Review for Religious - Issue 37.4 (July 1978)
Issue 37.4 of the Review for Religious, 1978. ; REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS iS edited in collaboration with faculty members of the Department of Theology of St. Louis University. The editorial offices are located at Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108. It is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute; St. Louis, Missouri. © 1978 by REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. Composed, printed and manufactured in U.S.A. Second class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri. Single copies: $2.00. Subscription U.S.A. and Canada: $8.00 a year; $15.00 for two years. Other countries: $9.00 a year, $17.00 for two years. For subscription orders or change of address, write REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, Minnesota 55802. Daniel F. X. Meenan, S.J. Robert Williams, S.J. Dolores Greeley, R.S.M. Joseph F. Gailen, S.J. Jean Read Editor Associate Editor Associate Editor Questions and Answers Editor Assistant Editor July, 1978 Volume 37 Number 4 Correspondence with the editor and the associate editors, manuscripts and books for review should be sent to REVIEW VOa RELIGtOUS; Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108. Questions for answering should be sent to Joseph F. Gallen, S.J.; Jesuit Community; St. Joseph's College; City Avenue at 54th Street; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19131. "Out of print" issues and articles not re-issued as reprints are available from University Microfilms International; 300 North Zeeb Road; Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106. The Prayer of Darkness Carol Jean Vale, S.S.J. Sister Carol Jean is on the staff of St. Joseph Academy; Main Street; McSherrystown, PA 17344. An earlier contribution of Sister Carol Jean was "God, Community and the Religious Person" (September, 1976). The prayer of darkness shadows the human spirit after a moment of unparalleled, penetrating, haunting luminescence. For a moment God's life blazes in the center of the heart with an energy and vitality never previously perceived. So intensely does he reveal himself that it seems as though we are for the first time entering into life. Present existence appears dulled and unreal in the advent of so dynamic a presence. Dt~ring this experience we f~el so free that we could willingly surrender all to him and enter forever into this extraordinary existence so strangely, familiar and familiarly strange. The whole of our person ignites into a Conflagration of burning love and flaming longing for the living God. With false certainty, our intellect assures us that, finally, we have arrived at the. point of union with the transcendent Being] A radiating peace suffuseg our person and joy explodes in the rhythm of our hearts. " Such an experience may occur only once with tremendous power and potency, or it may recur over a relatively brief period of time for a few minutes dispersed through the c~3urse of several days or weeks. In the latter case, a loving Father gentles us along' slipping in and out of presence. Then--all goes black. Night descends. What remains of the experience is a living memory so real, so vivid that it charges the absence with an almost physical anguish of longing. This memory sustains us .through the darkness as it reminds us of the presence we seek and cannot now perceive. The keen remembrance of his presence is God's gift--it is spiritual food for the desert 481 482 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 of purification, for the night of daikness. The intense experience of God imprints on our spirit a knowledge of the destination to which we afe journeying. Indelibly inscribed in our hearts is the memory 0fthe presence of the God towards whom we are on pilgrimage. As the light within us to darkness dims, the flicker of the flame of his presence fires our minds with the knowledge that even in the darkness his Unseen presence shines. The memory of the light gives a vision of the journey's end though the way is charged with dark uncertainty. The value of this prayer of darkness is that it stretches us to the very limits of our being. It calls forth the essence of the energy of life even as it empties us of the essence of the power of death. Darkness breeds out the selfish desires, the egotistical goals, the hidden plottings of the covered and unknown subconscious. This prayer reveals us to ourselves as we are in God's sight and it empowers us to surrender to his transforming vision. While the sensible presence of God evades our questing, his unper-ceived presence burns our spirit to new depths of holiness. To view this process would be to die from too much revelation, so the darkness conceals the blinding fires of God's blazing furnace. The prayer of darkness is de-signed to lead us to a faith that slowly reveals the Fa~her--a gentle light glowing in the core of our inmost being. This light fires itself into the "living flame of love" only at the price of total surrender, absolute denial, con-summate purification. It seems strange that what is supposed to be so good pains us so terribly. The healing touch of God, like the knife of the diligent surgeon, stabs pain into the firm skin of our insidious sinfulness. Each moment of intense touching leaves the recipient reeling in a vacuum of tenebrity and agony. This darkness, which grows seemingly more and more impenetrable, slowly tempers us to withstand a light eqiaal in luminosity to the density of its opaque blaCkness. Phototropic like the seedling, we grow lightwards only at the cost of piercing the dark earth, dirt grain by dirt grain. The process of ascent proceeds slowly, and demands a careful scrutiny of each grain of sin and imperfection before that minute piece of earth moves aside and allows us to pass on to the next invariably different grain. The darkness of this night uncovers the darkness lurking within our own hearts. We behold ourselves as sinners even as we behold God's holiness as it floods the shores of our minds with the incredible truth of its potency. Such knowledge leads us deeper into the night where we know instinctively that we will be bared to the dark rays of a light powerful enough to eradicate the effects of sin~s tenacious grasp. It becomes clear to us that each at-tachment or need must be displaced. All that is not God must be relin-quished. EvEn our most secret loves must be released. Those attachments to which we cling unaware must be cauterized by a dark and unrelenting fire which flames secretly within us. Aware only of the darkness, we often fail to see the new light that slowly emerges as even those sins we knbw not become purified by the heat of the furnace of God. Such darkness is the price of vision. The Prayer of Darkness / 483 Early in formation we learned that the absence of God's consolation in prayer is an experience that everyone undergoes to a greater or lesser intensity. Yet, no matter how much we have read, heard, or pondered, when the night descends panic and question envelop us as well. We knew it would be painful, but never did we expect this degree of agony. We knew it would touch our lives with trials, but not that it would pierce into every corner of our lives demanding conversion. We knew that we needed purification, but not that we required the intensity of an inferno to burn away our ingrained loves. We knew that it would last a long time, but not that it might stretch out over years of molding, remolding, and molding yet again. For some reason, we do not actually believe that we are as sinful as the degree of purification would indicate. We fail to understand that he wants all, really all, and that he will stop at nothing to strip us of the affections that hold us back from the vision of his face. Perhaps the cross tests a dimension of man never explored by joy. Suffering and joy meet only in the moment of God. Joy draws us to the heights while suffering carves in us new caverns of depth. It is analogous to the. reflection of a high mountain in a limpid blue, crystal-mirroring lake. If the mountain's height could be perfectly scaled into the waters of the luminous lake it would, accurately represent the effect that suffering has on joy. The deeper the suffering the higher the'joy, reaching into the altitude of God. The cross tries the ability to endure, to expand in consciousness, to sail the seas of unknown mystery and to chart the oceans of unexplored inner space. Suffering is the vehicle that alone lets us enter and safely travel in the atmosphere of joy that.transfuses the divine milieu. It is the quality of our dying that determines the quality of our living. To the degree that we have been stripped and emptied will we be inner-directed and unshackled. The more deeply God has penetrated the uncircumcised regions of our hearts, the more freely will we be able to enter into the current of life unencumbered by our own dreams of success and hopes for self-glorification. The existential moment holds untold opportunities for life-choices birthed out~ of our death to callousness, indifference, and egoism. The death of the prayer of darkness draws Us out of ourselves. To survive the struggle it becomes imperative to forget self. If pain turns inward we become small, selfish, bitter, and self-pitying. Only an outward movement insures growth and new depths of holiness. Pain drives us be-yond the confines of the narrow world of "I" to consider, embrace, and compassionate with others. The' night of darkness bestows a new sense, of oneness with all other people for it puts us deeply in touch with the ground of their being. As we come to understand who we are, and who God is we learn to understand who others are and who God is in them. Our outward orientation toward God in pr.ayer seeps over into our everyday lives, be-coming an outward orientation toward others. ,. Trials which tear at every area of our lives characterize this dark 4~14 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 prayer--rejection by, or difficulties in community, lack of understanding on the part of friends, dissatisfaction with our apostolate, family difficulties or deaths, poor health, self-doubt, scrupulosity, lack of fulfillment even in those areas where we once met fulfillment. No created thing seems to be sufficient. There is a gnawing emptiness with the temporal and transient, even the eternal God rests silently in the dark impenetrable stillness of our being. This is but another way that the Lord strips us and shows us the emptiness of an existence apart from him. It is his way to mold our value system. In this state of dark uncertainty, he shapes us to image the design of his heart as each aspect of life reduces or enlarges to its proper pro-portion. Gradually the heart comes to cent(r solely on Jesus as Lord rec-ognizing him as the focal point of all living. The deeper we journey into the night the more we become absorbed in God. Indeed, we continually search for him in the midst of the darkness. At every turn, in every corner of ourselves we quest for some glimpse of the presence that more and more preoccupies our waking and even sleeping moments. The more elusive this lover the more ardently we seek him. Fear that we are not serving him stalks the inner caverns of our minds and we strive more totally to be faithful in the smallest details of our daily living. We are driven to perform voluntary acts of love knowing that such acts will draw us more deeply into the fire and more totally into him. Willing, joyful choices of self-death insure willing, joyful life-choices. Fasting, penance, self-giving constitute forms of self-immolation that seed new life in the fertile soil of the human spirit. The desire to fast from food is a form of death that disciplines the will to choose to fast from death-dealing words and actions. Penance forges in the deepest person a new desire to go beyond the narrow confines of self in an effort to direct our energies in service to others. Each time we transcend ourselves to serve the other we die a little more to that spirit of selfishness that holds us back from God and from those he loves. These active forms of voluntary self-death cannot even begin to approximate the depths of new found freedom wrought by the power of God's purification, but they are our contribution to the night of fire. Blessed is he or she who can call the darkness holy, who can desire its purification, who can rest in the question of its presence. This person will grow rapidly because the process of purification is facilitated by generosity. The more we submit to the fire of tempering the sooner we will find the inferno subsiding. If such generosity does not characterize our attitude, we can ponder the authenti(ity of the prayer itself. The night should birth in us greater service, increased prayer, deeper love of others, As the darkness washes the spirit with new life that life should begin to emerge and become visible to those whom we meet. It is a fire whose by-products are the fruits of the Holy Spirit. All the gifts with which we were endowed at baptism and confirmation become activated as the night of fire frees them from their The Prayer of Darkness / 41t5 resting place in the well of our person. New energy is released and life pours forth to the surface of our lives. The inward darkness more and more manifests itself as outward light. It is a pain that stimulates active concern for others as it burns away the self-concern that is an integral part of our sinful condition. The prayer of darkness is, then, a consuming, non-consuming fire. Our sinful and secret affinities are incinerated and purified while our spirit is filled with a new energy and power for creative living. At the night's be-ginning, we see the fire of God in a moment of intense, indwelling presence. Throughout the night itself the fire's action is so volatile that the flames are hidden from the eyes. The living God ravishes the heart and turns it toward himself. As the night ends we again behold the fire within--the fire that is the God of light dwelling in the ground of our being. This prayer teaches that the vision of God is given only to those who have endured the night of the cross. The prayer of darkness delivers ou~: bodies to the instrument of puri-fication. On this wood we are scourged, immolated, and ultimately con-secrated. To be crucified one must stretch out the whole length of his body. Such a body defies the power of death. It cannot be held. The tension toward life is too great. The body has been stretched beyond the point of death's power. Powerless, defenseless, and weak, the crucified body re-linquishes itself in an act of total faith. "In weakness, my power reaches perfection." This body enters the state of total surrender and in that stance the Lord of life invadeS the human spirit and fills it with the power and strength and light of the life of God. This action constitutes the purpose Of the prayer of darkness. It crucifies the human spirit and purifies it so that once faith becomes the habitual attitude of personal presence to God and others, the Trinity may reveal its dwelling.place in the now light-filled inner space of the heart's secret chamber. God himself has carved out his kingdom in our hearts. Suffused with an atmosphere of faith, irradiated with the light of Jesus Christ, powered by the energy of the Holy Spirit, sacralized by the presence of the Father, this secret room pulses with divine presence. To this dwelling place of God comes the person readied for betrothal. The night of darkness ended, the human spirit basks in the light of God gently flaming in the secret chamber of his fire-tendered heart. The