Monastic Silence

Over the next couple days, I fell more into the monastery schedule, becoming accustomed to the hours of prayer, the hours of solitude with Our Lord, and in spite of actually sleeping well, I still napped a little each afternoon.

Although on Friday, my first full day, I was not able to pray or read anything, Saturday I did pick up the Bible and read from the Old Testament. Even before my retreat, I'd been drawn for some reason to read the books of Judith and Esther, and found that once again, I had to read them. Several times, in fact.

I found the prayer of Judith to be especially poignant: "Oh Lord, have mercy on me! I am all alone and have no one but you!"

The fullness of Judith's humanity was lived out through her true feminity. She knew who she was and threw herself with abandon into the depths of the Father's mercy and providence. That book has so many Christological themes it would be well worth an in-depth study. As it is, some of my musings on her story came into full fruition while on the retreat and I'll write separately about that.

Through prayer, through discussions with the Sisters, through random scripture readings, different themes began to develop in the course of the days, bringing in some ways, a sense of clarity. The Holy Spirit was present and made himself known in many ways.

I saw my time there as a precious gift of love from God himself. In every moment, He knew what I needed and provided it. Maybe one of the most beautiful aspects of the visit was the nearly absolute void of emotion. There was no "mountaintop" experience. There were no deep valleys such as I'd experienced on my first discernment retreat. It was a desert. Nothing more, nothing less. If you've ever been on the high desert on a perfectly clear night...sounds travel for miles.

It was that clarity that allowed me to hear the voice of God. He wasn't far away or impersonal. He was as present as my own heartbeat.

Somewhere in there, although I can't say that I'm called to it,I fell in love with monasticism, grasping an intuitive understanding of it if not a fully theological one (although I have that, as well.) I knew that this is what drew me to visit the Cistercians, this is something God wanted me to see and experience, to the degree possible. Even though I was not allowed to enter the enclosure, having visited an active community, and through my own questions, I knew what was going on behind those doors. They were living their life, keeping house, doing chores, and praying. When I waited for Sister to come to the parlor to meet me, I heard some discussions on topics being discussed by the community for the purpose of study. I heard a lot of laughter, and in passing the silent nuns whenever they moved about outside the cloister, I saw bright smiles and joyful eyes.

Monasticism is beautiful in its simplicity, its holiness and its reality. It is a life that is fully human.

Previously, I'd believed that the Cistercians were extremely austere, although, now having visited them, I no longer have that impression. Austerity, certainly, is a factor in all religious life, and in some communities or Orders more so than in others. Yet it is always present for it is a required ingredient for anyone seeking holiness and to draw closer to God.

There is something about the stillness of the Cistercian monastery, though, the spiritual desert into which I was drawn as well, that made me see beyond intellect or emotion what this was really all about.

Although I've described it before, I return to the image of the chapel; the simple lines, spartan decorations, and the effect of which that draws one wholly to God. That's not to say the Saints are not present, too, for one Sister spoke of conversations with her Saints as she moved from one task to another. In a way, this makes absolute sense. When one lives closely with others, why would one need photos or pictures to remind you of them? We keep photos of our loved ones in places not graced by their presence. When we are with them, we have no need to pull their likeness out of our pockets.

While there, when I looked at the bare altar, I saw, pure and simple, the Cross. The blood of the martyrs, the altar of oblation. To make such a total offering of oneself is to become more like God and to act in a way more in union with Christ who set Himself as the example to follow in His complete act of Redemption.

One of the Sisters explained to me, joyfully, the community prayer where they truly lose their own identities in order to take on that of the Church. The Latin prayers go back to Medieval times, 900 years of the same melodies, the same words, a living offering of praise and sacrifice to God. As they pray, they pray for us all, standing between the world and eternity in an act of intercession. They live each day dying to themselves in order to become fully human, fully living for God.

Who are these nuns? Who are the people called to monasticism?

Normal people, like any of us. Normal people who heard the call of God to come away with Him into the desert as an offering of love, not just for him, but for the world. They live a hidden life and in so doing, live more fully and more powerfully than most of us will EVER be able to do.

