the needy, the orphan and the widow. Eventually this will lead to some sort of identification of God with the weak and the little, for example, Psalm 91:15 and Matthew 25:40, 45. In their exodus it was also brought home to them that Yahweh works through people: God. has no hands but ours; compare Exodus 3:8 with 3: 10. In their history with Yahweh they discover that he is "always greater." That is indeed a very pertinent characteristic of God. No mat-ter how great we think of him, he is always greater. No matter how much we have experienced of him, he remains always greater. That keeps us always on the move in our relation with God. The chief expression for human life in Hebrew means: to wander, to travel, to hike. The early Christians called themselves "the people of the way." Thus the exodus is a basic distinction of true religion, not an exodus once and for all, but ever so often repeated. And so freedom is not only the fruit of our exo-dus, but also its prerequisite, Liberty is both gift and demand. That is to say how much our faith is a religion of liberation. In apostolic reli-gious life unconditional pliability with respect to the will of God which can never be predicted and never be fixed takes shape in a continually adaptable apostolic availability. Paschal Mystery So far the name of Jesus has not been mentioned. It is in him that God became incarnate; it is in him that liberation receives hands and feet, a body and a voice and a face. His name, in Hebrew Yehoshua, means "Yahweh saves." Jesus embodies the saving God. He embodies this sav-ing God in a concrete, historically, sociologically, and politically well-defined situation. The incarnation of the eternal Son of God implies the taking-up of a human life with all the specific conditions of a particular society in a particular time. Perhaps the most striking feature of Jesus' dealing with the people of his time and country is how free he is as a person and how free he renders others (Lk 4:!8). This freedom is not simulated, but has deep roots. He is free, because at the same time he is one with the Father. What we found as the true source of freedom of the Jewish people, namely the covenant with Yahweh, we find infinitely more in Jesus of Nazareth. He was bound with Yahweh in his very person: "one in be-ing with the Father" (see Jn 10:30). Accordingly, he always did what pleased the Father and called the will of the Father the food on which he lived (Jn 4:34). That made him a free man and enabled him to free others. Review for Religious, November-December 1990 The miracles he works are presented by the Evangelists, especially by John, as "signs," which point out who Jesus is and what God stands for. Though accepted gratefully and often enthusiastically by many con-temporaries, the signs are rejected by the political and religious leaders. They decide to kill Jesus. The prospect of his suffering and death meets with a profound inner resistance, which in Gethsemane brought a terri-ble distress over him; yet he is free enough to say yes to his passion and crucifixion (Jn 10: 17). Jesus dies on the cross as a consequence of his mission. But God stood by his Son, in and beyond his death. God raised him to new life, a life over which death has no more power. We call this the paschal mystery, in analogy to the passover-event of the Old Testa-ment. The liberating event of the Old Testament was the exodus from Egypt; in the New Testament it is the death and the resurrection of Je-sus. The paschal liturgy from its earliest origins considered the crossing of the Sea of Reeds as a prefiguration of Jesus' passing through death to the risen life, so much so that among the many Old Testament read-ings of our Easter Vigil Exodus 15 is the only one which is obligatory. Here we touch the heart of the saving and liberating mission of Je-sus. In the various forms of our creeds we confess about Jesus: his in-carnation, and then omitting every other event of his life, his passion, death, and resurrection. No miracle, no sermon, no teaching, no contact with any person, no feature of his personality, not one event of his hid-den or public life is mentioned. In every creed one jumps from the birth of Jesus straight to the paschal mystery, which constitutes the core of our faith in Jesus. The paschal mystery is like a tunnel, that obviously has two ends which are connected and thus make the one tunnel. So death and resur-rection are two sides of one mystery. It is of the essence of the gift of faith that one can see the one side of the mystery in unity with the other: the passion in the light of the resurrection--the risen Lord with the wounds of his crucifixion. It is precisely the unity of these two events, crucifixion and resurrection, that makes us free. Jesus is savior and lib-erator because he is at the same time the suffering servant of Yahweh and the glorified Lord. The tunnel leads into the realm of freedom, like the passage through the Sea of Reeds led the Jewish people into the prom-ised land. The Gospels are written from this certainty. They narrate the events of Jesus' life, but in the light of the resurrection. It is this per-spective that we call inspiration (see Jn 8:28; 12:32). It reveals to us not only the redemptive and liberating thrust of Jesus' life, but it also takes us up into that same dynamic. It is the mystery of the grain of wheat Spir!tuality of Liberation / which yields fruit only by dying in the ground (Jn 12:24). It is the call of Jesus, not to hold on to one's life, but to lose it for the sake of the kingdom (Mk 8:35). Fulfillment These words are not meant to glorify human misery nor are they to be used as a cheap consolation to those who suffer. Rather we ourselves in the first place are to take them to heart, if we want to follow Jesus and to be apostolically fruitful. Every human person strives for fulfill-ment. This is perfectly in line with God's purpose, for example, John 15:8. But there is a way of striving after self-fulfillment and self-unfolding which is not in line with God's intention. As soon as one for-gets or denies that true Christian fulfillment goes through renouncing one-self and taking up one's cross (Mk 8:34) and dying like a grain of wheat, one is moving on the wrong track. Then my own physical well-being, my settling into a comfortable lifestyle, my need to be appreciated by those with whom I live and deal, bonds of friendship, my desire to make the most of my talents, success in my work, and so forth begin to play too great a role and stifle my religious and apostolic life. Since this topic is not only very vital indeed, but also very delicate, let me stress that the values mentioned are positive and good. However, as Christians we believe that we truly obtain these values when we do not hold on to them, but are willing to lose them for the sake of Jesus and the kingdom. This