night of darkness is the furnace of God, the birth-bed of life, the dark forger of light. Endured in all of its terrible intensity it creates new space for living. Once ended the night heralds the dawn of the day of forever, the momentless moment of visionless vision. Two Models of Christian Spirituality Val J. Peter Father Peter, a priest of the Archdiocese o.f Omaha, is currently associate professor of theol, ogy at Creighton University; 2500 California St.; Omaha, NE 68178. A I. Case Studies in Confusion young religious complains of problems of vacillation in his prayer life, his relations with others, and his self-concept. These three are generally good when he is performing well. But he has discovered since leaving the novitiate that virtue is not virtue unless there is a realistic alternative. So when his performance inevitably falters, so does his ability to pray. And because his self-concept is also diminished, he really cannot relate "to anyone on a deeper level. At times he is so gripped with a sense of un-worthiness and shame that he is not open to people around him. Because of this he feels intense loneliness and really feels ashamed to express his difficulties to anyone. Often he is paralyzed by an intense introspective-ness, constantly questioning his motives for every'thing. A retired religious finds herself becoming increasingly angry and bitter at her religious order. She was told in the novitiate to strive for perfection, "never be happy with yourself,." andalways try to please. During her long teaching career she was what many considered a model of obedience, piety, and hard work. Now she is old and sick and shunted off into a corner of a retirement home. Since she has outlived her usefulness, she findsJ herself shorn of any self-worth. Her source of securit~ is shattered. She is bitter and angry at the way she was trained, the way she lived, and the way she is now treated. A religious in her thirties has been in counseling for some months. She complains of being increasingly unable to deal with the guilt she feels as a Two Models of Christian Spirituality / 4117 result o fan intense romantic affair of short duration some years previously. She blames a book she read on sex and celibacy for the trouble she got herself into. In her mind God simply will not forgive her so she cannot forget. A former religious talks cynically of his experience in the order as alienating, unhealthy, and destructive. He says he became alienated from himself in that despair and self-hate were the result of his poor perform-ance. He says he became alienated from others beause his daily decision making was inevitably based on trying to conform the world to his need for security. He says it alienated him from God, in that God was seen as master and man as slave, no matter how much official rhetoric denied it. Because of this threefold alienation he has rejected his former order as well as its religion completely. These cases illustrate a central problem of Christian spirituality today. What in truth is God's relationship to his creatures and how does man's behavior fit into this relationship? The gospels tell us of the depths of God's love but they are also filled with urgent moral demands. There are even dire threats and apocalyptic promises. How does all of this fit together? Many of us first faced this issue as children in the context of totalitarian religious control and puritanical restraints. Some still do not see the need to grow beyond it. For the many others who have already freed themselves from this rigid control of behavior by threats and promises, the real issue is no longer how to achieve freedom from such control but rather what this freedom is for. Where do we go from here? Is the on!y option an irre-sponsible permissiveness that sentimentalizes God's love and reduces sin to a series of petty misdemeanors? The answer to these questions may seem ob, vious to some, But they are not so obvious to the anguished people in the cases citedabove. In an age of anxiety and uncertainty it is the obvious that is most in need of exegesis. To illustrate the problem and answer these questions, let us contrast the results flowing from two models of Christian spirituality. We are not seek-ing proof but rather understanding. The evidence brought forth by modern scholars, not to mention the great spiritual masters, is simply too massive to be overlooked: in Christianity ethics is secondary to the central religious affirmation of God's gift of self to ]as in Christ Jesus, So our purpose is to~ understand the relationshiP between divine and human initiative and re-spon. se ~by spelling out the consequences that result from rightly and wrongly understanding ttiis relationship between God and man. Model A: Human Initiative and Divine Response This first model is familiar to all who can relate to the cases cited above. It makes Christianity first and foremost into an ethic. Here the primary source of our security as God's creatures is our performance which God awaits before deciding what attitude to take toward ~us. To rest our security 41111 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 before God on our performance is an easy mistake for us to make. After all, we judge others on the basis of their performance; our attitude toward our fellowman reflects our reaction to his performance. And we expect the same from others. In addition, the mistake is congenial to our American culture with its heavy stress on results and on efficiency. So if a person desires that God love him very much, then he will have to perform very well indeed. ~ What If Your Performance Is Poor? If such is the case, anyone serious about his spiritual life will feel an urgent need to change his behavior, to move from insecurity to security before God, to avoid the wrath that is sure to come, and to advance along the path to perfection. Go to the spirituality section of your library and see how many tomes have the word, perfectio.n, in their titles. Acting on the desire to perform better, one of four things is likely to happen: i. You could change the criteria for good performance, now declaring that the behavior which you had thought was morally evil is in reality very good. ii. You could change the criteria for good performance, now declaring that this troublesome behavior is in reality neither good nor evil but rather of no moral consequence, insignificant and irrelevant to the Christian moral life. iii. You can try to change the poor performance, and fail in the effort. In other words, convinced that your criteria are correct, you embark on a program of moral renewal and fail miserably. You simply cannot change. iv. Or you can try to change your poor performance, and succeed in that effort. Examples of the~e four possibilities come quickly to mind. i. You should be proud of it, not sad. In this approach one changes the moral evaluation of acts to diminish the burdens of guilt. The religious who complains of being unable to deal with the guilt she feels as a result of a brief but intense romantic affair is a prime candidate for this approach. She has performed poorly--by her own evaluation. But feeling the weight of this poor performance and the resulting negative attitude of her God, she may decide (in fact she may be mistakenly encouraged in this decision) upon further reading and reflection that her criterion has reversed itself: God would surely be very displeased if this affair were morally evil; but what if it is not? Was not her loving this man a most important awakening of her humanity as a woman, a maturing of her love psychologically and spirit-ually? Did it not relieve her loneliness, support her faltering ego, moderate her frustrations, and bring a refreshing experience of closeness? Is not God proud of her? Should she not also rejoice and be proud? With this change in criteria comes relief from the agonizing burden of guilt and a new attitude on the part of God. The main point here is that Model A sharply reduces the odds of making sound judgments about criteria for morality. Why? Because the central concern of this religious and others operating under Model A is not to discover the truth of the affair but rather to come to grips effectively with Two Models of Christian Spirituality / 41t9 the guilt and insecurity built into this situation by the model itself. What she is really doing is searching not for truth and genuine value but for a way to eliminate guilt and achieve good performance. The heart of Model A is manifest: "All is well because I perform well." She mistakenly assumes that the divine and human initiative and response are best understood by way of this model. Thus if there are authority figures who assertx andy are worthwhile~ this religious may be persuaded to accept what they say, not because it really is so, but because the security of good performance results from her acceptance of their words. It takes a certain degree of skill and desire for truth to sort out the opinions of various theologians on any topic. If you rummage through their opinions to find one that eliminates guilt, then you.may think you have found a bargain. But like most bargains you only get what you pay for. ii. You're worrying about the wrong things. In this second way of handling poor performance, one simply ceases to worry about a heretofore troublesome area of :morality. The young religious who complains about vacillation in his prayer life, his self-concept, and his relations with others is a prime candidate for this second approach. His problems are impatience, anger, jealousy, and revenge. Feeling the weight of his poor performance, and thus God's displeasure, he is strongly motivated by an urgent need to. stem his reversals and resume his advance along the path to perfection. Here too he can; after study and reflection, come to the conclusion that morality is not so much concerned with "keeping oneself unspotted by the world",as it is with "caring for widows and orphans." He can conclude that impatience and petty jealousy--and .even casual anger and a little re-venge- are pretty much morally indifferent especially in an age when there is so much social injustice in the world: racial prejudice, nuclear blackmail, grinding poverty, overpopulation, and pollution. This certainly makes him feel a lot better about himself. It improves his prayer life and his relationships with others. This is a tremendous benefit in anybody's book. But the point again is that Model A severely limits the chances for making correct moral judgments because its central focus is the intensely felt need to get rid of insecurity and unhappiness. Changing cri-teria can be sound and balanced, but it is seldom so if strongly motivated by the felt insecurity of poor performance in following Model A. For in this model, changing moral criteria can be basically a technique for dealing with guilt rather than the result of a successful search for truth. One of the "benefits" of living in a time when there is both an "old morality" and a "new morality" is that these first two ways of dealing with poor per-formance are more readily available and much more attractive. It's like a gigantic theological "sale." You can find a bargain or two without ever coming tO grips with why you are at the bargain counter in the first place. iii. The darkness of despair. The third way of dealing with poor per-formance is to try to change our behavior and fail miserably in that effort. 490 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 The cynical former religious who considers his experience in his order as alienating and destructive is but one tragic example. He simply could not change his behavior. So he then found himself facing an even more dis-pleased God than before. He was literally in a "hell of a mess." This route is a well-traveled one, worn smooth with the tears of depression, the fa-miliar terrors of the night, and the deep-seated angers of countless an-guished pilgrims. For many, sin-sickness now sets in, not infrequently leading some to the local psychiatrist. A more moderh version of sin-sickness is manifest in the ever increasing need for some to employ various forms of sensitivity training and make them into a way of life. The other option, chosen by the alienated former religious, is to reject altogether the religion of such a Tormentor-God in order to preserve one's mental health. If these are the only choicesmmental breakdown or rejection of religion--it is understandable why the latter would seem attractive. In these circum-stances, who would be so insensitive and cruel as to threaten such a person with the biblical consequences of an atheism he now embraces as a last resort? One certainly gains an insight into the problems of Model A by analyzing the despair one is led to under these circumstances. One cannot .turn to God. One is rather driven away from God who has become not the source of all security and all care but the very opposite. , iv. I have fought the good fight and won the race. The fourth way of dealing with poor performance is to try to change our behavior and succeed in that effort. What are the problems that loom large for such a person as he strives to live the Christian life? What If Your Performance Is Good? If such is the case a Model A person is sure to feel secure in the knowledge that God is pleased with him, loves him a great deal, and has a commensurate reward waiting for him in the life to come. Three problems, however, plague the success of a Model A Christian, problems built into the model itself: i. problems of self-righteousness and self-Sufficiency ii. problems of self-deception iii. problems with ongoing conversion. Examples come quickly to mind. i. Lord, I thank you that I am not like the rest of men. A man who has achieved considerable success in his priestly life may feel his consistently good performance to be a source of great security and happiness. But since his security is in his performance and not in God as a result of using this model, he ~pays a high price for it. He feels self-righteously superior to others; he looks down on them; he tends not to listen very much to their ideas (after all if they were so smart, why aren't they more successful?). This priest seldom, if ever, seeks spiritual advice and does not need a Two Models of Christian Spirituality / 491 spiritual director. He is self-sufficient. He is his own counselor--and con- ¯ sequently has a fool for a client. This priest sees no problems in living out his permanent commitment since he is particularly strong-willed and has highly developed coping techniques. He is convinced that all those who break their permanent commitments are simply weak-kneed and callow, lacking willpower. ii. Using the publican's words while praying the pharisee's prayer. Take the case of a highly successful religious who believes that his good performance really and trulyis due to God's grace. He does not merely ask God foi" good fortune while attaining virtue on his own. No, he says, it is God's grace~that makes him both want to perform well and actually do so. But, he says, God has given his grace indifferently and impartially to all, only to be fair, to give everyone a fighting chance. Life is for him much like a race in which God, as 'referee and judge, to be fair and impartial, gives everyone a fighting chance. So this religious could not have been successful without God's help, just as a football team cannot win the game if the referees are not fair. Yet now he has won so God owes him the promised reward. He is deceived by his success--not only about permanent com-mitment but also about success and failure, his own and others'. And h~ peddles his products to a ready-made market where they