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March 13, 2006
La Madre's Way of the Cross
It should come as no surprise to anyone who is familiar with St. Teresa of Avila that her vision of the Cross is completely interpenetrated with love; not the Love of God for humanity, which she acknowledges and exalts, but the love of the person for Christ and His Cross. This is an interesting perspective and one that may help shed some light on the question of "taking up our crosses."
The Way of the Cross with the Carmelite Saints St. Teresa of Avila
They are too attached to their honor. . . . These souls, for the most part, grieve over anything said against them. They do not embrace the cross but drag it along, and so it hurts and wearies them and breaks them to pieces. However, if the cross is loved, it is easy to bear, this is certain.
For St. Teresa of Avila, love is the measure of all things. Everything that a person does is measured by the love lavished on it. When someone loves to do carpentry, the shelves, cabinets, and woodwork of his (or her) house shows the attention given to detail. When a person loves to cook, the meals prepared show the investment of time and love.
Most people's embrace of the cross is summed up in the word endurance. The cross is not to be loved, or even to be examined, and only just barely is it to be borne, and then, often, only with ill grace. What the Saint says here is that whatever makes up the cross for a person needs not merely be borne and dragged along--in this there is mere destruction. But it must be loved, loved as the present it is from the God who gives it. While wearing braces, a person does not love them, but afterwards, for years of straight teeth and good service, the love of them grows. Leg braces are nothing great to wear, causing the owner pain and humiliation, but without them there is no motion of one's own.
The cross is a gift from God. The crosses a person is called upon to bear are to right the irregularities in that person's spirit, to repair the flaws of original sin, and to make that person a perfect vessel of grace. It's hard to love what hurts, but when what hurts leads to perfection, a person can do it. It often hurts to lift weights, to jog, or to engage in other such activities--but because of the benefits that accrue to these activities many people do them, and many people "love" them. If so for things that help make better the life of this world, then how much more so for things that help make better life now and in the world beyond?
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:14 AM | TrackBack
Mars Maps
Thanks to Julie (aka Happy Catholic) who posted this link. Now, I'll be able to visit Mars any time I want!
Posted by Steven Riddle at 4:40 PM | TrackBack
March 14, 2006
Vocations
I have been thinking for some time about a post concerning vocations. Friday, Tom at Disputations, posted an notable entry about the meaning of a Dominican vocation, particularly as related to being a third-order Dominican. Interestingly enough he made the point that the charism of preaching is a charism of the Order as a whole which is supported, emphasized, and perhaps recharacterized by the individual appearances of that vocation. I have no intention of discussing the Carmelite vocation or charism at length, but suffice to say that while there is a single vocation--contemplative prayer, its expression and enunciation differ in a great many ways. No two contemplatives are exactly alike. However, every single Carmelite IS called to be a contemplative. I don't know if this marks a similarity or a difference with what Tom had suggested.
The point I wanted to make about vocation is that everyone has one. It may not be the traditionally recognized vocation to Priesthood, Religious Life, or Third Orders, but everyone is summoned by God to absolute holiness of life and the track of that summons, the path of that vocation, is laid out by God alone. No two people walk the same trail; no two people carry precisely the same cross; all people are made Holy by God's action and by grace, but no two people obtain the same graces, have the same talents, or exercise their abilities in precisely the same way.
This idea is prelude to another, which is more difficult to express. The second notion is that while no two people are called to the same exact track, there are practices, disciplines, and ways of living that are necessary for all people who wish to obtain holiness. For example, attendance at the sacraments and disposing oneself to God's prevenient Grace are necessary components to a Holy Life. Familiarity with and even immersion in the Scriptures ("Ignorance of the scriptures is ignorance of Christ") a necessary component. One aspect of this immersion, which has been frequently discussed is Lectio Divina. A certain amount of Lectio is useful for every person. However, Lectio as a gateway to contemplation is part of the Carmelite charism (and perhaps the charism of other orders), it is not a universal gateway, and it may not be the most effective practice of prayer for all people. Therefore, we also have bible study and bible-based prayers such as the Liturgy of the Word at Mass and the Liturgy of the Hours. All of these are ways of exposing oneself to scripture; however, it seems that effort beyond that of attending Mass is often extremely helpful to individuals in their attempts to become holy.
Each person needs to be acutely sensitive to what they are called to within their vocations. For example, St. Thérèse was a Carmelite, but she understood that as the BEGINNING of her vocation. Eventually she discovered her vocation to "be LOVE at the heart of the Church." What St. Thérèse revealed to us in those words is that vocation is not so simple as the surface might indicate. She did not reveal a new vocation, but a new understanding of vocation, and a new understanding of how vocation grows, develops, and changes as one becomes more intimate and familiar with God.
Each person needs to be sensitive to what God calls her or him to. To share an example from my own life--I know that I am NOT called to huge penances or mortifications. When I read about them in the lives of other saints, I'm immediately struck by the apparent psychiatric manifestations they propose. I correct those thoughts with the understanding that God speaks each vocation, and I am obviously not in a place to understand that path to holiness. As a result, I find no affinity whatsoever with some very, very holy people--St. Francis, St. Rose of Lima, and others. That isn't to say anything against these holy people, only that my own path is not marked that way, and this is part of the way I can discern that.