It's a life of grace, a hard life involving the surrender of one's will (although not one's intellect as so many mistakenly imagine), and a life which is a clear way to perfection for those who are called and who answer freely. It is a life of freedom, a sign of contradiction to the world that would seek viciously to destroy it (and in fact, this has been attempted many times throughout history).

Yet it survives. They survive, fully living, ceaseless in prayer, ceaseless in praise and honor to God.

I will always have a soft spot for the Cistercians in general, and, in particular this community as welll as the Dominican community I visited earlier, and a love and respect for monasticism thanks to the dear Sisters who welcomed me and gave me their time and advice this summer.

My own discernment goes on, and I'll not reveal anything further than this. For just as these nuns live a life hidden from the world, so my own discernment lives, hidden within my own private personal cloister where God and I communicate unceasingly.

Such is the reality for anyone in discernment. Even when we don't listen, God never ceases to speak.

*

Entering the Silence

I woke up on Friday morning, my first full day at the monastery, grateful for the pure silence and the scent of farmfields that surround their land.

As I did not attend Matins, I was in the chapel at 5:30 am, preparing for Lauds in the darkness beneath the choir. I looked towards the altar and crucifix, asking God, "Is this where I'm supposed to be? Why am I here? What am I doing? Do I have a Vocation at all?"

I thought of all the people in my life wanting an answer, wanting to know if I'm going to, in my mother's words, "join a convent", and all the people all around me who keep telling me, "You have to make a decision!"

Every fibre of my being was screaming, "NO! I'm not ready!"

And as I prayed in the profound darkness of that morning, I didn't hear God make any demands upon me at all. The only thing I knew was His patient presence, and a sense that He wasn't asking anything of me at all. I considered the insight from the night before, to rest in passivity, waiting for Him. And slowly, all that anxiety began to ebb away.

I heard the nuns enter the choir above me, the soft ding/thump of the bell, and the sound from the pitch pipe to cue the plaintive tones of the nun beginning the chanted Latin prayers.

And from there, the Cistercian desert enclosed me within my own private cloister. It didn't matter if my questions weren't answered, because God wasn't offering answers. He was offering something else, something that required I let go of myself if I was to open my hands to receive what He had for me.

In that surrender, I found I couldn't even pray.

Since I could not directly participate in the Latin psalter, I prayed from my breviary, yet could not recall what I was praying. Nothing stood out. They were just words. All I was doing was saying words. When I tried to pray in any other way, there were no words, nothing. So all I did when I completed each of the Hours throughout the day, was profess my love to Jesus, because it was the only prayer I could muster.

And that, without emotion, without sentiment, just the bare truth.

It was a disconcerting day, one that maybe is a day for "detox". In my dryness, I couldn't even read. I picked up the Bible but it was meaningless. I wrote a little in my notebook, but the words were forced. Otherwise, the only thing I could do was sit or walk and then sit again, and think.

It wasn't that I really even missed my normal distractions. It was nice to be without them, but I didn't really know how to exist without some kind of direction. I was supposed to be praying or reading, and I could do neither. It was shocking to me to realize that, here I was, perfectly boring and God wanted to be with me? Why?!

At least I could think, though, and my thoughts wandered back to the previous evening. I realized that perhaps I was there because, unlike all the other seeming "spiritual giants" around me, I am a God's remedial student. There are people who are very in tune with God and seem to "get it" immediately. That's not to say they don't work at it, but in comparison, I know I'm really struggling. Studying theology helps, but it's kinda hard to study oneself into simplicity. I'm laboring and laboring and "not getting it" and so God in His infinite wisdom and patience, called me out of the classroom, into the hallway, not to say, "Jump now!" but rather, "Wait for me, you have no idea what you're doing and you're not ready yet!"

I realized that God had more to say to me. He's, even now, laying a foundation, and that morning when I met with Sr. A. for the first time, all of this was, in a way, confirmed.

One of the first things she said to me in our meeting was that I should just be open to God and follow where He leads. She said that only He knew why I was there; whether because I was supposed to enter the monastery or for some other reason. He had a plan. Sister said that the time is NEVER wasted, and usually, both they and the person visiting benefit in some way. She said that she loves to see how God is working in people's lives and how He brought them to visit their monastery, and so with this initial conversation I was able to relax, realizing that the pressure to make ANY decision was simply not present.