are in great de-mand. So by using the publican's words as packaging, he deceives himself and his customers into thinking they are buying something other than the pharisee's problems. ~ iii. If today you hear his voice, do not harden your heart. Take the case of a dynamic, n0-nonsense sister who has achieved considerable success as principal in an affluent parochial school. She has always been a winner ever since the novitiate days when she was singled' out as a future leader. She does.not tolerate--and neither does God--failure~in her own life nor in the teachers under her. On this tight ship they either produce or walk the plank. Success has long secured for her the status and acclaim that God and her public have in store for winners. She's got the world on the end of a string. Mother Teresa is scheduled to talk in town, and this principal out of curiosity makes a special effort to go and see for herself what this "living saint" has to offer. But she gets more than she bargained for. In a:totally unexpected flash of. insight she sees Mother Teresa surrounded by success yet seemingly oblivious to, and immune from, what are now clearly seen as its seductive effects. By comparison she suddenly experiences just for a moment the spiritual shabbiness of her own small love for God and his people. How was she to know? What must God think of her now? Thus does her long established but~tenuous security vanish in the intensity of the moment. What is she to do? Either she puts these thoughts out of her mind by explaining them away (something not too hard to do) or she will be thrown back into the insecurity before God which she has seen so often in others 492 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 and which, she thought, her complete success had vanquished. The former is clearly a much more attractive option. In other words the security of good performance is a very tenuous security indeed. It lasts only as long as good performance lasts. It finds immense difficulties in acknowledging the need for an ever deepening change of heart, an ever deepening realization of our sinfulness and our inability to love God more--the ongoing need for a Savior and Redeemer. Let us conclude with a brief look at the case of the retired religious who, having outlived her usefulness, noff finds herself increasingly isolated in lonely bitterness and resentment. She is suffering from an ailment prevalent in.Model A, a pathology which Rollo May once called "the divine right to be taken care of." When she wasstill young in the religious life she entered into a contract with God which read as follows: "I, Sister Alice, the party of the first part, agree that I shall always and forever permanently give up the following activities for my entire lifetime: worshipping other gods, taking the Lord's name in vain, dishonoring parents, killing, committing sexual sins, stealing, cheating, lying, and coveting. I further agree to relinquish my right to make moral judgments to God, the party of the second part, and his lawful representatives. And I, God, the party of the second part, in return for the faithful obedience of the party of the first part, do hereby grant Sister Alice the right to my special care; and I, God, do further promise that if she keeps her promise, I will reward the party of the first part with success and happiness." Well, Sister Alice, retired and shunted off to a corner of a rest home, is not as happy now as she thinks she should be. So, she feels, God has not kept his part of the contract. He has not honored her "divine right to be taken care of." What happens? Confusion, anger, and resentment take hold and spiritual collapse is near. "I was promised that I would always be taken care of if I were obedient. Look how obedient I have been all my life. So why am I not being taken care of?." Notice how different this is from the genuine Christian response: "Lord, I love you no matter what." Notice too thatthis kind of contract is also popular in the postconciliar Church. Only minor modifications are necessary. First, substitute the char-acteristics of love listed in 1 Co 13 for the Ten Commandments. Secondly, substitute the duty always to follow one's conscience for the duty always to obey religious superiors. The rest of the contract is the same, as aie the results. ~ For many people accustomed to living by Model A there is an under-standable reluctance to leave it behind. Although their behavior is rigidly controlled by threats and promises, they suspect that the only alternative is a model which whitewashes all activity no matter how morally atrocious by saying: it doesn't matter what you do because God loves you no matter what. They see Model A as at least remaining faithful to the radical de- Two Models of Christian Spirituality / 493 mands of the gospel. And they suspect that the only alternative is to abandon these radical demands in favor of a watered down gospel of sen-timental love. They rightly see a gospel of sentimental love as doubly defective, unfaithful as it is to both the radical love of God and to his demands as well. Where do we go from here? Is the only option an irre-sponsible permissiveness that reduces sin to a series of petty misde-meanors? That is the question which.we shall directly address in the second part of this study. II. Case Studies in Confidence We have been looking at the gospels. They tell us of the depths of God's love for us but they are also filled with urgent moral demands. We even find their pages filled with dire threats and apocalyptic promises. How does all of this fit together? Many of us faced thi~ issue as children in the context of authoritarian religious control and puritanical restraints. Many still do not know how to grow beyond this context. For others who have already freed themselves from this rigid control of behavior by the threats and promises inherent in Model A (described graphically in Part I), the real issue is no longer how to achieve freedom from that totalitarian control but rather, what is this freedom for? What is this freedom grounded in and oriented towards? Where do we go from here? Is the only option an irre-spon, sible permissiveness that sentimentalizes God's love and reduces sin to inconsequential misdemeanors? Model B: Divine Initiative and Human Response So we will look at another model of moral performance. This one does not ground our security in our performance but rather in the Good News of God's self gift. A word of caution is in order here. As mentioned at the conclusion of Part I, for many people accustomed to living by Model A there is an understandable .reluctance to leave it behind. Although their behavior is rigidly controlled by threats and promises, they suspect that the only al-ternative is a model which whitewashes all activity, no matter how morally atrocious, by saying: it doesn't matter what you do because God loves you no matter what. They see Model A as at least remaining faithful to the radical demands of the gospel. And they suspect that the only alternative is to abandon these radical demands in favor of a watered down gospel of sentimental love. They rightly see such a gospel as doubly defective. It is unfaithful not only to the radical moral demands of the gospel but also to the radical nature of God's love as well. Unfortunately so many examples of people abandoning the radical demands of the gospel for a watered down version of the love ethic can be cited that these seem to be the only two options available---one even more defective than the other. Model B, as we shall call it, goes beyond these two options. It is a higher 494 / Review for Religious, Volume 37,~ 1978/4 viewpoint arrived at by way of a deeper understanding of the relationship between God and man. In this model one tries to be faithful to the truth of both the immediacy of God's care (his radicallove no matter what), and the immediacy of God's demands which flow from this divine love. Unlike Model A, this model does not make Christianity into just an ethic. It rather understands that Christianity is first and foremost an effec-tive affirmation of God's relationship with his creation: it is the revelation in Christ Jesus of God's own gift of se!f, his love--sacrificial love--no matter what. Unlike the sentimental love posture, this model takes God's love so seriously that there is an urgent, radical call to respond. It is out of this incredibly serious gift of God's own self that the radical demands of the gospel arise. These ethical demands are not radical because of threats and promises; they are. radical because God's gift of self is at the root of divine and human existence. Whatever threats and promises there are in this model, they are not controlling. They are not the kind of threats and promises found in a dictator-slave relationship as in Model A. They are rather the very special kinds of threats and promises that inevitably accompany any genuine movement toward self-absorption and toward self donation. These kinds of threats and promises are inherent in the kind of.relationship we call agapeic love. And the more intense the love, the more it penetrates to the depths of our being, the more it is both promising and threatening at the same time. This dizzying balance of joy and dread, fulfillment and anxiety has much to do with the fact that love is so exciting. The stirrings of this kind of love are the first stirrings of hope. So in Model B, a person listens to the Word of God and is moved genuinely to wonder what is so unheard of that it is proclaimed in such a startling style. One hears that God's attitude toward us is not grounded in our performance in such a way that God simply reacts to that performance. One wonders how that can be so, since we so often find it not so in our dealings with men. In fact a person comes to anticipate that others will treat him in a way that is a manifest reaction to how he treats them. If it is so that God's ways are not man's ways, then that would be good news indeed. He hears further that God initiates and does not simply react. God so cared about men that he sent his Son; his Son so cared about them that he gave his life for them. And having given his life he still so cared about them that he sent the Spirit who would flood their hearts with so deep a care that it would flow over into the lives of others. That man Jesus, who knewGod as "my father," loved his father "no matter what." And he knew that his father loved him "no matter what," simply because he was his son. The immediacy of his father's care that daily dawned on him in, ever different ways in the face of daily different experiences was an immense wellspring of security. It was not the security that is grounded in performance: "All is well because I perform well." Indeed he performed well and his father Two Models of Christian Spirituality / 495 rejoiced in that. No, it was a security grounded in the fact that he was simply his beloved son. It was not a security stemming from a senile,~ grandfather-like care toward an immature child who can do what he feels like doing without fear, without demands made on him. No, he understood that out of that care flowed the most urgent need to do the will of his father. It was not a security that Would immunize him from loneliness and terror. He found in the desert the courage to stand alone and not throw himself down ("God will bear you up!"). He had no contract resulting in "the divine right to be taken care of." What he had was the assurance of his father's care no matter what befell him. What he had was not the as-surance that there would be only success and acclaim--no numbness of defeat, no sorrow, no pain, no indifference, no enmity, no fears, no be-trayals, no rejection, no death. But rather the assurance that even in all of the~e there was at work his father's care which was strong enough, effective enough, loyal enough to be trusted. It was a security born of love--with all that this entails. So, too, you and I hear that our Father is radically in love with us; that he is our Father as well, one who loves his sons and daughters no matter what, simply because he has set his heart on us and spoken our names. He calls us to a human life so deep that it is somehow divine. A man wonders ¯ how this can be so. But he begins to realize how when it begins to dawn on him that he is himself falling radically in love with God. He will now have to throw away all old contracts with God and learn to get along without such. In Model B the source of security for the Christian is then in the first instance the immediacy of God's care~ Because this care is not plastic, there flows from i~ the immediacy of God's demands. It is all the more intense because our very being thirsts for the living God. "Our souls were made for thee, O God, and they will not rest until they rest in thee." Thus mankind, bent on denying its own meaning while it cries out for it, encounters its sole source and destiny in this divine sel(donation. Operating under this model the possibilities are twofold, as in Model A: either my performance is poor, by whatever standards, or it is good. Here too we shall examine each of the alternatives. What If Your Performance Is Poor? If such is the case, anyone' serious about his spiritual life will be moved to change his,behavior. But the motive will not be the conviction that I am not keeping my part of the contract. Nor again will the motive be the need to escape the loneliness and terror that poor performance brings in Model A. In Model B the proper formation of conscience begins with worship; the will of God is best seen in the work of God, our redemption. It is his will that we accept wholeheartedly 'his gift of sell his fidelity and love no matter what. Am I doing God's will? This is the first place where the question must 496 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 be answered. Am I accepting his redemptive .love, his steadfast and loyal love? Note here that even in Model B there is insecurity in poor performance. The insecurity even functions at the same primordial level as the security flowing from God's steadfast love. It functions within the controlling horizon of God's saving fidelity. So the insecurity found in Model B is of a different type than in Model A. It is not founded on the false premise that God values me only for my utility. It is not the insecurity flowing from the supposed conditional nature of God's self gift. So the realization in faith that God is faithful "no matter what" eliminates the root problem central to morality in Model A. In this redemptive relationship, poor performance is simply that, poor. Surely I am sorry; I have not cared enough. And the inability by myself to care enough turns me back to the source of all care. But the poor per-formance remains. What shall I do about it? Four possible choices come to mind: i. You could change the criteria for good performance, declaring that the behavior which you thought was morally evil is in reality very good. ii. You could change the criteria for good performance, declaring that this troublesome behavior is in reality neither good nor evil but rather of no moral consequence, irrelevant to the Christian moral life. iii. You can try to change the poor performance, and fail in that effort. iv. You can try to change your poor performance, and succeed. i) and ii) The search for the truth. Let us take some examples. A mid-dle- aged religious finds herself haunted by the specter of world famine. She feels so troubled by the miseries of mankind that she cannot even enjoy a fine steak-dinner. In fact she just returned from a home visit and could hardly sit through the family Christmas dinner where the table groaned under the