On the other hand, I have always hungered for the desert experience of God. I have always wanted to be with Him and not talk to Him, but simply sit in the loving presence. Anyone who describes anything like this experience is immediately appealing to me. There is greater appeal (for me) in those more firmly grounded in reality. I find St. Teresa of Avila wonderfully refreshing among mystics for her down-to-Earth practicality, "If you think you are having visions, perhaps you ought to eat more." This is the spiritual reality I desire--one firmly grounded in what we experience day to day, but still reaching out for the Cause of that reality.
Pay attention to these leanings and preferences. They are important signposts. But don't hold to them rigidly. For the longest time I avoided St. Thérèse like the plague. The mere thought of that simpering, sweet, sickly, little French girl just about caused treacle nausea. God has worked with me and brought me to a new understanding, appreciation, and love of this great Saint--she is now a mainstay of my spirituality. In short, I love her in a way that I love few others (La Madre and St. John of the Cross are in this select company. If I am to be brutally honest, the Blessed Mother still is not, but God has been leading me that way for a long time, and I trust Him entirely in allowing this to grow organically as it were.) Already, I've told you too much about me, but I simply want to present an example--not good or bad, but demonstrative of God's ability to conform us to His will and His vocation for us if we are willing. It's rather like the obverse of Jesus famous statement--"I will, be healed." It's as though God says to us, "If you are willing, I can heal you." And we respond, "I'm willing, heal me." That is the path of vocation. As Tom said, very wisely, and apropos of every vocation--when you've talked to one Dominican, you've talked to one Dominican. True for every person who seeks holiness by the paths God has laid out for them. Speak to any one of them and you will find a unique vocation. There will be elements of similarity in all vocations, but the distinct flavor, the distinct representation, the distinct expression of that vocation will be unique--no one else will gather together precisely the same elements and weave them in exactly the same way. As God created each of us unique and distinct from all others, so He knows with absolute surety the way each must walk to conform to holiness. And He will show that way for each of us if we are willing to listen and learn.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:13 AM | TrackBack
A Theology of Atonement
That appears to put blame squarely where it belongs--with us, not God. I don't know about the other aspects of this theology, but I find it far easier to believe that God did not require the death of Jesus, but inexorable humanity demanded it.
It may be a misunderstanding, and if so, I will submit to the proper understanding when I learn it, but I'll keep looking and keep loving, and keep being aware that the problem is squarely centered on ME. I need to stop calling down blood by my own actions. I must cooperate with Grace to lead the life of love God would have me lead.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:04 AM | TrackBack
Things I Need to Review Later
Foreign Policy: The Geopolitics of Sexual Frustration
I don't usually burden y'all with such things, but I need to look at these later in more detail. The first seems to have enormous implications beyond the suggestions of the article itself.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:17 AM | TrackBack
Simply, love, redux
Tom shares with us the beginnings of thought about God, God's love, and God's simplicity. Simply beautiful. And I thank you once again Tom, God bless you for your generosity in sharing.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:18 PM | TrackBack
March 15, 2006
Comments Again
aka The Problem Isn't OUT THERE, It's IN HERE. (points to heart).
I know you must tire of hearing about me. However, I always find helpful any insight, any retelling of the struggles one experiences in the spiritual life.
About a week ago, I closed the comments section for Lent. I did so because I thought that it would eliminate one particular temptation I had against the completion or even the doing of morning prayer. (This is a temptation that has crept into the repertoire or recent date, I not know whereof it comes.) I've received a number of e-mails both supportive and castigating (sometimes in the same e-mail).
What I discovered is that once the comments boxes were closed, new things cropped up that attempted to distract me from morning prayer. As I would deal with these externals one by one, I came to be aware that I was battling not the powers of this world, but the thrones, dominions, and principalities of the world beyond this one. In such a case my own efforts are futile without the aid of grace. God allows these temptations to strengthen my resolve to stay true to the discipline of the Church and more particularly to the Order to which I belong. And so, no amount of cracking down on the externals is going to remedy a flaw internal. Thus, it is better to accept the temptation and pray for the grace to remedy the internal flaw, whatever it may be, that gives rise to them. This is the more direct and useful mode of dealing with them.
As a result, I am reopening comments. Please be aware that if you do not receive a timely response to your comment, it is not because I am not interested, I am snubbing you or ignoring you; rather, it is because I am attempting to keep to my resolve with regard to this temptation.
And my deep appreciation and thanks to all who have commented and who will comment. This is one of the reasons community is so important in the life of every Christian.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:55 AM | Comments (13) | TrackBack
From The Rule of St. Albert
Reflecting on vocations again, St. Albert writes this in the Rule he proposed for "B. and the other hermits under obedience to him, who live near the spring on Mount Carmel."
Rule of St. Albert
Many and varied are the ways in which our saintly forefathers laid down how everyone, whatever his station or the kind of religious observance he has chosen, should live a life of allegiance to Jesus Christ--how, pure in heart and stout in conscience, he must be unswerving in the service of his Master.