brings about the attitude of freedom, in the evangelical sense of the word. An essential aspect of Jesus' freedom was his readiness to accept suf-fering and to lay down his life (Jn 10:17), even though he agonized when the actual passion began. Similarly, a disciple of Jesus cannot follow his or her master without this freedom to give up precious personal human values (Lk 14:33). The Bible gives us many examples of negative experiences which eventually turn out to be quite positive. It is the lesson which Jesus in a remedial class brought home to the disciples of Emmaus (Lk 24:26). It is the lesson which Moses was taught in Exodus 33:18-23. It is the les-son that the evil is far worse than we admit, but that the good is also much greater than we dare to hope and even can bear. It is the lesson which all of us have learned in life: what at the actual moment was felt like a great loss, often revealed itself in hindsight as a real grace. The biblical message, confirmed by our own life experience, may help us to become more free in regard to our own life and more free in our apos-tolic service. 839 / Review for Religious, November-December 1990 It is, of course, a platitude to say that only those who are themselves liberated can help to liberate others. But this platitude is also a little sim-plistic. It seems more nuanced to say that as the Father wants us to be creative with him, likewise the Son wants us to be redemptive with him and wants to continue his work of liberation in and through us (Gaudium et spes 34 and 67). In this way we point out more clearly that our own liberation is a lifelong process and that it is only God who can work true freedom in ourselves and in others. We have to complete th'is statement by saying that God can work this true freedom only through us. So it is our mission to help the people experience the liberating God. In his encyclical Evangelii Nuntiandi (1975), Pope Paul VI stressed that evangel-ization proclaims and tries to realize liberation. This evangelization and this liberation aim at the whole person, .as the same Pope wrote already in an earlier encyclical Populorum Progressio (1967). Respect I suppose this renders respect a key concept in our service of libera-tion: a great respect and regard for the dignity of each human being, that is to say, of ourselves and of others. Respect is the heart of love, and in many ways the word respect is more meaningful than the word love (which, alas, is sometimes used so vaguely and glibly). Respect means to acknowledge the worth of others as other, that is, to relate to them not as we want them to be, not as we think they should be, not as they fit into our plans, but as they are. It also means to discover in these real people their defects, and to accept them. There is a wise and dense say-ing of C.G. Jung: "One can only change what one, has accepted." What we reject or condemn or repress goes beyond our reach; we cannot do anything with it nor for it anymore. I am convinced that the lack of respect does a tremendous harm in our communities, in our apostolate, in our Church, and in our world. If we could come to a basic attitude of respect for each human being, the world would become a so much better place to live in and the Gospel-message would become so much more real and convincing. This respect should not be an aloof, detached, disembodied attitude. If it is, it contradicts itself. Clodovis Boff expresses the opinion that Euro-pean culture tends to screen itself from the "two-edged sword of the Word" (Heb 4:12) with a highly developed, but spiritualistic, exegeti-cal, and sociological sophistication. "Europeans only?" one might ask. As our respect for each other has to be integral, so has the liberation we work for. We cannot restrict it either to the spiritual or the political realm. Spirituality of Liberation / 833 The Poor The word integral can also be understood as including all men and women, though the word universal might be more appropriate in this case. With that meaning in mind, integral or universal liberation requires a special concern for the poor and the weak. This is certainly in line with a trend that runs through the whole of Scripture. God shows a preferen-tial love for the poor, which leads to a certain identification with the poor-est, as mentioned above. The cry of the poor is heard by God, yes, even the curse of the poor (Si 4:5; Ex 22:22). As for the New Testament, the cry of Jesus on the cross is sometimes said to continue in the cry of the poor. That cry comes from the seventy percent who are underprivileged and undernourished--the majority of whom can hardly survive, let alone live in dignity. The Bible demands our solidarity with them. They are the present-day locus where we meet Christ. It is in them that Jesus is to be found. We may need a conversion of heart and a radical change of our lifestyle in order to live up to this demand of the time. There is a use of the word freedom which is meant to deny just that. Nuclear weapons are claimed to protect freedom, which, in fact, means only "our" freedom, and that, in turn, stands really for our power and affluence. These self-interests, however, are maintained at the expense of other people's lives, and their "protection," therefore, runs counter to the actual demands of the Gospel. Integral or universal liberation requires that the poor are not the only ones liberated, and that liberation is not understood only economically. There may be certain biases sometimes, which do harm to the integrity or wholeness of liberation. It shows the greatness of a theologian like Leonardo Boff, that for example, in his volume Jesus Christ the Libera-tor he writes some pertinent pages precisely to denounce such a bias. Structural Sin Recently another aspect of integral liberation has come to the fore, namely, liberation from "social sin" or "structural evil." Of course, Christians have always known of sins in the social sphere, and also of the social aspect of every sin. It is new, however, to call social struc-tures themselves sinful. It has taken some controversy to clarify that the word "sin" in this expression is used in analogy with the personal sin we had known hitherto. Both good and bad actions can embody and per-petuate themselves in structures, which are accordingly good or bad, and, once established, are the source of further good or evil. So certain structures are called sinful, while they originate from and in turn lead to personal sin. They definitely restrict our freedom and often they ten- Review for Religious, November-December 1990 der us unfree to a considerable extent. The individual is in those cases often both cause and victim. Those who create these structures or main-tain them or profit from them or even in complicity tolerate them are guilty. This social sin is part of the mystery of iniquity that