sheer weight of the sumptuous repast. She felt guilty for having participated in such. In fact she feels guilty about being born in such a family and in such a country where the wealth is simply "loot stolen by an imperialist, racist society." She half believes that she is stealing food from the nomads in Sahel when she drives her car. She half believes that by eating steak (which costs twenty times as much protein to produce as we get from it) instead of soybeans she is directly taking food out of the hands of Bangladesh children. The main concern and principal need of this religious is to discover the truth of the matter and that is no small undertaking. But it is surely a different undertaking than the illusive search for security for a way to appease an angry God, so characteristic of Model A. Her search is for truth and genuine value rather than simply seeking a way to eliminate guilt. To do God's will, to love effectively is a movement toward what is truly good, and not just apparently such. So one searches for what is really true and truly worthwhile because one simply, and really, wants to know, no matter Two Models of Christian Spirituality / 497 what the other consequences. There is a terrible need to find out. Such a need for truth does not guarantee results. But it does improve the odds of making better judgments about what is right and wrong. This need for the truth provides an openness which is the beginning of a self-corrective process. There are many areas of our lives where our criteria for right and wrong need ongoing revision, and sometimes even radical reversal. There are many areas of our lives where, due to misunderstanding, values are de-valued and disvalues are valued. The misunderstanding is not merely due to lack of information or education but also due to lack of love. Sexuality comes quickly to mind as an area little understood. But it is not the only, nor even the principal arena for ongoing autobiographical revision of cri-teria for right or wrong. Self donation and self-absorption, authority, and autonomy, justice and charity are much more critical. Now moved by a deep hunger for the truth, one can still make mistakes in judgment, but the felt need to be open to the truth in whatever arena (lying, stealing, world hunger, sexual behavior, and so forth) tends to countercheck our biases which predetermine the results of our investigation. iii. Lord, to whom shall we go? The third way of dealing with poor performance is to try to change our behavior, and to fail miserably in that effort. Take the case of a priest who struggles with ambition for status and higher office, with an insatiable thirst for public honors and recognition--a problem common to conservative and liberal alike. He now sees that he has lived too much of his life bartering half-truths for favors, service for ac-colades, compromise for advancement. He gave too many people lies when they asked for truth and he half convinced himself that he was helping the Church by populating her with' scoundrels and liars. But of late he has been deeply troubled by questions such as those St. Thomas More put to Sir Richard Rich, a man who bartered perjury for the post of Attorney General of Wales: "For Wales? Why, Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world . But for Wales!" Like Israel as seen through the eyes of the prophet Osee, this priest had through the years pursued the desires of his own heart. His life, like the history of Israel, was a sordid and shameful story of the betrayal of Yahweh's hesed, his steadfast love. And now, try as he might, he finds himself caught in the coils of a sinful history from which he cannot extricate himself. Is there any light in the midst of his terrible darkness? Is there any radical source of hope to vanquish despair, that frightful footsoldier quar-tered in his house? "Lord, to whom shall I go?" The answer is to turn to the Lord as the source of all care, all strength, all healing. So here failure can be acknowledged for what it is yet it is not conducive to despair. With Augustine we can still say: "Late have I loved thee, O Beauty, so ancient and so new!" Perhaps most people do not experience such a massive case of failure 491~ / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 as this priest. But there is no doubt whatsoever that most people do ex-perience pernicious and persistent failure in at least one or two special areas of their lives: pride and prejudice, lying and cheating, sexual infidelity and inordinate self-seeking. In all these cases failure does not force one to turn away from an angry God but rather toward God as the radical source of all healing and care. Failure does not make you search out magic rituals of the latest psychological variety nor of the more traditional kind. (Wouldn't that be a relief and wouldn't it allow us a better chance of judging and applying the techniques of modern psychology in a more appropriate and refreshing way?) Here one realizes that God really cares no matter what; that he seeks to break the chains of our bondage and to emancipate us for a new life; that he sets out to win our hearts: "Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her. And there I will give her her vineyards, and make the valley of Achor a door of hope. And there she shall answer as in the days of her youth, as at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt" (Os 2:14-15). "Lord, you can do all things; you can make me whole." This is God's purifying love. Yet it is apparently far easier for many people to believe in a god who dislikes us than in one who loves us no matter what, who seeks to bring his creation and redemption to fruition within us. The latter is far harder to believe than the mystery of the Holy Trir~ity itself. For not a few people really dislike themselves, and so they shape God to their own image. Or at best they imagine God pounding his gavel and saying at the Last Judgment: "You people on the left, there, are going to hell. You people on the right, there, are going to heaven. And I am going out to lunch because I am sick and tired of the whole business."' God, the indifferent Judge, more ~nterested in lunch than in us! The New Testament .is good news indeed, most surprising to us in the midst of our failures. If it is lived, then there need be no convulsive efforts to achieve, efforts which first direct us back to the source and font of all care. iv. I have fought the good fight and won the race. The fourth way of ' dealing with our ~erformance is to try to change our behavior and succeed in that effort. How does such success function for a person who, calling God "Father," strives to live the Christian life? What If Your Performance Is Good? Now God rejoices in man's good performance. But the Christian's se-curity does not rest in any infallible guarantee of its c6ntinuance. In this situation there is a quiet joy and a considerable desire to share one's inner peace. But there is also fearand sometimes even trembling.Yet the fear is not a neurotic anxiety of a mere performance-relationship. Rather it is a healthy respect for the inconstancy ofourhearts, not God's. One is not sure of one's continued good performance, but only sure of G0d's healing care. Two Models of Christian Spirituality / 499 The problems that plague the success of a Christian operating out of Model A (problems built into the model) are transposed by the remedies inherent to Model B: i. problems of self-righteousness ii. problems of permanent commitment iii. problems of ongoing conversion Examples come quickly to mind. i. Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner. It is not for naught that the greatest saints proclaimed themselves very great sinners. Because the source of security and strength is God's care, there is less opportunity for self-righteousness, self-sufficiency and pharisaism to enter the picture. This is because the more one loves, the more one realizes the need of the beloved. The priest who has achieved considerable success in preaching and hearing confessions realizes that God uses the weak to heal the strong, the little ones of this world to confound the proud. He tends to listen to others because God speaks in strange ways and in unexpected places. He realizes that his greatest strength lies in his very weakness. He needs a spiritual director because self-deception is an old friend. As he goes through life he realizes that every stage of age. and wisdom and grace is accompanied by new and different temptations, all of them new and none of them quite expected, thus presenting ever fresh insights into our complete and radical dependence on God. The wisest man of all is one who at the end relies only on the mercy of God and in all honesty declares himself an unprofitable servant. ii) All I know of tomorrow is that Providence will rise before the sun. For those who mistakenly ground the feasibility of permanent commitment in man's fidelity and not God's, there are only two alternatives, both equally unenlightened and unattractive. Either permanent commitment be-comes no problem at all for me because I am particularly "strong willed" and have highly developed coping techniques. In this case I tend to view all those who do not keep their commitments to be, without ex~geption, weak-kneed and callow, somehow lacking willpower. Or permanent commitment becomes an agonizing problem to be resolved best by denying even the desirability of that kind of commitment since I could only commit myself if I were sure of my future performance. But given not only my track record but also everyone's potential for change, growth and development, then permanent commitment is risky at best and ludicrously dishonest at worst. In this case those who look down on lives of broken commitments are simple souls at best or rigid elitists at worst. For those however who ground permanent commitment in God's fidel-ity, these tortuous alternatives are unnecessary. A higher viewpoint opens up. I can commit myself permanently not because I am sure of my per-formance but because I am sure that, "with God, all things are possible." 5111~ / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 This changes my whole set of expectations about the future. I expect growth and development as well as my own failures to radically affect my life--to bring unheard of dilemmas and opportunities. I'm not sure how I will react to these but I do know this about tomorrow, that Providence will rise before the sun. iii. Lord, the sea is so wide and my boat is so small. A person's good performance arising out of response to God's steadfast love often makes him experience again and anew how poor this good performance has been. This experience may make him realize his inability to love God more. Thus the need for ongoing conversion. Here again one is turned to the source and font of that care. If the source of security for the Christian is God's own self gift, then the dawning awareness of being a sinner can really be accepted without neu-rotic anxiety on one hand and without a "who-gives-a-damn" or even despair attitude on the other hand; without withdrawal from an evil world and yet with appreciation for moments of withdrawal; without convulsive efforts to achieve and yet with the most wholehearted efforts to achieve, efforts which first direct us back to the source and font of care. Then one might,find the courage to accept his shortcomings for what they are and, in the healthiest sense, strive mightily to move forward. The Christian has no need to become overly anxious about his d~epest instinctual drives which rise to the surface of his life in the forms of desires for self-aggrandizement or self-destruction. Instinctive impulses are not taboo. There is no need to live in Hesnard's I'univers morbide de lafaute. If it is true that God cares "no matter what," then the individual can recognize his instincts as both a possibility and an opportunity to be laid hold of. He can accept himself as he is--the beginning of inner freedom. He can deal with his anxieties as they arise because he is sure of God's care. And he is sure that this care is creative. Thus good performance becomes not the singular source of security but the fruit of security and a cause for rejoicing and gratitude. Perhaps he does not understand very well what performance is asked or required or called for. But he will begin where he is and do what he can, confident that some answers, however partial or tentative, will be forthcoming. So he listens, is attentive, is alert to them, is open. Once we are aware of the graciousness of God's concern, we become aware too that we will grow in further recognition of values. The choice between Model A and Model B is a clear one. Model B takes its stand with the New Testament. Where do you take yours? Community Living: Some Options Barbara Hazzard, S.N.J.M. Sister Barbara is the principa, l of Holy Spirit Elementary School in Fremont. She offers spiritual guidance and, for the past five years, has been directing retreats and has been on the summer staff of the Jesuit Retreat House, Los Altos. She resides at 3930 Parish Avenue; Fremont, CA 94536. " During the past few years, my concern about community life has become acute. Being a spiritual director and retreat guide for sisters of many dif-ferent communities has made me very aware of the problems which exist in community life today. The greatest problem seems to be the indifference or fear which members of a group have with regard to helping one another lead a deeply Christian life. There are all .kinds of things which can and do serve as anesthetics against this problem: overwork, socializing, formal religious exercises, meetings, professional commitments, family commit-ments, television--and time passes on, and the frustration grows. The following remarks are one person's perception of a need, and one way of dealing with that need. They arise out bf my faith in and hope for the future of religious life--in gratitude to the religious who have shared a similar faith and hope with me. An active, in opposition to contemplative, religious congregation is founded primarily to fulfill a need of the times; i.e., caring for the poor, caring for the sick, instructing the ignorant, and so forth. A religious con-gregation is a group of people who come together to live out the gospel with a certain emphasis on a particular facet of the gospel message. The under-lying purpose of coming together is twofold: to support and encourage one another in living a faith life, and to work together to proclaim the gospel to others. The first part, the support and encouragement of one another in 501 51~2 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 living a faith life, remains constant. It should become deeper and richer as the group grows in faith. The second part, the particular work of the group, is subject to change as the needs of the times shift. The concern here regards the first part of our purpose. Our pragmatic, materialistic culture has not left religious communities untouched. Most active congregations in the United States live on the level of the upper middle class. They do not want materially for much. This is not a reflection on individuals, but rather a reflection on the life-style and image which organized religious groups live and project in today's world--and on the need to look at that life-style and image. Does the nourishment of our faith-life in fact vivify our witness of the gospel, or are we a group of educated, efficient people running institutions with only a "flavor" of Christianity? Are the demands of the gospel too risky? Do we hide behind "prudence" and "practicality" as an excuse for not living our beliefs more