All of the pressure was on God, which is actually the way He likes it. As Sister said, when it's time to jump off the cliff, He'll give the push at just the right moment.

Throughout that day as I shed all the residue from my life, I became conscious of the eternal presence of God. It was active, even in the deep dryness, and it reminded me once again that prayer isn't about "feeling" but is really the perfect center of being.

Thus, even as I felt a part of myself dying and falling away, I knew that truly, I was beginning to live in a way I never had before, and I realized this through almost a clinical detachment that would have amused me if the silence had not been so deafening.

*

Cistercian Retreat

As I drove through the bluff country of Southwestern Wisconsin en route to the Cistercian monastery, I almost wanted to stop...anywhere...to delay my arrival. I didn't really know what to expect. It seemed I had to go through so much more just to visit than I'd had to do for the other two communities, yet somehow it seemed fitting. Still, it was daunting and I couldn't believe God hadn't slammed this door, preventing this trip.

My route took me in and out of rain clouds as I drove the long hours of Wisconsin until I finally turned off the freeway to head straight south, into the valley and into sunshine.

The monastery is a humble place, marked by a sign at the corner of their lot, and as I pulled up, the bell was ringing for None. I hesitated to ring the bell, at the front entrance, but realized that I didn't even know how long prayer would last, or whether the chapel bell signalled the beginning of prayer or a call to prayer within a certain time.

Sister came to greet me immediately and showed me to my quarters, outside the enclosure but tucked away in a safe place within the confines of the monastery. She handed me a schedule, gave me a tour of the areas I'd be frequenting, and gave an explanation of where to meet Sr. A. the next morning. As it seemed, I was basically on my own. As Sister left to finish prayer, she told me that I could take a walk down the road if I wished for it was a safe area and the weather was nice.

It was a bit unsettling to suddenly be left "alone" just outside the enclosure to the monastery, knowing only the hours of prayer, supper, and when to rise the next day. Sr. A. had left a note that I should not plan to attend Matins until after we'd met once. The Guest Mistress had explained to me that because it was so early (4:00 am) and still dark, if I did attend someone would have to come get me at the enclosure door and lead me through the monastery rather than allow me to walk outside and enter through the public entrance of the chapel.

God Wastes No Time

That first evening, after Vespers as I sat eating my small supper in solitude, I asked God why I was there. Would my questions be answered? Was all of this for nothing? What was I doing on a monastic retreat? What had drawn me here?

I considered the chapel, which in true Cistercian spirit was quite spare and devoid of decoration. There are no stained glass windows. The statues of Joseph and Mary were in the back of the chapel, although a picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe graced the wall behind the altar and to the side of the large crucifix, which of course hung front and center.

The altar itself was raised on three steps, and composed of simple stained wood. The Presider's chair was set directly behind the altar against the wall, and the tabernacle rested on a shelf of the same wood in the corner, veiled, and marked in the traditional manner with a red candle. In a chapel so sparse, one's eye is naturally drawn to the shocking red glow of the light signifying the presence of Christ.

I asked myself if I could ever get used to such a spartan chapel? The Cistercian spirituality, even having read about it, seemed somewhat vague to me, although I could sense intuitively that in that simplicity there was great depth.

Yet, I wondered about all my devotions, and the presence of those devotions in other religious orders and communities. I asked God about it, praying as I ate.

"Don't worry about all that."

I felt chastized. I knew that, for some reason, God had drawn me to visit this monastery, and I had to let go of my own attachments in order to allow Him to speak to me. I knew that the Angels and Saints were present with me, whether they were represented by statues, paintings, or icons or not. I came here to be with God, and THAT was what was important.

And on the heels of the gentle chastizement and my brief musings came that still small voice, even more tenderly yet more powerfully: "When have you ever let God just be with you?"

There it was. I was shocked nearly to tears on the spot. I earnestly pondered the question...and the reality.

God...wants to be with....me.

When have I ever let Him...be with ME?

I quickly finished my meal so that I could retire to my cell and spend time considering this gem that had come out of nowhere. I'd never considered God in these terms, exactly. I'd never really looked at the question and so I hadn't understood the implications.

For so long, I've been seeking God. Looking everywhere. Seeking Him out, His will for me, going to the chapel, to Mass, going to Him in prayer.

