Desolation has not the last word

Over the past week I've learned very clearly that desolation is also a time of great temptation. As if that were not enough, every sin of my past has come back to me with vigor, to discourage me from perusing my chosen spiritual path. "See how unholy you really are." That type of thing.

The point of course is that I am not unholy. If I believed every insinuation by the enemy spirit [oh my did I say that!?] I would be utterly despondent by now. This was not happening before I decided to become Roman Catholic, and pursue the life of a religious solitary. Interesting. Especially since the prime attack seems to be temptations mixed with horrible feelings of regret; things that urge me to hate myself. Which is the direct opposite of God's love for me. Therefore it is indeed desolation.

Yesterday, on my way to mass, during the usual barrage of horrible memories, discouraging conclusions, etc., it occurred to me that these thoughts should not be taken personally. The thoughts, urgings, all the painful stuff, it only wants to pray!

Let me repeat that. All the agony of our past, when it rises to the top, is not there to torment us, it is there wishing to pray. We must pray for it, as a memory is not something that can pray. When it rises it has to be let lose to God, immediately. If you hesitate, it becomes harder and harder to let it go. It seems that this applies most easily in times of desolation.

And now I've lapses into that type of spiritual writing I most detest. Assurances of spiritual truth dressed up in pious phrases, which sound wonderful, and comforting, but do not give the truth of the experience which prompted the writing.

The proof I have to offer is what it has accomplished in me. After I realized that the pain only wanted me to pray for it, to be open to let it pray, it went away. At mass, Fr. James was homilist, and he quoted Romans, that nothing "will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

My proof is the comfort, and grace that flowed into my heart.

Indeed, what can even hope to " separate us[me] from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Desolations

Spiritual desolation is harsh. All manner of troubling thoughts provoke the mind, each one suggests an idea to discredit faith. The cold light of Reason Alone begins to sound over God Alone. I say sound over God Alone because God Alone can still be heard. Perhaps reason is the counter balance to disordered faith? Reason points to the spots in my faith where I have some expectation of God to make things easy. Taking a step closer to God always involves actions that are hard and/or frightening. Our trust is confronted, we are asked "how serious are you? Will you step out over the abyss of faith? Will you trust the Lord to save you?"

There is the moment that Reason Alone steps in say, "why bother with any of this? It's all just your imagination. Get serious and face reality as it is."

Again I can only say, "taking a step closer to God always involves actions that are hard and/or frightening." Now spiritual desolation starts up. I want, need, desire, something solid from Heaven. I forget that Heaven does not function strictly to meet my every request like some kind of Divine warehouse where you can order this grace, or that.

The graces. The gifts. The desolation. All are from God. St. Paul assures us in Romans that no matter what, we have the victory.

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

So, even in desolation and fearful trusting, as I step out into that abyss of faith, I know that if I only hold on, I will prevail.

Things Devilish

Even though this blog is read by a crowd of one, or maybe two on occasion, I have been very reulctant to share exactly what has been going on in my conversion process Anglican >> Roman Catholic. The reason is that what I think is going on, is kinda spooky. Well, it is to me at any rate.

What I failed to mention in my Wednesday, Easter 2 post, is that when I told Fr. James about my sudden reluctance to the idea of becoming RC, he almost jokingly said, "the devil's after you." I know, funny, haha. But, what do you say when something within you says that is precisely what happens, that the devil begins to oppose the change, because it is movement in a positive spiritual direction. The devil is opposed to positive spiritual moves. Because I don't like to think about the devil

I have always gone by the belief that the less power given to the devil, the better. Paying any attention to the devil is a way of giving power to the devil. Let me be very specific: we do not have to see the "unseen" enemy, AKA the devil, for evils work to be accomplished. Satan does not require us to imagine him or even to believe in him for his power to work.

Yet, by relegating Satan and all his angels, pomps, etc. to the guardianship of Christ Jesus, then what can Satan do to me? The Love of Christ is greater than the power of Satan. The devil suggests things better left un-thought, and nudges in directions that seem perfectly reasonable, but are better left undone.

The problem has always been called the personification of evil. There is danger that such personifications are projected onto someone else, the 'other.' That is how genocides are 'reasoned out.' That is how scapegoating occurs. That is how we justify our personal and petty hatreds, resentments, jealousies, imagined slights, blah blah, the list is endless! It seems that the problem of the personification of evil is not some possible problem, it already is a problem.
We say that genocide or scapegoating is a personified evil, then how much further is it to imagine Satan?