radically? The values of Jesus seem contradictory to the values of some of his followers. He led a poor life, dependent on his Father and those around him. He was not identified with aspecific "cause" of his time, yet dealt with the problems at hand. Much of his ~problem" concerned organized religion and its ministers, those who were more concerned with the letter than with the spirit, who said one thing and did another. If Jesus were to walk this earth today, he would most likely have a similar experience. Jesus' only desire was to do whatever it was his Father wanted of him. He often sought time for prayer, alone and with his disciples, in order to know his Father's will. How often do .members of religious orders come together today in prayer specifically to know the Father's will for them, being open and ready to accept whatever that may be? There is always time for chapters, com-mittee meetings, renewal meetings, and more. Where is the time for cor-porate prayer? And how many would come if the time were provided? Is there a fear of the changes that might reveal "the Father's will"? The words uttered by so many religious today are phrases like: "I'm not surewhat we are about any more." "'I'm so tired most of.the time I can't pray.' . I feel as though I live in a boarding house. What kind of~:ommunity life do we have?" There are no simple answers. But such statements must be heard as symptoms of a condition which needs to be treated. What is necessary in order to begin the process? The primary condition is a willingness to change on the part of the individual religious, a will-ingness to say, "I am willing to try a different life-style or to adjust my life-style-- and to risk failure in trying--in order to improve the quality of my life." Time is needed, which means curtailing other commitments, to pray, to talk, to listen, to plan, not in the context of a chapter, but by coming together in small groups, for those who are willing. A clarification of val.ues is necessary. For some, the priority is the apostolate which feeds their Community Living: Some Options prayer, and their community life. For others, the priority is prayer which nourishes both community and apostolate. For still others, community life nurtures prayer and the apostolate. Certainly prayer, community life, and the apostolate are not separate entities. All three should flow together, but the emphasis will vary according to the movement of the Spirit within the ¯ person. Which emphasis? This is where, in honesty, individuals must recognize a need in them-selves and choose one of these emphases. This does not mean that only people who think alike should form local communities, but that those who live together should have a common value-base on which community life may build. The types of support needed by individuals vary. It does not have to be the same in every living situation, but it has to exist in some form in each local community if community life is going to be something more than a glorified sorority or fraternity. Pluralism seems to be the angle from which life in active communities is being re-thought. The above suggestion is a form of pluralism in life-style. Yes, this will create tension. But does not tension already exist in the living of religious life--a tension which is not always growth producing? Religious cannot use the excuse of "obedience" as a reason for what does or does not happen in a religious congregation. Each one is responsible for the quality of life within the community, and cannot let others bear the burden of that responsibility without himself becoming involved. This is a danger, especially in large, congregation.s. There are many discontented religious, discontented in the sense of looking for something more in religious life, a challenge, a way of life that is more meaningful. Just being identified with a large institution is not meaningful or necessarily religious in the sense of living and/or proclaiming the gospel message effectively. This is not to suggest a way of life that is inbred, but rather a means of nurturing the spiritual life in a way that will help to make the apostolate more joyful and perhaps more fruitful. It is a way of giving a support, encouragement, and real Christian freedom cen-tered on the gospel and a communal experience of helping each other to grow into the fullness which is Christ. 504 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 To initiate this process, two or three people who feel comfortable with one another might come together and, after some time taken for reflection, answer the following questions: 1) Why (have I come) am I still in religious life? 2) In which area have I channeled my energy (or let it be channeled) over the last 3, 5, 10, 15 years (prayer, community, apostolate)? 3) What experiences in religious life have freed me to be who God wants me to be--before him, with my confreres, in my apostolate? 4) What has impeded my ability to respond to what I feel the Spirit has asked of me? 5) If I am really honest, what ~teps do I need to take in order to align my life more closely with gospel values? Sharing one's thoughts and feelings about these questions, or others in a similar vein, will begin to help the individual to see the direction God is leading him or her in a communal effort to deepen one's living out of religious life. This paper has only made a small dent in the problem; but, hopefully, some who read it will be creative in finding other ways to begin to act. I would be grateful to have some practical suggestions, ways of im-plementing what. has been suggested in these pages. Perhaps there could follow an article incorporating these practical suggestions at a later date. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS HAS MOVED! As of June 19, the editorial office of REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS has relocated from its Grand Boulevard location to its new address: Review for Religious Room 428 3601 Lindell Blvd. St. Louis, MO 63108 Monastic Spirituality in Anglicanism Bede Thomas Mudge, O.H.C. Father Mudge is novice master for his Anglican community, the Order of the Holy Cross. He resides in Holy Cross Monastery; West Park, NY 12493. The Protestant Reformers of the sixteenth century embarked on what they considered to be a radical "renewal" process on behalf of the Church, a process which is not without some parallels to the renewal of contemporary Christianity. Before their energy had spent itself, the Reformers called into qupstion nearly every important institution of European Christianity, and demanded searching, justification, and often, change or abolition. Any institution or custom that was judged to be valueless or hurtful from the point of view of reformed theology was thoroughly rooted out. Among the casualties of this rooting-out were the religious commu-nities. The reasons for their abolition were usually stated in theological or social categories, the most frequently quoted being an abhorrence of cel-ibacy as "unnatural," and a dislike of any lifelong vow other than that of marriage. But there were other, not quite so noble reasons, as well. Many of the religious communitieg were conservative and anything but welcom-ing to the "New Theology," and so served as centers of resistance to the Reformation. In addition, the great wealth of some of them was a scandal to the Reformers, and a temptation to the keepers of government coffers. In every territory where the Reformers' theology gained ascendancy, an intense campaign was launched against the monasteries and conventg, in which the State usually lent its coercive power to the Reformers' fervor. In a remarkably short time, the communities were disbanded, their members 505 506 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 dispersed, and monasticism as an institution ceased to exist in the Re-formed churches) But, alone of the Reformation bodies, Anglicanism never rested easy with the absence of religious orders in its structure. Almost from the time when the Reformation struggle began to quiet, there were voices raised in defense of the reestablishment of religious communities in England, and various public and private proposals were made and discussed. In the seventeenth century an extraordinary community experiment was actually begun by Nicholas Ferrar at LittleGidding, which has exercised a great fascination for Anglicans ever since. Nicholas, together with his extended family, established a quasi-monastic community in which a form of Office was observed that involved the recitation of the entire Psalter twice each day, and a vigorous social apostolate was maintained in the neighborhood. The community did not survive Nicholas' death, however, and suspicion, and anti-Roman prejudice, made it necessary for the reestablishment of traditional monastic com.munities in Anglicanism to wait until the mid-nineteenth century. Even then, religious communities were not established easily or without trials. Persecution, slander and occasional imprisonment rewarded those who dared to import "Romish" doctrines.or institutions into the Church of England, and many of the early experiments in com-munity life had quietness and obscurity forced on them as the price of their survival. But some of the founders did persevere, and eventually their communities grew, and even prospered. In the century and a quarter that have.passed since the reestablishment of religious comriiunities in Anglicanism, these communities have spread and become an accepted part of the Anglican Church scene. Though not numerous nor particularly large by Roman Catholic standards, the Anglican communities have nevertheless been influential, particularly in matters re-lating to the ~piritual life and to social concern. Though it is still not unusual to find people, both outside and inside the Anglican Church, who are only vaguely aware that "there are Episcopal nuns," the communities have gradually gained~ the trust and affection of their Church at large, and are now welcomed and encouraged, whereas at their inception, rejection and persecution were more normal reactions.2 The Spirituality of Anglicanism Any discussion of spirituality in Anglican .religious communities must necessarily take place in the context of the general spirituality of Angli-tThe sixteenth century was, to be sure, a period of low ebb in community life. Very few of the dispersed religious chose to flee to a Catholic territory where they could continue their life. They appear mostly to have settled down quietly, often supported by a government pension, and often they marred. The Carthusian martyrs of London were as remarkable for the rarity of their example, as for their fervor. 2An excellent historical summary of this'period, and histories of the foundations of the various communities can be found in Peter Anson, The Call of the Cloister, SPCK, 1956. Monastic Spirituality in Anglicanism / 507 canism. But, in turn, it would not be possible to speak of Anglican spir-ituality without speaking of monasticism, because Anglican piety, depends heavily on the pre-Reformation monastic influence in England, and par-ticularly that of the Benedictine communities. It has been said that Ben-edictinism influenced English society to a greater extent than was true anywhere else in Europe. England was converted, in large part, by Ben-edictine monks. Its principal schools were operated byBenedictines, its cathedrals and principal churches were largely Benedictine foundations, and Benedictines were widely influential in the government. The Cistercian reform of Benedictinism was also influential in England, and its monasteries large and popular) The influence of the Benedictine tradition was part of the air that every medieval English person breathed. From one's earliest years, through education and into whatever station in life a person be-longed, the influence of the Abbey or Priory was never far away. And this influence was nowhere more pervasive than in the piety of the English people.4 The monastic offices and masses were commonly attended by the public; monastic spirituality was respected; and abbot and monk were part of the common scene, and likely to be respected or even beloved. Though definite Augustinian and Franciscan strains can be discerned in historic Anglican devotion, the example and influence of the Benedictine mon-astery, with its rhythm of divine office and eucharist, the tradition of learn-ing and the lectio divina, and the family relationship among abbot and community were determinative for much English life, and for the pattern of English devotion. This devotional pattern persevered through the spiritual and theological upheavals of the Reformation. The Book of Common Prayer, which was composed during the course of the Reformation, and has been the primary spiritual source-book for Anglicans ever since, continued the basic mo-nastic pattern of the eucharist and the divine office as the principal public forms of worship, and Anglicanism has been unique in this respect. Con-tinental Catholicism developed a devotional pattern centered around the eucharist, with extra-liturgical devotions such as the rosary and benediction filling the needs of most laymen. The office was, in most places, considered the business of the clergy and religious, and since, in its full canonical form, it could only be recited in Latin, it tended to disappear from popular use, except in some of the forms of a "Little Office." Protestantism developed, in most places, a worship pattern that included .very infrequent celebrations of the eucharist, as it was a Reformation principal that the eucharist should. not be celebrated unless the congregation received communion, and most aCudously enough, the purely English communities, such as the Gilbertines, while they did exist, never attained anything like the popularity of the communities which observed the Benedictine Rule. 4This influence of monastic spirituality on Anglican devotion is fully discussed in Martin Thornton, English Spirituality, SPCK, 1963. 5011 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 laymen of the time could not be persuaded to receive frequently. The worship pattern that developed was either a truncated form of the mass, as in Lutheranism, or a more informal worship service, retaining some ele-ments of the office, and supplemented by meetings for free prayer. In England alone it was the divine office that came to occupy a central de-votional position. This development was a direct carry-over from the days in which many people had attended celebrations of the office at the local abbey or priory, particularly Lauds and Vespers. But it owed much of its success to the liturgical genius of Thomas Cranmer, who in his compilation of the offices of Morning Prayer and Evensong produced what Louis Bouyer has referred to as "one of the purest forms of Christian common prayer to be found anywhere in the world."5 The devotion of Anglicans to the office has continued up to the present time. In some parish churches, though admittedly not all by any means, the office is recitedmorning and evening each day, as the Book of Common Prayer has traditionally re-quired. In some places, it is still the principal service of worship on Sun-days, and when groups of Anglicans gather, whether clergy or lay, whether for worship, business or social purposes, it is not unusual to begin the gathering with the recitation of Morning or Evening Prayer.6 The framework supplied by eucharist and office was supplemented, in Anglicanism, by an informal sort of lectio divina, characterized by a de-votion to the reading and pondering of the scriptures and other dex, otional material. When English editions of the Bible first began appearing in parish churches it was often necessary to chain them to the wall or lectern, to prevent people from stealing them for their own use. Later, when the spread of the printing press made the scriptures more available, there was also an extraordinary development of spiritual writing by men such as Jeremy Taylor and William Law, characterized by biblical and patristic inspiration and warm human feeling, and these works were widely circu-lated and read. There is also a deep current of devotion to the writings of the Church Fathers in Anglicanism.It is an Anglican maxim that Anglicans refer to the Fathers in the same way that Roman Catholics refer to the Pope, and Protestants to the Bible. A large proportion of English editions of patristic writings has historically been the work of Anglican editors. There has also been found in traditional Anglican piety, a distinct strain of "homeliness," as it is sometidaes called. A warm, tolerant, human de-votion based on loving persuasion, rather than fiery oratory is part of the Anglican temper. Historically, the Anglican clergy, being family men them-selves, have been very much part of the domestic scene in the villages and 5Louis Bouyer, Liturgical Piety, Notre Dame, 1955, p. 47. 