cries for libera-tion towards the Lord of history and brings out the human race's need of redemption. It is by no means easy to admit this sin for oneself, to free oneself from its entanglement, and to work for liberation of others on this level--far more difficult usually than in the sphere of personal sin. One can be certain that attempts towards changing these structures will bring 'with them many personal inconveniences, hardships, threats, loss of friends and relations, in certain countries imprisonment, torture, and even death, as many have found out, especially in the last decades. When I interpreted freedom as a readiness to accept suffering, I had these kinds of situations in mind. A person who is not free to suffer cannot think of working for liberation from structural sin. Vulnerability is a genu-ine assurance that we are in touch with reality, truth, and love, not self-interest. Here, more than anywhere else, it is important to realize that God is the chief agent in overcoming evil, and that we are cooperators with him, instruments in his hand, branches of the vine. Without this con-viction coming from faith, the challenge would overwhelm us. A Church which is too much concerned about itself, its own image, and its own problems cannot tackle this task, just as an individual who is too egocentric cannot engage in it. The Church has to proclaim the Lord Jesus, above all in his paschal mystery of death and resurrection, and not proclaim itself. Liberation in its many aspects requires the over-coming of all self-centeredness, both in the individual and in the Church. The more the Church is focused on the person of Jesus and not on itself, the more the Church will be able to discover what men and women of other religions and other visions are doing for liberation, and to cooper-ate with them. It seems to be a special task of the religious to help the Church to focus on our Lord and Savior and thereby to be open to all people of good will who pledge themselves to liberation. Obviously, we can only help the Church in this by doing it ourselves and by being loyal to our Church. Dangers Much praise has been sung to the spirituality of liberation in this ar-ticle, and rightly so. Some dangers must be mentioned also. Not to cool down our commitment, but to safeguard it. I do not want to elaborate on these dangers, yet it seems unfair to me to pass them by completely. SpiritualiO, of Liberation / ~135 So let me just give the headings as I found them in an article ("Como Fazer Teologia da Libertac~o," published by: Vozes, Petr6polis, Bra-zil 1986) written jointly by Clodovis and Leonardo Boff: - a neglect of the mystical roots - a rampage of the political aspects - a stifling of the faith through too much discussion - a tendency towards exclusiveness and absolutism - an exaggerated emphasis on the discontinuity with the tradition and an underestimating of the continuity - a negligence of a serious dialogue and discussion with other spirituali-ties -a lack of care to make the theology of liberation understandable and pal-atable to the authority in the Church, which delays the conversion of the Church to the poor. After having rushed through these dangers, let me close with a quota-tion from the encyclical of Pope John Paul Redemptoris Mater and with a word of hope. Mary "Drawing from Mary's heart, from the depth of her faith expressed in the words of the Magnificat, the Church renews ever more effectively in herself the awareness that the truth about God who saves, the truth about God who is the source of every girl, cannot be separated from the manifestation of his love of preference for the poor and the humble, that love, which, celebrated in the Magnificat, is later expressed in the words and works of Jesus. The Church is thus aware--and at the present time this awareness is particularly vivid--not only that these two elements of the message contained in the Magnificat cannot be separated, but also that there is a duty to safeguard carefully the importance of 'the poor' and of 'the option in favor of the poor' in the word of the living God. These are matters and questions intimately connected with the Christian meaning of freedom and liberation. 'Mary is totally dependent upon God and completely directed towards him, and, at the side of her Son, she is the most perfect image of freedom and of the liberation of humanity and of the universe. It is to her as Mother and Model that the Church must look in order to understand in its completeness the meaning of her own mission' " (Nr.37). Hope It is common among the theologians.of liberation to stress the hope Review for Religious, November-December 1990 that is manifest in their movement. To work and to struggle for libera-tion for any length of time is impossible without authentic hope. This hope is not identical with optimism. Optimism emphasizes the positive aspects and draws attention away from the negative, tends to underesti- ¯ mate the latter, and even to repress them. It may be a pleasant attitude, but it is often not quite realistic. Hope, on the contrary, faces the difficulties and the pain, yet does not lose heart. Hope is more than an impulse. Hope makes us faithful and persevering. Hope discloses a great strength, which is beyond us. Hope is able to sail its own course with every wind, even with head wind. Charles P6guy portrays hope as a little girl between her two big sisters who hold her by the hand. It looks as if the two big ones lead the little one, but the opposite is true. It is hope that keeps faith and love alive, young, and vital. The basic communities and the other groups that embody the libera-tion movement are centers of hope. This hope is not an acquired, but an infused virtue--that means beyond us and yet in us as a divine gift, as a fruit of the paschal mystery. "Through him (Christ) you have confi-dence in God, who raised him from the dead and gave him glory, so that your faith is hope in God" (1 P 1:21). Compline Salvation danced In the dark Of Mary's womb, Was paid with blood On a black hill, Then rose for all From death's dead tomb. So I must trust Your grace unseen Till from life's grave I, too, am freed. Kathleen T. Choi 1706Waianuenue Avenue Hilo, Hawaii 96720 Liberation and the Liturgical Year ¯ Susan Anderson Kerr, Ph.D. Susan Anderson Kerr is an Oblate of St. Louis Priory in Petersham, Massachusetts. Her address is 4209 Avenue F; Austin, Texas 78751. When we observe the culture around us and see the emptin~s_.s of living apari ~?o~m ]he liturgical year, we see that the liturgical ~ar is hot some pious preoccupation of people with a taste for the archaic. It is a ques-tion of survival, of urgent importance for an age hungry for liberation, and respectful of those who survive. It is a question of freedom, of vast relevance for our culture which reveres freedom, struggles with