Of course I know that it is the Holy Spirit that inspires all prayer, for it is fully an action of God, and we do receive Jesus in the Sacraments. That seeking...that's a requirement. That's all part of it. It's action that we need to take.

But, it's possible to be too active. Suddenly I saw it. I'd been TOO active. Trying to take on too great a role in my relationship with Our Lord.

I had gone on the retreat in another act of trying to find God. But He spoke to me and explained as to a child that He didn't bring me there so I could seek Him; He brought me there so that He could be with me.

I realized then that my role was to be passive. Just as receiving the Sacrament of His Body and Blood on the tongue at Holy Communion was a perfectly passive action, so must I imitate that fully for three days. I could not reach out and take God into my hands, but rather, I had to surrender and allow Him to take me into His.

I had to put everything aside. I was away from all my distractions: no work, no dog, no phone, no computer, no music, no devotions. Only the Liturgy of the Hours, personal prayer, lectio divina, and silence, interrupted only by meals and meetings with those with whom my discernment would be discussed.

I had to learn to be still and know that He is God, and had something to offer if only I could, for once, passively receive Him.

It was humbling to realize that for so long I've been doing everything wrong, and yet, God used all of my errors to lead me into the desert where he could speak to me and open my eyes to realize the One Necessary Thing: He, and He alone.

And I was His willing captive.

*

Adoro's Monastic Adventure Continued

God (and several generous human beings working for and with Him) has given me six weeks this summer to focus on discerning whether or not I have a Vocation to religious life.

As you know, so far no questions have been answered. Which, really, is fine, as my spiritual director assures me.

I worry because I'm not getting younger. Others think I should jump off a pecipice just because I'm not married, and others want me to be a nun or a sister because they have a romantic idea of monastic life (which is no more romantic than married life, actually.) And still others fall into other categories in their bet-taking as to what they think I should be doing and why.

So really, it is those few voices, who are the chosen designates, who are keeping me on track both to keep me from being too discouraged and to keep me from making a hasty decision much like a person who runs a red light and is flattened by a semi just because the guy behind them beeps in impatience.

We've all passed such accidents, haven't we?

This Thursday I'm going to make another pass at monastic life, this one really intense. The Cistercians of Common Observance pray 7 times per day in community, work in silence, study in silence, and seek God in solitude while living in community. It is their practice to rise at 3:40 am in order to begin praying Lauds at 4 am, so that while you sleep you can rest assured that people are praying...for you.

I'll be driving to this monastery, only a few hours away, and this week I received the instructions as to what to wear, what to bring, what not to bring and whatnot.

The process for even VISITING this community has been quite the experience! We've been in contact for months, I was required to read a book, "The Cistercian Way" by Andre Louf, and I now learn I have to bring it with me.

Unfortunately, I don't own it. I got it from the library, and as it was an order from another library system, it took them 3 weeks to get it to me. Thankfully I have a friend who is sending me his copy and hopefully it will be here in time!

The communities I just visited didn't require much for the visit: only an open heart to hear God. Certainly I'm sure other contact is required, but that was fulfilled long before my plane ticket was purchased.

The Cistercians, on the other hand, sent me a form for a recommendation to be completed by my Pastor or Spiritual Director and believe you me, they were asking some heavy questions! I wondered why they wanted this just for a "come and see" type of visit where I would not be admitted to the enclosure, but so be it. I turned over the form, and my SD filled it out and sent it on.

I also had to write an autobiography, and the one I wrote on my blog or for grad school wasn't appropriate as those had the wrong focus. In addition to the actual story of my life, they wanted a self-assement of strengths and weaknesses.

All of this has been completed and sent, and in response, Sister sent me a list of instructions. I am to bring a Bible, a rosary, The Cistercian Way, the Liturgy of the Hours, toiletries, clothing proper to the outdoors and weather, and nothing else that logic doesn't dictate. I am asked to leave all other media at home (no problem! I don't have it anyway!)

I've been told I'll meet with her, the Prioress and the Novice Director, and alll will have read all correspondance between Sister and I, including my autobiography and reference from my SD, and they will keep it all in strict confidance. Comforting.