6This is somewhat less common at the present, as under the influence of liturgical r~form, more frequent celebrations of the eucharist are being held, and often supplant the office. But it is worth noting that many Anglicans, including those most eager to center worship around the eucharist, are still uneasy at the loss of the office as a popular form of devotion. Monastic Spirituality in Anglicanism / 51)9 parishes where they served, and have often been loved as well as revered. The Anglican liturgical calendar has more commemorations of faithful pas-tors, such as George Herbert, than of fiery missionaries, and even Anglican martyrs have commonly been of gentle disposition. Anglicanism has always been more attracted by the image of the Church as family, rather than militia, and the similarity evoked to a community of monks, living as a family, under an abbot who leads them as a father, is far from accidental. There is little extravagance in the English temper, and Anglican de-votion is usually characterized by a basic simplicity and directness that shun~ much of the emotionalism and the devotional frills of post-Refor-mation continental piety. In this, the English temper ~naturaily joins hands with the emphasis on biblical centrality that was a chief Reformation prin-ciple~ There is devotion to the Blessed Sacrament and to the saints in Anglicanism, but it is most often drawn from a scriptural and patristic outlook, with an emphasis on simplicity and emotional understatement, and later devotions have had small appeal for Anglicans. Thus, the pattern of Anglican devotion which developed was a modified form of monastic piety; the celebration of the eucharist (though sometimes quite infrequently),7 the regular recitation of the Psalter and proclamation of the scriptures in the office, fleshed out by private pondering of the Bible, the Fathers and other devotional writings, usually of a sober and gentle style. The Restoration of Monasticism The founding of specifically monastic communities in the Church of England began in the middle of the nineteenth century, shortly after the commencement of the "Oxford Movement," whose proponents wished to restore elements of Catholic belief and worship to the Anglican Church. Several communities for women were founded in the 1850's and 1860's, after some faltering starts, and the first lasting community for men followed shortly thereafter. The first communities lived under the suspicious eyes of a public still steeped in anti:papalism, and so the beginnings were cautious and semi,private. Little publicity attended the foundings of the commu-nities, and the public stir raised by even a little publicity was considerable. Against this background, it is not surprising that the first communities went out of their way to justify their existence by a great devotion to works of charity. Social work with the poor, the operation of "penitentiaries" for wayward women, and nursing were favorite occupations, and among the nursing sisters that Florence Nightingale took with her in her famous mis-sion to the Crimea were several sisters of the newly-founded (Anglican) 71n the eighteenth century faith and devotion fell to a very low ebb, and it is related that there was no eucharist on Easter Day in St. Paul's Cathedral in London one year, because the Prayer Book requires that at least two or three members of the congregation receive communion, if there is to be a celebration, and that many communicants could not be found. 510 / Review for Religious,,Volume 37, 1978/4 Society of the Holy Trinity. The often heroic work accomplished by the first members of the communities in slums and with people in desperate con-ditions did much to allay suspicion, and to create an atmosphere of tol-erance for their existence, if not of actual devotion to them. But while the works of the early communities were important and needed, it was the spiritual and communal life which drew applicants, and in this atmosphere the basically monastic pattern of Anglican spirituality, which had survived three centuries after the Reformation, had its inevitable effect. No matter how active the apostolate of the community, thecor-porate recitation of a full form of the office was present in all of the com-munities from the very start,8as was the cultivation of a personal devotional life which was more characteristic of cloistered communities in Roman Catholicism. It is an unusual Anglican community which has not had as part of its tradition the singing of the office to the plainsong melodies, a good deal of corporate silence, and a tradition of the cultivation of an intense devotional life, based on scriptural and patristic sources. The traditional emphasis on monastic learning and writing also appeared, even in very active communities, and a sizeable number of works on prayer and spiritual direction have been produced, which is all the more remarkable considering the relatively small number of Anglican. religious. Nor is it unusual for Anglican laymen to expect that any member of any community will be able to speak about prayer and give spiritual direction. It should also be noted that, with no experience of monasticism closer than three hundred years, and with the traditional freedom of Anglicanism, some of the early experiments in the monastic life were distinctly unfor-tunate. Some were merely bizarre, such as in the excesses of Fr. Ignatius' Benedictines of Llanthony in Wales, .or the Benedictines of Caldey Island, who attempted to recreate a wildly romanticized version of a medieval abbey, but some were unwise in other ways. The combination of heavy and demanding work, coupled with the expectation of full participation in choir and in long hours of prayer with a sometimes rigorous asceticism taught several communities the lesson of moderation the hard way. But such mistakes were largely unavoidable. Few bishops would have anything to do with the developing communities, for fear of being labeled "Romanist," and the ecumenical movement was far in the future, so the only advice to be gained from Roman Catholic religious was: "convert!" Experienced guidance was simply unavailable. The lessons of the Desert Fathers and of medieval monasticism had to be learned again, by experiment, in nine-teenth century England. But in spite of mistakes and misjudgments, the monastic experiment in Anglicanism took root, prospered and spread. There are now a large num-ber of communities in England, and others in former English colonies, as SUsually an English translation of the Roman Breviary. Monastic Spirituality in Anglicanism well oaS indigenous communities in Africa, the Far East and the South Pacific. !n the American Episcopal Church there are approximately twenty communities, about two-thirds of them for women. With time came not only numerical growth, but also a gradual acceptance by the mainstream of the Church, and with this acceptance a freedom to adopt usages and customs to taste. But whereas it might have been expected that this freedom would lead to a divergence of types of religious life, the pattern has, in fact, remained surprisingly consistent and true to traditional mo-nastic roots. Anglicanism has not, to this time at least, developed "active" com-munities, and the expressions of the religious life that presently attract the largest numbers in the Roman Catholic Church are completely absent from the Anglican scene. There arena few cloistered orders for men and for women, but the majority of the communities are classified as "mixed" in the traditional terminology. All have a tradition of a corporate Office, often an English translation of the Benedictine breviary, and the office is com-monly sung to plainsong where the numbers permit it.9 All have a deep commitment to the life of prayer, and have developed timetables and physical surroundings that enabled them to foster this prayer. A family style of government usually prevails, with a superior who is elected by all of the professed members, and a chapter that usually consists of all of the mem-bers of the community. This has been possible because of the small size of most of the communities. Anglican communities have never grown in num-bers beYond about four to five hundred, and the vast majority have had less than fifty professed at any one time. The family ethos has been carried over into the apostolate of the community, which has nearly always been carried out in a community context, and rarely by individuals outside the com-munity. But a wide latitude has usually been available inside the family context, with individuals often encouraged to develop their own talents and abilities. It may be objected that the absence of the figure of the abbot or abbess would make it difficult to classify a community as "Benedictine." Most Anglican communities do, in fact, have a regularly elected "superior," with a limited term of office, and not much of the mystique of abb, atial dignity. The Anglican. communities would, admittedly, need to be classified as a hybrid form of Benedictinism on this a~count. But it is also true that ~he size ¯ of most Anglican communities, together~ with their traditional family ethos, have conspired to make the superior much more of a "mother" or "father" than an executive. We can also note that a limited term of office is more and more characteristic even of abbots in the Roman Catholic communities 9It is sometimes surprising to Roman Catholics how few may be "required." If they have good voices (and sometimes if they don't) a house composed of three or four Anglican religious will sombtimes maintain a full sung office. 512 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 these days. The title of Anglican superiors has usually not been "abbot," but the reality is often not far removed from the traditional abba. The pattern of community life that has been described has had one development that came as a surprise to many of the early religious, and runs counter to the .historical development of western monasticism. The first religious in the west were contemplatives, with active communities de-veloping only later. In Anglicanism, the first communities were forced to be active in order to justify themselves, but always maintained as much touch with the monastic tradition as circumstances allowed. With such an im-petus, some of the religious quickly developed contemplative vocations, and the communities eventually responded by making room in their struc-ture for living ,such ,vocations, after suitable testing. More than this, several entire omr~nities have gradually been called to an exclusively contem-plative vo.cation after° a very active beginning. The Society of the Holy Trinity, ".the Sisters of the Precious Blood, and the Community of the Holy Cross, all .English women'.s communities, had very active beginnings, with demanding social apostolates, and all have given up most of their external works and become .contemplative communities. Side by side with this de-velopment, there have been several attempts through the yeffrs to establish traditionally "Benedictine" ,communities, properly so-called, and several of these attempts have been successful. There are, of course, exceptions to the pattern outlined, as for instance, the sizeable Society of St. Francis, and the Community of the Glorious Ascens!on, which is based on a model roughly similar to the Little Brothers of Jesus. But these are more recent developments, and have necessarily .bee6 ch~ aracterized by a certain self-.consciousness about their ethos, which has, served as a battlement against the tides that have swept most Anglican religious communities into a remark.ably similar pattern and style. Cow,temporary Renewal It is obvious from this analysis that the history of religious life in the ~.n.glican Church has several marked differences to that in the Roman C,a.tholic communion. Anglican com~.unities are of relatively recent date, .and many of them have older members who are within memory, or at least within one gbneration, of their foundin, g. Having often begun on an active pattern, the communities have grad~a,!!y developed a more traditionally monastic life, and this has been done as .the result of a consensus of the members 9f the community. The offiC.