addic-tions, and seeks personal liberation from materialism, sexism, racism, and a host of enslaving isms. In an age of decline and disintegration such as ours, many people turn to the inner life to exert the yearning for goodness and truth and beauty which in another era would have had a greater possibility for ex-ternal expression in politics or art or education. The pain of the loss of knowing how to do things--how to accomplish civic reforms, how to com-bat drugs and violence, how to overcome the hedonism and cynicism of our time---can send people on a spiritual quest. So we have an outpour-ing of books on the inner life--Jungian psychology, individual prayer techniques, popularizations of the great works of Catholic spirituality. But if we attend only to our individual spiritual growth while neglect-ing liturgical spirituality, we try to walk to the heavenly Jerusalem on one leg. The Lord does not intend for us to so hobble. Part of the reason we neglect the liturgy is that it effects our healing so circuitously, circling like the rings around the trunk of the tree. We want results now; we are on fire with intentions. Romano Guardini once observed that liturgy is much more like a forest where one wanders than a gymnasium where with fixed purpose one exercises certain muscles. 837 Review for Religious, November-December 1990 Another reason we slight the liturgy is that those great masters of the spiri-tual life--St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, St. Ignatius of Loyola--who are such help to us wrote at a time of liturgical decadence when desiccated liturgies were an obstacle to spiritual growth. When we try to walk on both legs, liturgical as well as individual prayer, other saints will help us, saints who wrote when liturgy and spiri-tuality were not at cross purposes, saints in the monastic tradition, like St. Benedict and St. Gertrude. The Vatican documents of the renewal of the liturgy are also useful in correcting our understanding of the value of liturgy. Personal prayer is a logical place to begin as one searches for encoun-ter with God, but to linger there is to remain a spiritual adolescent. To relate the liturgical year to the individual's private life of prayer is to ad-dress a practical question: why pay attention to the liturgical year? If I am learning centering prayer, or the Jesus prayer, or my Enneagram num-ber, or how to relate to my anima or animus, why do I need the liturgi-cal year? Is this not a formal structure which has nothing at all to do with the rich spontaneity and diversity of my inner life? "Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel; he has come to his people and set them free," the Church sings each morning. And so God has. The liturgical year invites us into liberation in three areas: freedom from chronos and cyclical time, freedom from nature, and freedom from the tyranny of our unconscious. First, the liturgical year helps shape our understanding of the mean-ing of time. It removes us from the pagan sense of time as repetition, nature's cycle endlessly repeating itself, and from the atheist's concep-tion of time as pure chronos. It introduces a.God-ward momentum and shaping of time, an upwardly moving spiral. Empty repetition and end-less succession are replaced by repetition at higher levels on the spiral, by kairos punctuating chronos, or chronos building to and being shaped by kairos. Like a lovely shell, the liturgical year has been extruded cen-tury after long century as the Church needed more space in which to dwell. The liturgical year gives us a common memory. This happens on sev-eral levels: on the cosmic level, as Pierre Teiihard de Chardin describes, the Church evolves towards the omega point; on the historic level as the Church organizes time before and after our Lord's death; on the personal level as our individual existence takes its place in this great spiral flow-ing towards God. Intimately linked with our common memory of the liturgical year is Liberation and the Liturgical Year the common authority which establishes it. The Church has to maintain the central focus on the life of Christ, balancing between a proliferation of feast days which would result in a loss of shape to the Church year, and the impulse to celebration which led one desert father to exult "Life is an eternal festival." Second, the liturgical year frees us from romantic identification with nature. But what does the liturgical year express about our relationship to nature? Partly organized around the sun, partly around the moon, the liturgical year demonstrates as Odo Casel remarks, the maxim "Grace builds on nature." The week evolved from divisions of the lunar cycle, for the Hebrew festal calendar, like the first calendar cycles of most primi-tive religions, was lunar. The Jewish lunar months were divided by sab-batical weeks; the Mosaic sabbath is based on 7 as a perfect number, ex-pressing completion and fullness. The Easter celebration evolved from the Jewish liturgical cycle which had gradually replaced nature rituals with festivals commemorating Israel's history of salvation. Unlike the polytheistic peoples around them who made the powers of nature divine, the Jewish people came to see nature as a tool and im-age of the spiritual. The feast of Pesach had nomadic roots, for it is cele-brated at the first full moon after the vernal equinox when a young male lamb is sacrificed, roasted, and eaten. But its central focus is the reen-actment of the deliverance of Israelfrom the hands of Egypt. When Je-sus transformed this feast by identifying himself with the sacrificial lamb, he lifted it from its local origin and universalized it into the feast of the salvation of all human beings of every time. But Easter does not thereby shed its lunar and historical associations. Thus the cyclic observance of the vernal equinox is lifted first into the hope of renewal in human history recalled in the Passover festival, and then universalized in the.final eschatological hope of Easter. We see a similarl appropriation of ~natureir~ the use of the sun in the liturgical year. Jesus, as the light of the world, was identified with the sun. His birth is celebrated at the winter solstice, transforming and uni-versalizing the pagan festival of the sol invictus. His conception is thus celebrated nine months earlier near the vernal equinox, March 25. Since according to Luke 1:26, John the Baptist was conceived six months be-' fore Jesus, his conception is observed at the autumnal equinox, and his birth, by extension, at the summer solstice June 24. Thus the two equi-noxes and the two solstices are brought into the Christian year and trans-formed from cyclic rituals to feasts of the birth of life and light into this world's darkness. ~140 / Review for Religious, November-December 1990 John the Baptist's feasts are also associated