I feel like I'm under a microscope and I haven't felt like this since my law enforcement background. I'm still waiting to be told I have to meet with a background investigator from the CIA before my arrival at the monastery.

In speaking with others who also considered the Cistercians, they found the process so off-putting that they never continued and thus never visited. The Sister with whom I have been "speaking" explained that in the past they required the autobiography and recommendation with an application for entrance to the Order, they now require it at a 3 day visit.

By the way, they also define the 3 days; it wasn't by my request. They asked me to plan for five days, to include 3 full days there, 1 day for arrival and a day for travel home, and this, of course makes sense. I believe the monastery has hermitages for private retreatants and this kind of a schedule likely helps them keep things running at a proper pace during their busy guest season.

I wonder if my perseverance through this arduous application-to-visit process is maybe not as big of a deal for me because I've been through intense background investigations in the past? Both police and fire put me through my paces, sending me to intense physicals, psychologicals, physical tests, personal interviews, etc. I've been fingerprinted multiple times, my family and friends interviewed, my hometowns visited, employment records searched, etc etc etc. By comparison, this process is NOTHING!

It still seems invasive, yet I'm wi

lling to undergo it because something about the Cistercian Order has gotten my attention, has made me consider things more deeply, and that means I have to go.

So now, armed with my slight monastic experiences in an active community, a day and a half with my beloved Dominicans, now I prepare for the silence of an ancient Rule, one of austerity and early rising, something so contrary to my very being that it MUST be of God. Why? Because the idea of ME going there is totally insane.

Closing comments for obvious reasons. Thank you.

Where God Dwells

I am reading "The Cistercian Way" by Andre Louf, and am often having to stop and "process" parts of this book. There are concepts that have been introduced to me in my Spirituality classes, but find deeper expression here, making me stop and really contemplate who God is...and who I am.

Here is an excerpt:

"There is a place in every man where God touches him and where he himself is constantly in contact with God. This is simply because at every instant God holds us in being. Ceaselessly we come forth from his hands. The place where this creative contact with God takes place is deep within me. If I can reach it I can touch God. If I can arrive at a point where I can free myself from every other reality and bring the gaze of my spirit to bear on this point exclusively, I can meet God.

Some of the mystics have spoken of this place as an abyss or a well whose dizzying depths draw us like a magnet. Are we not in fact continually haunted by this desire for God, which leads us insensibly towards that reality in ourselves which is both the deepest and most divine part of our being? Other spiritual writers have taken their imagery from height, while others again speak of the pinnacle of the spirit or the fine point of the soul. They invite us to ascend these heights where we will meet God. This place is therefore the most precious centre of our being. There we come forth from the hand of God as his creatures; there we are begotten as his children."

~ The Cistercian Way, p. 72

Is that not profound? This afternoon I read this and had to put the book down, remembering the words of my professor a couple years ago: "God holds you in existence."

Indeed.

If that is true, then it means that no matter who or what we are, we are ALWAYS in contact with God. If we are in a state of mortal sin, we know that He cannot dwell within us for we have severed our relationship with Him. Yet, His contact is still there. He continues to hold us, continuing to be in contact with us. There is always that fine point to which we are drawn, no matter what we have done, no matter how much we might want to deny our source and our ends.

As long as we are living and breathing, that contact is there, and THAT is what draws us to conversion in every moment. THAT is what reminds us how we have come into being, for even if we are in intellectual denial, our souls will still draw us towards our loving Creator who desires that we return His own love.

In reading the second paragraph, I can recall the images used by different mystical writers. St. Faustina speaks of "the abyss of God's Mercy", while St. John of the Cross speaks of the "ascent" to God. Thomas Merton, I believe, also wrote of "ascent".

I think that in my own spirituality, I tend to gravitate towards the safety of the "abyss", not to be confused with something scary and awful, but maybe something more akin to...the womb. It is an interior place where God can be found, where He touches us, beckoning us to find Him even in conscious awareness. We can't get there through self-hypnosis, but only through searching His will, seeking Him sincerely, and cooperating with His grace.

We can't even find Him without His acquiescence and invitation. "Emptiness", in this section, isn't referring to a common interpretation of that, but rather, simply a rejection of distractions which, once removed, help us to focus on God, on His present reality, so that we may descend (or arise!) into that interior place where God touches us, holding us in the palm of His hand.