There is the evil that is in the world, that kills and rapes, maims and abuses in every way. That is one set, or Uber set if you will. Then there are the sins of the community. And finally, the sins that are inside of me, and you. My sins are part of the problem of evil. Your sin, every sin committed contributes to an energy source that feeds the evil things that are at work in creation. If I look at it in this way it makes my own sins seem dreadful in the extreme. No one I know wants to feed evil.

Again, I need to reassert that my faith is that the Powers of this world are in subjection to God, through Christ Jesus, at every millisecond we exist. A fully developed hierarchy of evil is not required. Know that it exists, and know that it cannot prevail unless you let it happen. It's easy to just let it happen, so the eyes of the heart must be left open.

This wasn't meant to be a meditation on things "devil," but Fr. James remark set me to thinking about it. Also, I am a little surprised to see my conversion to the Catholic Church is being opposed in this way. All this is going on because I made a decision to pursue the path of a Solitary. Now my sins are reeking in my own nose, and I am humbled.

Wednesday of Easter 2

I went to visit Fr. C. Monday, at Holy Trinity. It was our first meeting to determine how we could best lay out a path of study for my instruction in the Roman Catholic Church. He is a very kind man, and a very intelligent man. It should be interesting.

What was also interesting was when I got home and started freaking out thinking 'what on earth am I doing? Catholic?'

And then every negative thing that does indeed bother me about the RC came rushing to mind. However, it was clear from the start that the emotional response I was having did not match the objections. Clearly something else was operating in the question. I recently read a book about the discernment of spirits according to the Ignatian method. The rule about spiritual desolation had said that when in spiritual desolation do not change anything that you had begun while in spiritual consolation. Make no changes.

Okay, so that was a deeply comforting thing to know when I needed it the very most. What is creepy is I've never really studied St. Ignatius rules for spiritual discernment. Two weeks ago I buy a book on the subject for the first time. Did that happen so that when the fear/upset/attack of Monday afternoon came, I would have the tools to withstand it?

I really botched Monday night's Vespers , so deep was my distraction. I went to bed kinda sorrowful. Tuesday I was up in time to read Vigils here at home. Saying the psalms slowly really helps me stay on task in private Liturgy. The psalms are full of a kind of oil that is sometimes for soothing, and sometimes for frying. Is any other source of lectio richer, with the exception of the gospels? And, where did this tradition come from, the using of psalms in this way? Why, of course, it came through the tradition of monasticism. Monasticism is part of ancient Christianity. There are two churches of ancient origin. Eastern Orthodox, and Roman Catholic. The eastern church froze in about the 5th Century, and the Roman in about the 12th.

Can any better be said for Protestantism? There is not unity amongst the Protestants either. Everything about the Reformation had its root, in one way or another, in the Roman Catholic Church. And yes, the history of said RC is not pure. Neither is the history of the Protestants either! The history of Tudor England points that out in lurid, and spectacular bloodletting. Let's not even discuss the slaughtering of Jews that has been the sport of European and Slavic Christianity since Jesus crucifixion. John Paul II was a great man who apologized for that very thing. Or the Wars of Religion in France. Notice the plural of war.

When I was younger I read a biography of Pope John XXIII. I liked him a great deal, his nerve, his intellect, and his obvious faith; yesterday I started reading his Encyclicals and found this.

In the first place we notice a progressive improvement in the economic and social condition of working men. They began by claiming their rights principally in the economic and social spheres, and then proceeded to lay claim to their political rights as well. Finally, they have turned their attention to acquiring the more cultural benefits of society.

Today, therefore, working men all over the world are loud in their demands that they shall in no circumstances be subjected to arbitrary treatment, as though devoid of intelligence and freedom. They insist on being treated as human beings, with a share in every sector of human society: in the socio-economic sphere, in government, and in the realm of learning and culture.

Secondly, the part that women are now playing in political life is everywhere evident. This is a development that is perhaps of swifter growth among Christian nations, but it is also happening extensively, if more slowly, among nations that are heirs to different traditions and imbued with a different culture. Women are gaining an increasing awareness of their natural dignity. Far from being content with a purely passive role or allowing themselves to be regarded as a kind of instrument, they are demanding both in domestic and in public life the rights and duties which belong to them as human persons.