with the sun's activity; in the fourth century they were seen as cosmic confirmation of John's own words "He must increase; but I must decrease" (Jn 3:30). The prayer of the Divine Office is also organized around the sun; the two most important hours occur when the sun rises and when it sets. Here the beginning and ending of the day are bound up with the life of the Lord: the sun's rising is an image of his rising from the dead; vespers, when the sun sets, the beginning of a new day, is eucharistic in charac-ter, full of thanksgiving for the light that has been. The Church uses nature as the basis for sacred time, but does not re-main encased within natural rhythms. The liturgical year steers the Chris-tian away from romantic identification with nature, from new age senti-mentality about its saving power, as well as from Gnostic fear of the ca-pacity of creation to convey divine purposes. Like an enormous tree nour-ished with roots deep in our personal and collective unconscious, it also teaches respect for natural processes, for slow growth, for rhythms be-yond human control. Finally, the liturgical year unfetters our freedom from the tyranny of our unconscious. When Moses stood before the burning bush aiad saw that this was holy ground, he entered a new place to live. That place is prayer; it is man's response to God's holiness and comes into existence only in communion with God. We can compare this to the common ground that exists between two friends; when I get to know someone, drawn by mutual interests or complementary personalities, a territory of shared experience grows between us. As the holy ground between man and the divine extends in time, so is born the inner liturgical year. "Moses, Moses, take off your shoes, for the place on which you stand is holy ground" (Ex 3:5). Liturgy must be interior as well as exterior for it to be whole. The structures of worship which ancient Israel built in response to Moses' ex-perience of the transcendence of God--first the altar of sacrifice, later a mobile tabernacle, and the Sabbath--were images of inner freedom, of the oblation of self to Yahweh, to Being. The early Church absorbed the Jewish sabbath into a festival of the Lord's day, Sunday, a day to celebrate the Resurrection of Christ, the fulfillment of the Incarnation which was implicit in the assent to crea-tion celebrated on the sabbath. The Documents of Vatican II remind us "The Lord's Day is the original feast day, and it should be proposed to the faithful and taught to them so that it may become in fact a day of joy and of freedom from work" (Vol. I p. 29). Liberation and the Liturgical Year In Sunday is the seed of all later festivals. We encounter Sunday first in the gospels, for this is the day of the Resurrection, the day the Lord appeared to Mary Magdalene. Also in Scripture we find the first repeti-tion of Sunday, for it was one week later after his Resurrection that the Lord appeared to Thomas and the company assembled in the upper room and breathed his peace on them. Thus, in the book of Acts, the early Church observes Sunday as a day to celebrate the Resurrection; not a day of rest, not a continuation of the Jewish sabbath, but a new day, an eighth day, of completion, and a first day of rejoicing in creation. To celebrate Sunday witnesses to our busy and harried society of the freedom and goodness of the Christian vision of life. A reform of Sun-day can only come from within the individual life; the era of puritanical prohibitions has done its job of proposing to us what a day of rest would look like, and now it is up to us to practice an asceticism of time so that shopping, banking, errands, and office work can be laid aside for one day. A day to affirm the goodness of creation means a day for play, for friends, for music, for nature. This is a gift from God. Accepting it wit-nesses to the eternal festival latent behind the celebration of this special day. The Christian who observes Sunday as a day of joy and freedom from work learns the interconnectedness of time, for such a Sunday be-gins the night before. As the Jews began to observe a holy day with the vigil of the preceding night, so the Christian liturgical year interweaves all time around this structure of the week, each festival held in place by the surrounding times. Liturgical memory looks backwards and forwards as it draws strength for the present. Sunday looks back to divine assent to creation, and forward to the heavenly rest we anticipate. Celebrating Sunday nourishes our freedom to set aside work and worry and simply be. Liturgical memory forms the whole memory. People who can set aside their personal agenda and enter into the communal celebration, or who make the communal agenda their personal concern, are the ones who then can place their individual psychological problems in a wide con-text. They are not locked into the present, because they are formed to see it held in a web between past and future, nor are they confined to their own personal viewpoint however fully it might be absorbing them. In other words, the liturgy is a school of detachment, a word which in English sounds cold and lonely. I am told the German equivalent, abgeschiedenheit, would be translated as "serene freedom of the spirit filled with utter trust in God." That is the result of a memory formed 849 / Review for Religious, November-December 1990 by the liturgy. But it is accomplished not directly and didactically, but symbolically and by example. Thus the liturgy teaches us that every feast must be preceded by a period of preparation: no Sunday without week-days, no Christmas without Advent, no Easter without Lent, and plenty of ordinary time to allow the mysteries of Christ to be absorbed and di-gested. Here is delayed gratification made visible. But this is more than just training in patience for high points. St. Cath-erine of Siena once said "All the way to heaven is heaven." That is what the liturgy says tool Advent and Lent, ordinary time, all the small roots of morning and evening prayer absorb water for the tree's growth which is celebrated at Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost. In the liturgical year, the Church has given us not only a survival strat-egy, but a place to grow as well. Aidan Kavanaugh wrote "Liberators accomplish only half their task then they liberate. The other half of their labor is to provide a normal place, a free place, on which the liberated may land." That normal, free place, that place out of the reach of the forces of the enemy, of the trendy, the selfish, the trivial, is the liturgi-cal year. Morning Praise At my window the willow filigrees the gold of dawn and hangs it on my wall; trembling fronds lose themselves in the sudden glow that,starset and sunrise trace upon the morning. I, too, in this hour am lost in grace-gold shower that spills upon the desert