It is this that I am seeking. It is this contact with God. It is this meeting with my Creator, that ultimately, I want. My search for a Vocation is truly nothing other than a search for this ultimate union with God; this contact from which I was created and to which I am drawn for eternity.

I don't know why God created me, I don't know what He is asking me to do until He calls me into eternity. But I am comforted to know that in every moment, not only am I in the presence of God, but He has never once taken his hand from me nor will He ever.

Vespers:

Antiphon 2:

"Whether we live or die, we are the Lord's"

Antiphon 3:

From him, through him, and in him all things exist; glory to him for ever, alleluia!

*

Better to Keep Silence

There's more than one kind of solitude. And they don't all mean the same thing.

I've been wondering about my attraction to the Cistercians (Trappists), trying to figure out why this Order is so amazing to me.

I thought I was Dominican in spirituality; certainly, no "decisions" have been made. And the Dominican spirituality is not in conflict with that of the Cistercians. It's just interesting to me that although I have looked at Dominican cloisters, they don't attract me. And although in the past I've been in contact of the Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist...I no longer care to visit them. Maybe because they're too big.

Too noisy. Too popular.

I've always hated crowds and noise. I've never been interested in what's popular, preferring what's silent.

Growing up, I was always the "quiet girl". Clamming up has never really been a problem for me. Yes, I have my social moments, but it's not constant. I'd prefer not to talk to people in the morning right away, or just before I go to sleep. Talking to God is just fine. Interacting with others all the time?

Lemme alone.

I think it's the balance of community and silence that is attractive. The balance of solitude with God, and interaction with the "world" of the monastery that makes sense to me.

I've never been one to have a flock of honking friends. It's always been a few close companions, meaningful friendships, built on something real, not superficial. I like people; I don't like shallowness. I believe in making connections, and being present for people in need. But not in building "friendships" for the sake of numbers.

People I met long ago remain with me, their images burned into my memory. Like the little girl in Mexico City late one evening. She was maybe a pre-teen, wearing a soiled yellow tshirt with a soiled pink mini-skirt, wiping windshields. As she finished the job on the car ahead of us, she accepted a peso or so, looked around, flat affect, and then moved through the stopped traffic, onto the sidewalk, and disappeared into the darkness of the slums of Mexico City. I'll never know her name, but I'll never forget her; we "met" that night and I can't forget her story, even for that moment.

On Facebook, I have found high school "friends", people with whom I existed in those hallways, but who were not my friends. I look at their lives now, get glimpses of who they've become...and I don't want to know them now. They weren't friends then, they aren't friends now, and they will never be so. We have nothing in common. It is not that I don't love them; rather, the opposite is true. It is just that we'd have no words to pass between us to break up the silence.

Better to keep silence, then. To honor good will, or place good will in the silence where in the past there was only animosity.

There is wisdom in silence. There is wisdom in communication without words. There is honor in solitude, especially when that solitude is a more perfect union of love that transcends anything we can understand through our senses.

I worry about telling my mother about this Call I may have. She has an inkling, and and we spoke of it a few years ago. But not since. Mom fears I will leave her and never return.

Dad had the same fear. It wasn't unfounded. I can't do that to Mom. Her solitude is forced; mine will be chosen.

I worry about my brother. He won't understand. Even though he seriously considered the priesthood at one time, now he's fallen away, and the idea of living in cloistered austerity is so alien to him, I fear he'll think he's been betrayed. I want to be able to entrust him to someone; maybe a Catholic friend with whom he could discuss his fears, and his own sense of abandonment.

Because it'll be there. It's not about me per se, but about having a sister, an only sister, and then she's gone. I think I'd better understand "losing" him to a monastery than he could understand "losing" me to one.

Even though our family isn't that close, the connection is there, the importance of family is there, and our love is there.

I don't have to make these decisions tonight, or reveal these secrets to those who can't yet understand them. But the day is coming. So as I discern, I know I can't focus on myself, but I must be sensitive to the most important people in my life.

Christ said that we must let the dead bury the dead, that we must leave brother and sister, mother and father behind. But sometimes He DOES want us to wait. We have to trust HIS timing, and not our faulty understanding.