~'~ habit, times of silence and such, have been deliberately chosen, often against a background of some per- .secution. This necessarily means that'ii~e pattern of renewal in Anglican communities has been quite different from most Roman Catholic com-munities. Since Anglican communities are reasonab.ly close, historically, to the decisions that formed the pattern of their. !ife, and since these decisions Monastic Spirituality in Anglicanism / 513 have usually been made by consensus of the community, there has been little reason to view the details of their lives as imposed by an outside authority. In addition, the religious orders have never been seen as a pri-mary source of personnel for social or missionary work. Anyone whose real calling is to a social ministry or a missionary vocation has always had many other options in the Anglican framework, and few people have entered the communities without some leaning, at least, toward monastic observances. This has caused the outward forms of .the recent renewal to appear con-servative by Roman Catholic standards. Though members of the men's communities have, on occasion, worn secular clothing for some years, all of them retain their habit at least for corporate worship and for formal occasions. Among the women's communities habits have usually been modified only slightly, if at all, and the number of women religious who regularly wear secular dress is very small. The office continues to be said by all communities, and if four offices a day rather than seven o~' eight is becoming a common pattern, they are often quite traditional in form, and continue to be sung to plainsong. A wider variety of work or ministry is often now available, but many of the traditional works continue, and some of the communities are moving, if anything, in a more contemplative di-rection. Anglican religious have, for the most part, deliberately chosen the observances of traditional monasticism, and are not eager to be rid of them. But it would be a mistake to assume, since renewal has not changed Anglican communities much externally, that their reform has been shallow. In many communities there has been a deep and searching process of change in the spirit that lay behind the observances. This has occurred, not surprisingly, in a direction dictated by the tradition that lies behind most Anglican communities. The. urge towards deeper and more authentic prayer has already been alluded to. There has also been a movement toward the deepening of the "family" ethos which has always been the ideal. Various structures of behavior, largely from the Victorian era (when many of our communities were founded) have been laid aside, and an emphasis on human relationships, the possibility of deep friendships, and an increasing emphasis on government by consensus have been common. Above all, there has been a struggle to advance the priority of the human element over legalistic requirement. In addition, Anglican communities have often been the centers of creative change in the liturgical field as well, and, while their experiments may seem somewhat conservative in comparison to similar situations in Roman Catholic communities, they have not infrequently been quite advanced by the standards of an ordinary Anglican or Episcopal parish. There has been at least one additional change in the past decades that is more difficult to chart or document, but it is of great importance to Anglican religious. A growing sense of'confidence in their own identity has gradually made itself felt. Born without parents, so to speak, Anglican 514 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 communities had to develop with little outside advice and no Anglican tradition to guide them, and all of this in an era when "doing it right" was very important. Anglican~ engaged in the founding of religious communities were surrounded by fellow Anglicans, on the one side, screaming "heresy," and by Roman Catholics, on the other, accusing them of being inauthentic imitations of no consequence; and the accusations were some-times, at least, half believed. This caused the adoption of many curious and sometimes inauthentic customs because "the Romans are doing it." But a century and a quarter of maturing, and the recent currents of change have brought relief from the concept that there was only one way to be correctly religious. A feeling of solidity and authenticity is beginning to pervade Anglican communities, where before there was some glancing over the shoulder to see if we were still doing it correctly. The history of religious communities in Anglicanism has been different from Roman Catholic com-munities; their problems have been different, and so the course of their renewal has been different, as will be their future form. Anglican com-munities have been called by God to serve a Church which is characterized by conservative liturgies, a deep sense of the awe and mystery of worship, and great freedom in doctrinal and social matters. The communities reflect this pattern, as they must, if they are to be authentic servants in the An-glican communion. "You're Benedictine, of course" Not infrequently these days, Anglican religious are invited to meetings of Roman Catholic religious, and often asked to describe their community. Normally the reply is that there is no exact counterpart to our life in the Roman Catholic Church, but that we have found our own expression of the religious life. But when asked to describe that expression in detail, it is interesting to note how often the reply is: "Oh, you're Benedictine, of course." Though only a few of our communities have sought to identify themselves as Benedictines or even tried consciously to imitate a Bene-dictine pattern, this reaction can hardly be a surprise. From their inception, Anglican communities have operated under the influence of a devotional pattern that took its'inspiration from Benedictine and Cistercian ab-beysmthe pattern of a family, deeply united by prayer and the liturgy, pondering the scriptures and other writings, and overflowing from its de-votional life in a gentle, caring ministry to those around them. It is a pattern that has been inherited fi:om a nation whose monks, scholars, teachers, historians, rulers, missionaries and martyrs were often either Benedictines themselves or under direct Benedictine influence, and the pattern has proved surprisingly stable, through the changes and reforms of several generations:' The pattern which Pope Gregory the Great hoped to plant in England when, in the seventh century, he sent. Augustine to Canterbury to convert the English people still perseveres, not only in England, but in large Monastic Spirituality in Anglicanism / 515 parts of the world. And this pattern, to which the name "Benedictine" is often given, has proved sturdy enough that it served as the model and guide for religious life when it was revived after three hundred years of absence in Anglicanism. Reeds The wind is voiceless until it finds an instrument: the long-drawn sough and sigh of conifers the maples" glee the oaks" deep diapason untutored symphony. I stood apart to hear them all together: acaccia sprinkled bells upon the air and chaliced elms' glad notes all spilling exultant as the skylark's trilling The beech clapped drily cadence keeping Only my song was still. The Spirit came in wind, then, (I had long known .the fire fed by the oils of my anointing) I listened there upon the hillside: "'Peace," said the wind upon me Peace unto all whom I meet "Peace," and the winds grew quiet "Peace! I am with you-- Know my peace." Mary R. Quinn 1201 Canton Ave. Baltimore, MD 21227 Compassion: A Spirituality for Today M. Corita Clarke, R.D.C. Sister Corita, a Sister of the Divine Compassion, is Chairperson of the Religious Studies Department of Preston High School. She resides at the school; 2780 Schurz Ave.; Bronx, NY ! 0465. ~nterest, concern, even fascination for the quest for a viable personal spirituality is as old as the history of primitive religions and as contem-porary as today's newspaper. To some persons the renewed interest in spirituality in this decade of the twentieth century seems an anachronism or a fad. Yet even a cursory study of the experience of people today, whether viewed through the eyes of the historian, the psychologist or the theologian, indicates that the phenomenon of such a renewal is a very natural devel-opment. Both an older generation which has survived the effects of worldwide wars, nuclear holocausts, genocide attempts and concentration camp realities, and a younger generation which has grown up in the more affluent yet tension-ridden, de-personalized milieu of the computerized world of technopolis, are responding to their deepest human yearnings in their search for a spiritual dimension to their lives. Centuries ago St. Augustine shared the insight that "God is always more." I think that the conviction born of human experience and the Judaeo-Christian revelation is that "so is man, always more," called to become, to grow, to move beyond wherever he is, to realize his human potential--also for intimacy with the divine! Spirituality is concerned with this search for the transcendent dimension to life both beyond and within the person, and with the mode of living which flows from its apprehension. We have the capacity ~to live a "spiritual" life because as human persons we possess an inner spirit which is the principle of our conscious life and 516 Compassion: A Spirituality for Today / 517 the source of our integration as persons. Through this spirit we are capable of an intuition of the transcendent, of a reflective awareness of ourselves and of a depth dimension within ourselves, and are conscious of our ability for self-transcendence. In our Christian experience spirituality flows from an awareness of the Spirit of God within us, and our spiritual life is a lived response to this Spirit within, in an attempt to facilitate or mediate the further presence of that Spirit of God in the world. It is my conviction that the basis for a relevant Christian spirituality for today is to be found in a clear understanding of the quality of compassion. It will be within the scope of this paper to look at compassion from various angles in order to see the richness contained in this human virtue and to realize more clearly its relation to our experience of transcendence and our challenge to live our spirituality as compassionate persons. The Experience of Transcendence Any attempt to elaborate a contemporary spirituality comes up against the enduring tension between transcendence and immanence, between that which calls us beyond and that which cries out for recognition in the here and now. I would like first to strive for a greater clarity in our understanding of the category of the transcendent, and then proceed to an analysis of compassion as providing the key to reconciling these seeming antinomies. James Fowler has defined faith as "the knowing or construing by which persons apprehend themselves as related to the Transcendent.''~ For Fowler, the Transcendent is the ultimate condition of existence, the Being we have in religious faith called God, and a person's relationship to the Transcendent involves power, limitations, and the sources of value and meaning of existence. In the Judaeo-Christian religious tradition this has involved a personal relationship to a God whose presence has been ex-perienced by individuals and by the community. In addition to this specific religious terminology, the adjective transcendent and the noun transcen-dence have wide usage in a more secular sense. Abraham Maslow has given thirty five definitions or explanations of transcendence which can be sum-marized in his statement that transcendence."refers to the very highest and most inclusive or holistic levels of human consciousness, behaving and relating, as ends rather than as means, to oneself, to significant others, to human beings in general, to other species, to nature, and to the cosmos.''z And even here, in those who can experience such full humanness, those whom Maslow calls "transcenders," there is the "ability to perceive the ~James W. Fowler III, "Toward A Developmental Perspective on Faith," Religious Ed-ucation, LXIX (March-April, 1974), p. 207. ZAbraham Maslow, The Farther Reaches of Human Nature (New York, Viking Press, 1971), p. 275. 511~ / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 sacred within the secular, or the sacredness in all things at the same time, ,,3 Within this notion of transcendence are all those movements, experiences or realities which beckon persons on, which disturb complacency and call us beyond, which alert us to the "more" in human life and our own personal existence, which sociologist Peter Berger has called "hints" or "signals" of the Transcendent,4 and which are the source of~Augustine's "restless-ness" of heart. When the noun transcendence becomes converted to a verb, we have also the notion of self-transcendence, that movement of a person beyond self-interest or concern because of a focus on another~person, an ideal or a goal. In its richest manifestations, self-transcendence is an act of love, the highest form of human activity. Viktor Frankl has written that "Human existence is essentially self-transcendence not self-actualization,''s and contemporary psychology b~ars witness to this capacity for self-sacrifice as an essential norm of full human maturity. We will return to this aspect of self-transcendence in our treatment of compassion. When a person becomes aware of the transcendent dimension of life, and especially when that awareness leads to the Transcendent God, the result is, in the words of Abraham Heschel, awe. Awe is a sense for the transcendence, for the reference everywhere to mystery beyond all things. It enables us to perceive in the world intimations of the divine, to sense in small things the beginning of infiniti~ significance, to sense the ultimate in the common and the simple; to feel in the rush of the passing the stillness of the eternal.6 For Heschel, faith is, as it is for Fowler, an attachment to the Trans-cendent, to the attractiveness of a God Who hides himself in mystery. Yet ¯ the biblical revelation tells us that beyond all mystery is meaning. "God is neither plain meaning nor just mystery. God is meaning that transcends mystery . meaning that speaks through mystery.''7 When the God who is, by the very nature of his being, Transcendent, attempts to speak through mystery and reaches out into the realm of human experience, we speak of tiis becoming immanent to us, to his creation. How does this mystery express itself?. Heschel says it is the destiny of human persons "to articulate what is concealed. The divine seeks to be disclosed in the human."s In our discussion of spirituality we have stated that our spirituality flows aIbid., p. 283. 4Peter L. Berger, A Rumor of Angels (New York, Doubleday, 1969). ~Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning (New York, Washington Square Press, 1963), p. 175. 6Abraham J. Heschel, Who Is Man? (Stanford, California, Stanford University Press, 1969), p. 89. 71bid., p. 77. 6Ibid., p. 77. Compassion: A Spirituality for Today / 519 from our apprehension of the divine, of the Spirit within and 'without, and is our mode of living which attempts to incarnate the presence of God. It is precisely in this understanding of God which we discern from the biblical revelation, and in the consequent imperatives for our Christian life, that I believe an understanding of compassion plays such a central role. It is my conviction that the divine (the Transcendent) has revealed itself as com-passion, and that therefore the human discloses the divine through a spirituality that is founded on compassion. While subsequently I will de-lineate our experience and exercise of compassion as an expression of spirituality, I would like first to examine compassion as formative of our spirituality through an analysis of the divine compassion. Human com-passion and divine compassion are not dichotomies nor polarities, they are rather reciprocal concepts. There is only one real source of compassion and that is God's compassion. As Henri Nouwen has reminded us, "Our com-passion is nothing more or less than a participation in and a reflection of this divine compassion,''9 The Divine Compassion: The Bridge In his penetrating study, The Prophets,1° Abraham Heschel analyzes with depth and clarity the Old Testament revelation of the divine pathos, which he sees as the bridge between the transcendence and mystery of God and Israel's grasp of his love. For the Israelite, pathos is the expression of the attitude of attentive care and concern of God for his people. When Moses asked Yahweh his name, he received the reply, 'Yahweh, Yahweh, a God of tenderness and compassion" (Ex 34:5-6). In a recent issue of Spiritual Life, Kevin O'Shea suggests "that the divine nature is Com-passion, that God is to be defined by the heart of tenderness he has opened out tb us."11 This portrayal of Israel's God as a God of Pathos (the opposite - of apathy) is in sharp contrast to the gods of other nations of their t!me, who were distant (like the god of the philosophers), or impersonal, or presented as having human limitations such as jealousy and vindictiveness. The ex-pression of Yahweh's compassion was not mere feeling or emotion on the part of God, but was displayed in his active reaching out toward Israel--a God "in search of man.''~ The initial experience of Yahweh's concern was the covenant, which not only manifested God's mercy and great love, but also challenged Israel to grow as God's people through her response to his love. When Israel faltered or failed in her fidelity, the divine pathos re-vealed itself in anger and correction. In Heschel's words, God's "pathos is 9Henri Nouwen, "Compassion: The Core of Spiritual Leadership," Worship Jubilee (January, 1977), p. 21. 