of my heart. Sister Elizabeth deSales Dee, S.S.J. St. Joseph Convent 7300 Torresdale Avenue Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19136 The Vowed Life as a Peace Story to Be Told Patricia McCarthy, C.N.D. Sister Patricia McCarthy, a member of the Congregation of Notre Dame, has worked with the poor in the field of education, particularly with homeless and abused chil-dren, where the ministry of nonviolence is a daily challenge. Her address is Congre-gation of Notre Dame; 41 Cole Street; East Providence, Rhode Island 02914. Among the international travel ads which I faithfully read, I have noticed recently a new type of tour being offered. It is possible to visit northern Europe on a special story-telling trip. Imagine going from thatched roof cottages to desolate moors and dangerous harbors, and all the time lis-tening. The accents would change with the landscapes, and both would change the stories. Just listen and hear the true nature of the countries and its people come out in ways more real than through the products at the duty-free shops in the airports. Then I began to wonder. Will we be able to t~il stories that will en-thrall and inspire? Do we live passionately enough to be sources of hope and interest for future generations? Will others tell and retell with drama and humor the stories of our lives? Thomas Hardy said: "A story must be exceptional enough to justify its telling. We storytellers are all ancient mariners, and none of us is justified in stopping wedding guests unless he has something more unusual to relate than the ordinary experiences of every man and woman." I continue to wonder. What stories in our generation will justify their retelling? Could it be that when the story of peace is told, religious men and women will be talked about? When storytellers explain poverty, celi-bacy, and obedience, will they tell the tales of people so in love with God and with their'brothers and sisters that they wrapped this love in freely 843 Review for Religious, November-December 1990 chosen vows? When the listeners ask what gave these religious such passion and why were they so free to love, will the storyteller have to risk entering into mystery? Will the story become one with the story and mystery of Jesus? There is no reasonable explanation for a God who loved so passion-ately that he came and lived among us. He taught us and healed us and blessed us. Finally, he gave himself on the cross for our redemption. Will the story of religious life make sense only within this context of aban-donment? Is not religious life the lived expression of Jesus' surrender to God for love of us? Gandhi said that Jesus Christ's offering of himself on the cross for the redemption of the world was the only perfect act of nonviolence the world has ever seen. Since the very nature of religious life is to be inti-mately united with Jesus, the vows can be considered in light of his su-preme act of peacemaking. The vows can be seen as living realities that transform people into peacemakers for our fragile world. We search high and low for ways of being peace in the midst of hostility and violence. Perhaps if we go deeply into the vows we will see not only the founda-tion of religious life but the foundation of peacemaking as well. Freedom In Poverty We begin in poverty. Scripture has always put God in the midst of the poor. In the Old Testament, Yahweh compassionately watched over the anawim. To the childless, children were given; to the homeless, a chosen land; to the hungry, manna in the desert; to the lost, visions and dreams to follow. When the fullness of time came, a wretched stable was the birthplace of the Son of God. His first experience of life was as a refugee in a foreign land. And his first teaching began, "Blessed are the poor in spirit." We choose poverty because Jesus did. Poverty and want are evils when people are denied the necessary elements of survival. It makes no sense to embrace a vow of poverty. The vows do not make sense, they make love. We risk letting go of material security as a source of com-fort and happiness so that Christ can be our only fulfillment. What does this have to do with peace? Everything. If Christ is our wealth, we have nothing on this earth to defend, including our own lives. Lack of desire to defend one's possessions or life would make war improbable and unnecessary. Wars are usually started for economic rea-sons. Either an aggressor is greedy for the acquisition of land or eco-nomic control, or an oppressed people revolt against the denial of their The Vowed Life as a Peace Story to Be Told / 845 right to a decent standard of life. The slogans of freedom cover the at-tempts ~to maintain or increase power. During Texas' war for indepen-dence, a young soldier wrote home to his family: "If we win, we'll all be rich. If we lose, we will have died for freedom." Greed-induced vio-lence leaves millions of shattered and broken lives in its wake. Bring into this picture an army of people vowing poverty. It would remind one of the pages from a pre-primer book where the child has to pick out what is wrong with the picture. What does not fit in with every-thing else? A vow of poverty is countercultural when greed is the ear-mark of the culture. Why would someone with nothing to defend go to war for the purpose of defense? Of course, war is merely the outward extreme expression of the daily violence abiding in the human heart. It is, therefore, from the heart that the message of peace must come, not from a treaty or constitution. It is also within the heart that the vow of poverty must be embraced and shaped. If we can say that as individuals we own nothing, then whatever we use or manage is done in the spirit of stewardship. And then if some-one asks for our coat, we do not fight; we give the scarf and hat as well. If people are hungry and we have food, we share what we have with them. A vow of poverty should lead us to the reality that all we possess is gift. Because we know personally the Giver of all gifts, our poverty seeks expression through trust in God and willingness to share with the children of God. Fidelity to the vow is not marked by having nothing, but by desiring nothing and by a willingness to share freely whatever we have. Conscious today that too many of our brothers and sisters are starv-ing, we should be willing to live a poverty more radical than anything that has been seen for decades. The world needs our example and our leadership in order to break the cycle of a few using for themselves alone the natural resources intended for all. Strong statements about sharing the fruits of the earth are necessary in a world so consumed by the ac-quisition of wealth. We distort and falsify Christ's plea to us not to worry about what we are to eat or wear when we stockpile the necessities of life. We can do that and have