Right now, I think I'm experiencing a certain kind of solitude. Although I share some of what I'm experiencing, the deepest things are reserved. I have no spiritual director, unable to find one as of yet. It would be helpful to talk these things over, and maybe some of those things I don't want to speak but perhaps maybe should.

Step by step, God calls, but not until He decides we're ready. We may hesitate, but He knows the time, He knows our concerns. And if He won't abandon us, we know then that He won't abandon those we love.

The hour groweth late, and I must go, pondering these things, ever more deeply.

Until the time for action is upon me.
*

I Know Why He Went Away Sad

17As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up, knelt down before him, and asked him, "Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" 18 Jesus answered him, "Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. 19 You know the commandments: 'You shall not kill; you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness; you shall not defraud; honor your father and your mother.'" 20 He replied and said to him, "Teacher, all of these I have observed from my youth." 21 Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said to him, "You are lacking in one thing. Go, sell what you have, and give to (the) poor and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." 22 At that statement his face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions.

I know why the young man went away sad.

His question posed to Christ, asked in desperation while on his knees, is the same one we all ask, throughout our lives. And the answer given is a call to hardship, which we will only hear if we are truly open to hear it.

Notice that first Jesus told him what he already knew, just as we all hear over and over again what we already know; to follow the Commandments. In essence, he told the man to walk in holiness. And He does this so that the man will ask for more; this simple answer isn't enough, and Jesus knows it. He's setting him up to ask the question, "What more can I do?"

But that's a dangerous question, isn't it? If we had been present at that scene, we would have seen a young man desperate to know the next step, to do the next thing, to grow in holiness, even though he didn't yet know what that meant.

Until Christ explained that he, the rich young man, was lacking. Yes. He was lacking. The Commandments weren't enough.

I love the next line: "Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him..."

Profound. Jesus looks at us all in this manner. When we come to Him, desiring more, desiring to know Him, we have already responded to the grace to come and kneel at His feet. He looks at us, and He loves us.

All day long, everywhere I've looked, that message has come home to me. Over and over again. In scripture passages. In articles I read at work while putting a project together. When I said I couldn't find God in something, His action was pointed out by other people.

We all want to know that Our Lord loves us, but when He reveals His love, and we see what that really means, it can be terrifying in its strength, in its purity, and in the necessary sacrifice that reveals it.

Jesus told the young man what he must do; not just obey the commandments, but give up EVERYTHING to follow Him. The man wanted to follow Him, but didn't understand until then that doing so would require everything of him. Nothing in reserve.

Nothing.

He had to be willing to offer his life, fully and without reserve.

Jesus, looked at him, loved him.

Today, Jesus looked at me, and loved me, too.

And the words He speaks terrify me.


23 Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, "How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!" 24 The disciples were amazed at his words. So Jesus again said to them in reply, "Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God!


Jesus doesn't mince words; following Him is a life of sacrifice. Entering the kingdom of God means we must surrender our "wealth", even if what we have is pitiful. If we're attached to it, it means we give it value; that makes it wealth. And as long as we hold it in reserve, we can't really follow Christ. We have to be ready to let it go.

Possessions possess us.

26 They were exceedingly astonished and said among themselves, "Then who can be saved?"
27 Jesus looked at them and said, "For human beings it is impossible, but not for God. All things are possible for God." 28 Peter began to say to him, "We have given up everything and followed you." 29 Jesus said, "Amen, I say to you, there is no one who has given up house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands for my sake and for the sake of the gospel 30 who will not receive a hundred times more now in this present age: houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions, and eternal life in the age to come.


Today I received an email from the Vocation Director at the Cistercian community I had contacted. She is sending me information and has encouraged me to continue to discern whether God might be calling me in that direction, believing our contact was providential.

This evening in speaking with a friend, I told him that I really do want to visit the Cistercians, and told him how crazy this idea is. It's completely insane. And all he said was, "Don't you realize that's how you know it comes from God?"

I don't think he had any idea how hard that statement hit me. I truly hadn't thought of that.

It was one thing to be considering religious life; many communities really don't live that much differently than I do already. Yes, I have stuff, and I'd be happier without it. The idea of getting rid of my possessions really isn't so bad. There are things that would be difficult, but I know I could do it and ultimately they would not prevent me from following where Our Lord calls.