That was written in 1963. Those are words I can stand behind, uttered by a Pope whose memory I respect. It gave me a measure of peace. The life at the Abbey also bears witness to the goodness of this new way of seeing the Roman Catholic Church. It's a long process, I can see that now. I say that because yesterday I bought a copy of the Catechism. Good grief! What a formal, legal style document the thickness of a decent cities white pages. But, I shall forge my way through it. Fr. C wants me to mark it up, and I intend to do just that.

If any should read this, please pray for me.

Friday in the Octave of Easter

After the resurrection, Jesus appears to his disciples . Did Jesus not look like himself after his resurrection? Did his God nature transform his appearance? Why is it that they persist in not recognizing him? Especially in today's reading. There is something more at work here than merely not believing what they're seeing. It says no one dared ask him who he was, because they knew it was the Lord. Did he look different they should even wonder who it is?

It's possible, according to the NAB footnotes, that the entire chapter is an addition, but an early one because it appears in all the earliest copies of John. That is based on the style of Greek used in the chapter that seems to point more to a Lukan origin. Also, they mention the similiarities to Jesus original calling of Peter, etc. And all that is very interesting but not very informative on a strictly spiritual level. Then again, that's not the job of footnotes, now is it? Of course not, it is the job of individual Lectio.

The following are an outline of paths for reflection. No internal cohesion is implied.

The dramatic impact of John 21:1-14, is the exquisite structure of the scene. After a night of fishing without success, the group approach the shore where a man is standing. He asks them if they caught anything. "No." So this man says to put the nets out on the right side of the boat, and they catch 153 fish. At this point, the "disciple Jesus loved," says to Peter. "It is the Lord."

Before going any further, I can easily imagine how they heard the man's voice, and had to have thought there was something familiar about that voice. Then that surprising catch of fish! Peter must already be peering toward the stranger on the shore when John turns to him and says, "it is the Lord." Take a moment, to savor that moment. The water lapping against the boat, the heaviness of the catch in the net; and the slow dawning of awareness.

Peter leaps out of the boat. Now, the story does not say why he did that, or even that he arrived on shore before the others. Still, the event is related to us for a reason. Early in literary studies one learns that there is no such thing as an innocent narrator, or comment. If something is relayed to you in a story, it is important. Now we are free to ask Peter: why did you jump out of the boat? Did you begin to pull the boat ashore so they could all arrive more quickly? Could the excitement you felt not be contained?

And onshore sits Jesus, with a fire, fish and bread, and it's all hot! Ready to eat! They've worked all night and here is breakfast. He, the Lord of their future glory, and the Lord of the catch less nights, is waiting for them with a hot breakfast. Food is very important to Jesus everywhere in the gospels. Why? Perhaps because the simple act of having hot food ready for someone who is tired and discouraged, is an act of love. It shows that the preparer, and the one prepared for, are in a cycle of love. May we all be in a cycle of love with one another, and with Jesus. Amen.

Monday of Easter Week

Wow, what a liturgical schedule the monks keep for Holy Week. It's not too much, just very nearly. You might think of a written review as being more appropriate for opera, concert, play, book, or even a poetry reading, but never for a church service. When I say a review you shouldn't think of a critique of performances by this cantor, or that celebrant, that's not the idea. A review of a liturgical experience should be entirely on a spiritual level. For instance, during communion at the Easter Vigil, Fr. Chrysogonus led the Cantori in the Chant, Resurrexit

I arose and am still with thee, alleluia: Thou hast laid Thy hand upon me, alleluia; Thy knowledge is become wonderful, alleluia, alleluia.

I was seated in the plastic seats, in what I affectionately refer to as the 'second church,' and because I almost always sit in the monks choir stalls, which I call the third church, I could see the singers. The moment the chant started the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and a woman seated behind me began to sing along very softly, and I joined her. It was a holy moment, a moment of deep spiritual connection. In a few seconds I was connected to the ancient church which first sang those words, the great antiquity of the melody, the age that has passed between them and us. Beyond even that was a greater connection, more immediate: between the lady behind me, Fr. Chrysogonus and the Cantori, and those others present who knew that chant by heart, knew it's deep meaning.

That is what I mean by a review of liturgy. We must review the liturgy by where it has led us in our own hearts. It is my belief that people do not talk about this enough, if at all. Yes, it matters if we sing in tune, but also it matters if we believe what we sing, in or out of tune. By believing, we posses.