10Abraham Heschel, The Prophets (Vol. II) (New York, Harper & Row, 1975). nKevin O'Shea, C.SS.R., "Enigma and Tenderness," Spiritual Life, 21 (Spring, 1975), p. 18. 590 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 both a disclosure of his concern and a concealment of his power."12 The mission of the prophet in Israel was to articulate the nature and extent of the divine pathos, and to call the people to live the reality of their election. It was through his privileged insight into the experience of the pathos of God that the prophet developed his sympathy.(sym-pathos) for the concern of God. Seized by the power of this revelation, he was com-pelled to speak Yahweh's wrrd. Though his sympathy had as its source and focus the divine pathos, it was like that of Yahweh's, directed towards the people, the object of Yahweh's love. As Yahweh had identified himself with Israel (e.g., "My people," what was done to Israel was done to "Us"), so the prophet identified himself with the people, and each, from Moses to the last prophet, lived his vocation within the limitations and struggles of his time and history. God's involvement with Israel can be found on every page of the prophetic works. As with Jeremiah they experienced his word as a burning fire within, ~ind usually endured great personal suffering to deliver what was often an unpopular message. The hardheartedness of Israel is in sharp contrast to the loving relationship God was offering them: You whom I have taken from the ends of the earth and summoned from its far-off places, You whom I have called my servant whom I have chosen and will not cast off-- Fear not, I am with you; be not dismayed; I am your God. I will strengthen you, and help you, and uphold you with my right hand of justice (Is 41:9-10). In return, Yahweh asked a response of love; a love which when directed toward him would be fidelity and when shared with one another would flow out injustice. Micah encapsuled the covenant call in the beautiful text from 6:8: This is what Yahweh asks of you: to act justly to love tenderly and to walk humbly with your God, The psalmist who sang over and over that Yahweh's compassion and mercy endure forever, the prophet who spoke for Yahweh, "with ever-lasting love I will have compassion on you, says the Lord, your Redeemer" (Is 54:8), and Abraham Heschel who insists that the biblical message is not an abstraction but the "certainty that the Creator is the Redeemer"~3--all point to a reality which can only be understood in its fullness by one who has come to know Jesus. The pathos of God gave its utmost expression of love and concern in the incarnation and redemption of Jesus. Jesus comes as compassion incarnate, ~2Heschel, The Prophets, Vol. II, p. 12. ~albid., p. 47. Compassion: A Spirituality for Today / 52"1 as the prophet who not only fully apprehended the divine pathos, but is himself its visible embodiment. "God in search of man" becomes man himself and bridges .the gulf between transcendent mystery and human experience. Jesus, like the prophetic types before him, embraces the reality and consequences of being truly human. As Paul records in the early Chris-tian hymn: He emptied himself and took the form of a slave being born in the likeness of men. He was known to be of human estate, and it was thus that he humbled himself, obediently accepting even death, death on a cross! (Ph 2:7-8). Against the background of old Testament prophecy, Jesus is presented in the New Testament as the Prophet, one caught up in the message he has received from the Father, as he reiterates frequently in the Johannine tradition. His life is a lived experience of the reality of his perception of the Father's love. God's concern and love are his own, and he lives the im-plications of his message to their ultimate consequences. Jesus expresses his mission in the vision of the Isaian prophecy: He has come for the poor, the captives,, the blind and the.downtrodden, to proclaim the good news of the Father's love'(Lk 4:18; Is 61:1-2). He teaches his followers how to love one another (Jn 14:34-5), to be compassionate as their Father is compassionate (Lk 6:36-38), and gives concrete examples in his parables: the forgiving father of the prodigal son (Lk 15:11-32), and the compassionate Samaritan (Lk 10:25-37). He chal-lenges them to the self-transcendence involved in taking up one's cross daily (Lk 9:23-25), and gives them the witness of his own loving response to all whom he encounters along the way. He eats with sinners, embraces little children, weeps over Jerusalem, and identifies with the feelings and needs of the sick, the bereaved, the hungry, the repentant. His ministry is one of healing, forgiving, challenging, and total self-giving, and he suffers and dies for the truth of his message. In the life-giving power of his death and resurrection, the compassion of God has its supreme expression. In contrast to Rudolph Bultmann, who sees the Cross of Jesus as a stumbling block of Christianity, a contemporary Anglican writer, Alistar Kee, sees it as the most meaningful challenge to the Church today in its role to embody the life of Jesus in our time. Kee opts for a reinterpretation of Christian theology which would focus on J~sus as "the way of trans-cendence, in contrast to the way of immanence which characterizes the lives of individuals.''14 He believes that Jesus' total self-transcendence in his acceptance of the cross provides persons today with a powerful example ~4Alistar Kee, The Way of Transcendence (England, Penguin, 1971), p. 159. 522 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 which is "a consistent option" for human life, and which in reality is the only road to fulfillment. A Theology of Compassion Among the New Testament writers, perhaps none has presented this centrality of the cross to the Christian message more clearly than St. Paul, who saw his vocation to "preach Christ crucified" (1 Co 1:23). The cross for Paul was the. basic paradox of Christianity, and I think his compre-hension of its meaning both in the life of Jesus and in his own life formed the foundation for his theology of compassion. Paul personally experienced the compassion of God in his call from Judaism to preach the gospel of Jesus. "I am the least of the apostles; in fact, because I persecuted the Church of God, I do not even deserve the name. But by God's favor I am what I am. This favor of his to me has not proved fruitless" (1 Co 15:9-10). In his missionary work and sufferings, he was aware of the Lord's constant support and love. His mission and his letters to the Corinthian church are among the clearest loci for elucidating his theology. It would take many pages to elaborate on Paul's experiences and his teaching, but perhaps a brief outline will be sufficient. Like the prophets before him, Paul was captured' by the Word of the Lord. He became aware of God's mercy and love for him, and desired to share this love and this message with others to whom he was sent. Preach-ing the gospel was often surrounded With sufferings of all kinds, yet Paul could testify: He comforts us in all our afflictions and thus enables us to comfort those who are in trouble with the same con-solation we have received from hiha. As we have shared much in the suffering of Christ, so through Christ do we share abundantly in his consolation (2 Co 1:4-5). Paul, like Jesus and the prophets before him, identified with the people to whom he ministered, and this identification was chiefly in their weakness and sinfulness, where the presence and power of God was most clearly evident. For Paul, this power of God was revealed uniquely in the death and resurrection of Jesus (1 Co 1:18~25). For the Ch.ristian, the death of Jesus has become the source of life--weakness has triumphed in God. Christ ". was crucified out of weakness, but he lives by the power of God. We too are weak in him, but we live with him by God's power in us" (2 Co 13:4). This conviction that it is in the experience of weakness that he meets the compassionate Lord, is also expressed by Paul in one of the rare glimpses he gives us into his personal prayer. After three times begging the Lord to remove a source of temptation, he received the response, "My Compassion: A Spirituality for Today / 593 grace is enough for you, for in weakness, power reaches perfection." Paul concluded, "And so I willingly boast of my weakness instead, that the power of Christ may rest upon me" (2 Co 12:9), ". for when I am .powerless it is then that I am strong" (12:10). The outgrowth of Paul's experience of God's love and grace is a powerful sense of gratitude. "We seem to have nothing, yet everything is ours" (2 Co 6:10). This sense of being gifted by God is the foundation not only of thankfulness to God, but also the basis for the kind of love for one another that Paul believed should characterize the Chris.tian community. Among all the Lord's gifts, none is as important as love, which is a gift of divine power. In Paul's famous description of Christian love in 1 Corinthians 13 we have the supreme challenge to respond to God's love. This agape which involves such geotleness, forbearance and selflessness can only come from one who has come to terms with his own weakness and his strengthening through God's love for him. It is the bond uniting the ¯ community and it results in a shared compassion: "If one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members share its joy" (1 Co 12:26). Compassion for Paul seems to involve first a participation in the death dimension of Jesus' life by experiencing his own finitude and limitation. Then through faith in Jesus and baptism 'into his death, Paul shares in the life-giving power of God, acting in him as it did in the resurrection of Jesus. To the Christians of Rome Paul sent the powerful reminder: Are you not aware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Through baptism into his death~ we were buried with him, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live a new life (Rm 6:3-4). Speaking of his ministry Paul writes to the Corinthians: This treasure we possess in earthen vessels to make it clear that its sur-passing power comes from God and not from us. We are afflicted in every way possible, but we are not crushed; full of doubts, we never despair. We are persecuted but never abandoned; we are struck down but never destro.y. Con-tinually we carry about in our bodies the dying of Jesus, so that in our bodies the life of Jesus may be revealed. While we live we are constantly being delivered to death for Jesus" sake, so that the life of Jesus may be revealed in our mortal flesh (2 Co 4:7-11). 594 / Review for Religious, Volume 37, 1978/4 This experience of the divine compassion is in turn the source of Paul's love and understanding of others in their weakness, and of his urging them to share their love with one another. This mutual living in love is the strength of the community which fulfills Paul's exhortation to compas-sionate living: "Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep" (Rm 12:15). With the background of this brief survey of the pathos of God, the divine compassion revealed in Jesus, and Paul's experience and teaching of the centrality of the Paschal Mystery in Christian life, we possess a foundation for the thesis that Christian theology is essentially a theglogy of compas-sion. If the biblical revelation which underlies our Christian faith is of a Transcendent God who bridges the infinite gulf between himself and us by the reality of his divine pathos, then our challenge in contemporary Chris-tianity is to discover ourselves not only as recipients of his compassionate love, but also as called to incarnate that love in our world through living a spirituality of compassion. A Description of Compassion Before discussing some implications for spirituality based on compas-sion, I would like to refine our understanding of the attitude of compassion and consider some valuable insights from a variety of sources and disci-plines. The richness contained in this concept, and its essential role in human relationships can only be touched on in a paper such as this, but hopefully, it will open up further areas for reflection and development. In its Latin derivation compassion literally means "to suffer with" (compatior). We have seen in the scriptural usage that it always implies some form of identification with human suffering. When speaking of God's compassion, the term often used was "mercy," from the Latin, miseri-cordia. Mercy denotes tenderness of heart, felt and expressed toward an-other, but at times its usage implies an attitude of condescension expressed toward an offender or one suffering disfavor or misfortune. In this sense it is closer to pity. When mercy flows from a loving heart which recognizes and identifies with the feeling and experience of the other, and promotes an appropriate response, it is closer to compassion. For Thomas Aquinas, God's mercy was known by its effects, and flowed from his goodness and love: To sorrow over the misery of others belongs not to God; but it does most properly belong to him to dispel that misery, whatever be the defect we call by that name. Now defects are not removed except by the perfection of some kind of goodness: and the primary source of goodness is God.~ ~Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, Vol. I (New York, Benziger, 1947), q. 21, a. 3. Compassion: A Spirituality for Today / 525 God's mercy, which has been called his supreme attribute, is never mere feeling, but always manifests itself in action. The New Testament abounds with examples of how Jesus, when moved with compassion, healed (the blind, the leper, the sick who approached him), forgave (the paralytic, the woman at Simon's house, the soldiers at the foot of the cross), or restored life (the widow's son, the brother of Martha and Mary). In an analogous way, human mercy is not measured by feeling but by concrete proofs, and when this expression of mercy flows from a sense of solidarity with the one who suffers, it is what we call compassion. As Rahner has written, "He who shows mercy receives more than he gives--the clear vision of his own emptiness which alone prevents him from losing the fullness he has re-ceived.''~ 6 Such an attitude preserves mercy from the taint of condescen-sion, and is a recognition of the Pauline theme that it is only in our aware-ness of our own weakness that we can experience God's power and be empowered to be a source of strength for others. The universality of this call to compassion can be seen by an awareness of its importance in many religious traditions in addition to the Judaeo- Christian revelation. A prime example of this is found in Buddhism where compassion is regarded as the highest virtue and is complementary to.the gift of wisdom. The Buddha had discovered the cosmic norm of truth through his attainment of wisdom (Pann6), and it was his primary desire to share this wisdom with those still enmeshed in the world of suffering. This compassion (Karuni~) was an outgrowth of his own contemplation, and hence, Buddha is designated a contemplative in action~ne whose self-enlightenment resulted in good for others. His compassion prevented his wisdom from being mere detached speculation, and his wisdom kept com-passion from being mere sentiment. Buddhism today (e.g., Mahay~tna Bud-dhism) continues this emphasis on the need to effect a liberation for men and women of our time. Because of our common destiny, compassion is viewed as the greatest reality. It is not achieved without great personal detachment, and thus involves the same renouncement and other-center-edness we have spoken of in connection with Jesus and the Christian's participation in the Paschal Myster