what we think we need day after day, but we miss out on even knowing how beautifully we would have been dressed and cared for, as the lilies of the field and the birds of the air. It is a small step from stockpiling consumer goods to stockpiling arms. Emptying our hands does not automatically produce a disarmed Review for Religious, November-December 1990 heart, but clutching hands certainly will prevent us from having one. We need the practice of trusting God for our daily bread so that when the time comes to trust in God for our very lives, the surrender and faith will be there. Our times are crying for people with disarmed and trusting hearts. Our times are crying for those of us who have vowed poverty to embrace it radically. Our times are crying for us to live out daily the reality that our only need is God. This is what a life of poverty calls us to. This is the truth of a vow of poverty. Gandhi used to live "experi-ments in truth." It was his way of learning. By this he meant an unin-terrupted progression from insight to action to insight, and so forth. He would get an idea, try it out in practice, refine his first idea because of the action, then go to another action, and so on. Poverty is a lifetime ex-periment in truth. We feel inspired to trust God a little and release our hold on something. This leads to more trust and the release of something else, and so on. It's lifetime because we will never run out of things to let go of! The wonder of our God is that we never miss the small insignificant tokens we have parted with. We are showered with the very life of God and have no needs outside of this. We learn to yearn for God alone, not merely the gifts of God. Even when God seems absent from us, we have no desire to seek consolation from any other source. Perhaps, then, we receive our dearest treasure, a poor heart, totally dependent upon God for everything. Only then, when we have nothing left to defend, will we have been formed into peacemakers after the model of Jesus. In our communion with each other and with those who came before us, we see that the peacemakers who stand out in any century were peo-ple of great poverty. Francis, the poor man of Assisi; Mahatma Gandhi, the Hindu ascetic; Thomas Merton, the trappist; Dorothy Day, the bow-ery dweller. They are not remembered because they were deprived, they are remembered because they had so much to give. Passion ,in Celibacy If a generous heart is the sign of vowed poverty, then a passionate heart is the sign of vowed celibacy. The vow of celibacy is at the core of the consecrated life, just as surrender to the passionate love of Christ is at the core of peacemaking. We cannot expect people to give up their arms of defense against other people and to be vulnerable to human ha-tred, unless we have first taught them to let go of their defenses against God and to be vulnerable to infinite love. The vulnerability of passion-ate love embodies an act of complete trust in God, of counting on God The Vowed Life as a Peace Story to Be Told to never abandon us or leave us unprotected. Celibacy calls us to this surrender of our very bodies to the love of God. By this vow, we witness in flesh to the power of God to fulfill us and protect us. This same passionate surrender is required of all peace-makers. They need not be celibate, but they do need to enflesh the pri-macy of the power and love of God. It is this primacy of God which is the clear witness of the vow of celibacy. It is the same primacy of the love and power of God to which Christ surrendered. Peace is not within our grasp without the act of redemption of Christ on Calvary. No matter how selfless or sacrificing we might be, the ability to take on and endure violence in order to heal it is the work of God. We share in this work, we are the hands and feet of Christ to-day, but he is the source and fountain of all life, of all power, and of all power to endure violence without retaliation. The clearest and most visible example of this power of God taking flesh is Mary, the virgin Mother of God. Mary trusted so completely in the power of God that she surrendered in faith to bear the Son of God in her womb. Within her body Mary carried Jesus Christ who was con-ceived by the Holy Spirit. "The Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you" (Lk i:35). "The fact that she conceived without human means is the sign that she conceived by the power of God. And in this she is a sign to us of our own radical de-pendence on God and on our union with him in grace in order to bear fruit or to do anything that is divinely life-giving on earth "(David Knight, Mary in an Adult Church Memphis: His Way Communications, 1988, pp. 22,23). We see in Mary the cost and the fruit of faith-filled trust in God. We see in Mary a woman confident of God"s continual care and boundless love. We see in Mary a woman whose heart was turned into a furnace of love by the Holy Spirit. We can expect the same care and mercy from God, we can expect to receive the same fire of love from the Holy Spirit. Belief in this fact alone should put us in the front lines of peacemaking. If God is the power of our lives, we do not put our trust in other earthly powers. We have vowed celibacy, consecrated our bodies to virginity. This is a visible em-bodiment of receptivity and of openness to God's working with us and through us. It is a physical expression of total surrender to the loved one; it is the abandonment of all defenses and reserves in the presence of the beloved. It is a matter of the heart. Gandhi taught that nonviolence, also, was a matter of the heart, not 848 / Review for Religious, November-December 1990 to be arrived at by an appeal to the brain: that it was a matter of passion not of policy. Celibacy is not an intellectual thing but a passionate physi-cal stance. A life vowed to celibacy, within which we surrender in love the essence of our being, forms a heart capable of understanding and em-bracing nonviolence. A heart can be formed in many ways. Some of the ascetical prac-tices that used to accompany a study of the vows can be seen now as fash-ioning hearts for peacemaking. Fasting--one of the oldest practices in religious tradition---can be undertaken as a concrete expression of the pri-macy of God in our life. It is far more an act of worship than an act of discipline, To live the reality that God is the power of our lives, at times we freely abandon or fast from food or other material things. When the needs of our bodies call out, we turn ourselves over to God in whose pres-ence we abide. It is not the abstaining from food which is holy, but the turning of our attention and desires to God. Prayer becomes the love language of the celibate. When we love someone, there is no end to the variety of ways in which we say it. All the different prayer styles and prayer methods are merely