Maundy Thursday. Although I did not go, the Vigils of the Triduum, the ones at 3:15 in the morning, were special. They had a modern candle stand with seven candles in it. The psalms were all said by an individual monk standing at the candle stand. Apparently the seven candles provided the only light in the church. I am sorry I missed it, I won't next year.

The mass was at 4:30 in the afternoon, and was complete with foot washing. Sets of monks went about the community and washed every monastic foot. Not one monk went unwashed. I found that an amazing moment. In other situations only a few people have their feet washed, but not at the monastery. No, if you are a monk, you will submit to having your feet washed, even if you worry you have ugly feet!

At the end the Abbot was vested in a Cope, and he took the Sacrament in procession, with incense and candle bearers, to the guest chapel, where it was placed on the altar, and adored by all kneeling and singing. And there was a great deal of incense. A very intense worship experience.

Good Friday. Prominent on Good Friday was the sound of the Ratchet. Percussionists know the Ratchet as a musical instrument. After the Gloria is sung on Holy Thursday, neither the organ, nor the bells sound again until the Vigil of Easter. In place of the bells is the Ratchet! I have no idea what the monks call it, it is a Ratchet. Let me assure you that the sound is one I've heard countless times in my musical life, but never before has the sound of the ratchet moved me more!

There was an Adoration of the Cross. I liked that very, very much. It is a very Eastern Orthodox thing to do, to line up to kiss a plain wooden cross held by the Abbot. It was also unspeakably moving. The closer it came to my turn, the more I wanted to kiss where Jesus left hand was nailed, but everyone was kissing the foot, so I did too. By the time the liturgy was over I was emotionally worn out.

Then the Vigil. First of all, it was cold, and they light the New Fire outside on the other side of the parking lot. I stayed on the porch and watched. Two cowled monks stood out there too for a while. The sky was cloudless, the stars were shining, eventually the fire was lit, and it was a light in the darkness. By the time we were all in our seats and the Exsultet was begun, the special atmosphere "became" that is only apparent during the Great Vigil of Easter.

Tuesday in Holy Week

Today's reading from the RB is how we do nothing in the oratory (church) except pray. Nothing is to be stored there either. The Oratory is not for talking, visiting, etc., it is for praying. I'm fond of this section of the Rule because it speaks directly to the holiness of place. Joan Chittister, OSB tells us

There is, in other words, such a thing as a spiritual well where simply being in that place can tap open that special part of our souls and enable us to touch the sacred in the secular. "Let the oratory be what it is called," Benedict said. Have a place where you can go in order to be about nothing but the business of being in the presence of God so that every other space in your life can become more conscious of that presence as well.

She treats today's reading as a call to the holiness of right here, right now! What you do in a space matters. How you carry yourself in a space matters. Wherever you find yourself at any time, that space matters. As bearers of Christ within us, then every place we go must become a place that matters.

Now, that doesn't mean every place we go is an oratory, or should be treated as one. It does mean however that we should be very particular about how we behave in, and care for, our particular oratory. If a room is set aside for prayer, then it should never be used for reading a mystery novel. While God is everywhere and nowhere, the place where I go to meet God regularly is somewhere in particular, and that place becomes sacred for it.

Monday in Holy Week

Last night I hardly slept at all. It was a long stressful day so not sleeping seemed counter intuitive, but that's what happened.

At some point between Saturday night and Sunday morning, my oldest aunt, age 90, passed into the nearer presence of God. It was not unexpected, but it is the first of my mother's siblings to pass away. Yesterday was partially taken up by getting her flight arranged and packed up to go.

Then I took a hike with a friend, although I thought it was going to be fairly easy, we went further than my hip would tolerate and it was pretty much uphill all the way back. I was not happy with him because I had told him before the trouble that walking too far has for me. But I realized something, unless you have an injury that can be seen on the outside, then no one believes you have it! Oh well. What I know and what they think have almost always been two different things.

All the above whining is preface to the fact that I woke up every hour on the hour, starting the first hour after I went to bed. At 3am I gave up and got out of bed. What else was there to do but say Vigils? My whole being is on pins and needles, but I said Vigils anyway, and will go to mass at the monastery around 6am. Even though I'm frazzled, I'm not letting it stop me from keeping my religious observances.

The funny thing is even though my mind is wandering, and concentration is near to zero, I'm comforted by the routine of the prayers. It is as if everything can go wrong, but the prayers are always there. It's gravity in an ever changing world.