But there are things I hold in reserve. My own private stash of personal wealth. It's not money. It's not jewelry, or anything else.

It's my life. I'm still guarding it jealously. Jesus wants it, everything, without reserve, and I'm still screaming, "It's mine!"

But no, it's not. It's a gift, and as such, he'll let me do what I want with it. So on one hand I have my perceived definitions of happiness and freedom; I think of the little things in life, and the bigger things, like my friends, the ability to travel to visit them, a so-far unrealized desire to visit the Holy Land. Things I want. Things I'd miss. My family, my small immediate family.

But I'm being drawn towards the Cistercians. Austerity incarnate. Giving up EVERYTHING, even the smallest of pleasures. No more comfy bed. No more cushy job.

Obedience. Penance. Chosen suffering.

After living so long on my own...obedience in small daily matters, my will given for the glory of God, to another. For holiness.

And not just for myself, but to die to myself, and live for others. For their salvation. To be free to carry out sacrifices on their behalf, offering what they cannot.

I have wealth to offer, although I've never seen it as wealth before.

Myself. I can offer myself.

And that's why the young man went away sad; because he knew what Our Lord offered him so generously, and what he had to offer in return.

And he wondered if the price was too great.

And so he went away sad.

We don't know if he ever returned; we assume he did not, so we'll never know the end of that story.

But we do know that Jesus loved him, and the man went away sad.

And therin is what we all need to think about; how can one profoundly realize the love of Jesus, and then choose anything less?

That's what makes us sad.

*

Purgatory on Earth

I have been reading Rumer Godden's In This House of Brede, set in Great Britain, about a woman in her 40's who leaves her professional life to become a cloistered nun at Brede Monastery. It's been especially poignant for me as my own friend has entered a Benedictine cloister, and it seems, in some senses, that I've been reading about her and her Sisters.

But it's also made me ask other questions, given the point I've reached in my own discernment.

While I've not given a lot of thought to entering a Papal enclosure, there are thoughts that draw me to it. The contemplative life IS attractive; it's tough, it's stable, and it's tranquil. The idea of routine does draw me, I have to admit. I love the idea of singing the Divine Office, I love the idea of learning the chants, of becoming a part of the tapestry that is the liturgical year.

There is a part of me that adores the hidden life; it's one of the reasons that even though so many people know who I am, I continue to blog under a pseudonym.

And yet, there is a part of me that rebels. Even as I want to be anonymous, I want to be known, and I'd lose that by entering the enclosure. If I wrote something, it wouldn't be under my name, but signed as an anonymous nun. Even as I love the habit and the importance of it, I'm not sure I'd be able to handle not being recognized within it.

I'm a person who would never stand out in a crowd...and yet, here I am, in my vanity, worried about being recognized in a habit!

Do you see the irony?

But I have yet to tell you about the biggest draw to that kind of life, and it transcends all of the above; purgation.

In reading about Brede, and in reading separately about the austere lives of the Cistercians, who also follow the Rule of Benedict, I have been deeply struck by their way of life.

It is a purgation; they die to the world, and live in self-denial, praying not for themselves, but for others, for the Church. They go about their daily tasks, they do what they need to do in order for the community to survive, but observe silence where they want to speak, eat what they may not want to eat, and spend most of their hours in prayer.

Purgatory.

How little we hear of it, and yet, we must bear it out when we go to our Judgment.

And there are some who are called to this purgation on earth, to divest themselves of pleasures on behalf of themselves and the rest of us (more so the latter). To offer everyday sufferings, the life in a cloister, to leave life early in order to spend time in the earthly fires of purgatory, perhaps praying for a special cause.

We could not survive without these prayers, without these very real men and women who are praying for us at every hour, all over the world.

I don't think I could ever live that life, but the insight from this book prompts me to pray for them, for all our dear brothers and sisters who deny themselves...for us, the Church.

Pray for them. When you wake up at 1:14 am, offer a prayer, no matter how small. If you have insomnia, take at least a moment of it on your knees in unity with those who pray for you. And when you rise, offer a Hail Mary specifically for cloistered Vocations, the most hidden of lives, the least prayed for, the most unseen.

**