different ways of giving and receiving love. Celibacy is about our bodies, and when we use these bodies to kneel in prayer we give expression to the reality of the vow. Just the act of kneeling is in itself a commitment of our body, a sign of intimate surrender to God. Such signs are important to us and to God. We are human and we yearn to give human expression to our desires; and God is pleased to see us using the gift of our bodies in worship. As important as these signs of surrender are, we go beyond them, we move from sign to reality when we participate in the Eucharistic celebration of Calvary. Union with Christ in the Mass is the commitment of our body to receive his Body. We share in Christ's moment of intimate surrender to his God. We offer ourselves with Christ to be transformed more and more into his Body. In this union we find the fulfillment of our celibacy. Out of this union, we are sent in service to our brothers and sisters. And this can be the passionate physical expression of love that physical penances were to some of the saints. Physical forms of penance are not outdated; they have j.ust changed style to adjust to the times. One (~f the saints stood in ice water up to his neck one winter's night, doing pen-ance for a friend who was considering sinful choices. Standing in the cold at the water's edge for hours in protest at a nuclear submarine base can be our modern day version of the same experience. Patiently endur-ing the irascible tempers and dispositions in a shelter for the homeless The Vowed Life as a Peace Story to Be Told or a soupline can be the discipline of the senses in this age. The ideal of self-sacrificing love can be applied to living within the noise and dan-ger of inner cities in order to be with today's anawim. Especially for those overcommitted and overworked religious who give beyond their limits, the ascetism most expressive of a loving re-sponse to God might be to fast from work one day a week. Work is any-thing that we think has to be done. Let it all go for a day. Keep holy the Lord's day. If we believe God is our source of power, let our bodies and minds and energies show it by giving the time to being, not doing. It is possible .this practice could be far more productive than ceaseless days of activity. Surely, a day of rest with God is a practical act of trust, one that might lead us to become even more practical and venture into the constant trust required for a vow of obedience. Stewardship of Self in Obedience Having emptied our hands through poverty and surrendered our hearts in celibacy, we receive from God through obedience the assurance that all is done in accord with the divine plan. Every peacemaker must be obedient, but religious have the value of a vow. This vow does not just mean doing what someone else tells you to do. Doing what some-one else tells you is simple; it may not be easy, but it is simple and un-complicated. That is not what the vow of obedience calls us to. Obedience calls us to listen to God's designs for us, to listen to God's desires for us. Obe-dience calls us to stewardship of the gift of God that is ourselves. If we value the goods and fruits of our fragile earth so much that we h01d them in stewardship, how much more should we value ourselves and hold our-selves in stewardship. We are a gift of God, to be treasured and used ac-cording to the plan of God. Obedience encourages us to take seriously this call to stewardship of self. The first step of the obedient peacemaker is to listen to this call. It will be unique to each person. No one else can listen to it for us. Per-haps the most common sin of disobedience today is not the failure to do what is asked by lawful authority, but the failure to do what, over and above this, is asked by God. Probably few of us consciously, explicitly deny God. But do we consistently hear God's requests and calls? When we are consumed by plans and activities of our own, are we willing to change and to let God move us in another direction? If we have vowed celibacy and said that God is the source of power in our lives, are we able to live that out by listening for .the delicate, unobtrusive voice of God day after day and abandoning all our ideas and hopes to the ideas Review for Religious, November-December 1990 and hopes of God? How do we hear God? We open ourselves to being vulnerable and receptive to all the known and unknown ways God speaks: our own in-stincts and desires, needs of others, realities of life over which we have no control, requests from our communities, and decisions by those who minister through authority. It would be easier if we were the only judge of what is the desire of God. We have been created for community with God's people, and in community we hear and discern the will of God. We pray in our rooms and in our churches and in our workplaces. We seek the face of God, alone and with others. Obedience is not a private vow, it is a communal one. In the base communities of Latin America, private prayer and com-munal reflection on the word of God precede any action for justice. Peo-ple do not act on their own instincts alone; plans for action are submit-ted to the reflection and discussion of the community. There is always a person or group to whom every individual is accountable. This is a cru-cial factor in these communities, a factor which is most difficult for groups in North America who have tried to model the base community style. The same principle of responsible accountability was applied by Gandhi in his struggle for freedom in India and by Martin Luther King, Jr. in his struggle for freedom from racism in America. In their actions for nonviolent resistance, both men taught their people to begin with prayer and fasting. Individuals were prepared step-by-step for the action that had been decided upon. Not everyone was permitted to participate if the leaders thought they were not ready. Obedience to the plan was crucial. Today when civil disobedience is done correctly, all those partici-pating should have another person or group to whom they are responsi-ble. If that person or group tells an individual to discontinue the action, that person is expected to obey. If we are serious about the work of jus-tice then we had better be serious about obedience. Civil disobedience for individuals with vows of obedience is a won-derful opportunity to exercise the vow. Civil disobedience must always be an expression of personal commitment, not just of association with a just cause. For a religious to accept the call to steffardship of self so seriously that there may be a time when the law of God takes precedence over the law of society, a process of discernment should be a prerequi-site to the action. Prayer, study, and discussion should operate on three levels: personal, local, and provincial. Discernment on all three levels The Vowed L