"In allegiance to Jesus Christ" is the Carmelite motto. But it is uniquely Carmelite. Every Christian must live a life in allegiance to Jesus Christ, or risk being overwhelmed by the world. How one finds the proper bonds of allegiance and what outward manifestation that might have will vary. But it is not only the Carmelites who must live in allegiance with Jesus Christ, but everyone.
Also, it would be well to consider the origin of the term allegiance before it is dismissed as too light a bond.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:51 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Another Reflection on the Rule
From The Rule of St. Albert
Chapter 16
You are to fast every day, except Sunday, from the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross until Easter Day, unless bodily sickness or feebleness, or some other good reason, demand a dispensation from the fast; for necessity overrides every law.
What seems so wonderful in this simple rule is that it is so moderate. Yes, the long fast requirement is seemingly quite harsh--although it probably reflects the ways in which the hermits of Mount Carmel were already living. What is marvelous is "necessity overrides every law." This remarkably sensible moderation enters at the very foundation of the Carmelite rule. We are to see it surface again and again, with St. Teresa of Avila and her famous, "If you think you are having visions, perhaps you should eat more," to St. Thérèse's "little way" and its manifestation in "small things with great love." The Carmelite Way seems to be one of moderation in all things EXCEPT in the pursuit of union with God, about which it is completely immoderate--it is the goal, the point, and the source of life for Carmel.
What is remarkable is the subtle ways in which we are called to such things. I had no notion of the depths of the Carmelite Way or of the simplicity that is so foundational when I first joined. Indeed, I am only now beginning to understand some of the "mechanisms" of the Carmelite way and I am astounded continually by their sheer simplicity and beauty.
The Carmelite Way is not everyone's way, but it you are called to it, God will make that so clear as there can be no doubt. You may need help in the course of discernment, because it is so difficult sometimes to come to correct conclusions on your own, but then, that is part of what formation is all about.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 10:49 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
March 16, 2006
Fear of the Lord
The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom,
and the knowledge of the Holy One is insight.
Proverbs 9:10
from The Office of Readings: Thursday Second Week of Lent
from A Treatise on the Psalms,St. Hilary, BishopWe must begin by crying out for wisdom. . . . Then, we must understand the fear of the Lord.
"Fear" is not to be taken in the sense that common usage gives it. Fear in this ordinary sense is the trepidation our weak humanity feels when it is afraid of suffering something it does not want to happen. We are afraid, or are made afraid, because of a guilty conscience, the rights of someone more powerful, an attack from one who is stronger, sickness, encounters a wild beast, suffering evil in any form. This kind of fear is not taught: it happens because we are weak. We do not have to learn what we should fear: objects of fear bring their own terror with them.
But of the fear of the Lord this is what is written: Come, my children, listen to me, I shall teach you the fear of the Lord. The fear of the Lord has then to be learned because it can be taught. It does not lie in terror, but in something that can be taught. It does not arise from the fearfulness of our nature; it has to be acquired by obedience to the commandments, by holiness of life and by knowledge of truth.
For us the fear of God consists wholly in love, and perfect love of God brings our fear of him to its perfection.
The fear of the Lord is an acquired "skill," one necessary to wisdom, that does not spring from the primordial fear that accompanies us as guardian and protector (although often it gets out of hand and becomes tyrant). Couple that with the fact that this fear is learned and the fear takes on a new name: awe.
In today's world, many seem to have lost the sense of awe. Nothing seems to inspire people to the same heights that have been recorded in the past. We build taller buildings, we launch more ambitious projects, we see more majestic things, and there is a collective sigh and yawn. We are the children of the age of Ecclesiastes--we've seen it all and it is all futile and boring.
St. Hilary points out that to acquire fear of the Lord, at least three characteristics must be present in the life of a person: obedience, holiness, and truth. Awe cannot be present if any one of these is lacking. The order might be stated somewhat differently--a person must know the truth (of God and His commandments) and be humbly obedient to it as a prelude to holiness of life. Truth and knowledge are not the only requisites of a holy life, they are merely the start; but they are a powerful, meaningful start. These begin the "fear" of the Lord, which is perfected in the love that grows from them.
The dailiness of the day, the horrifying ennui of the movement from day to day, is broken by awe. A moment of sitting in the presence of God and recognizing Him who is and I who am not is sufficient for anyone to be revitalized, to regain a sense of awe and wonder at the magnificence of God. Without this necessary action even "billions upon billion of stars," are mere glowing balls of gas in the night sky.
If you look at young children, they have not yet forgotten awe. You see it in their faces as they look at each new thing. You see it in their behavior as they begin to react to these. Gradually, we train children out of this awe--we introduce them to the "real world," and work very hard to remove the stars from their eyes--not usually deliberately, but nonetheless effectively. I remember not so long ago when Sam would ask us what it was like before he was born. "What was it like when I wasn't born, when I was up in heaven with the angels and God?" He would ask this as though he had some memory of being in Heaven--it was magnificent, a breath of awe. Those questions come less frequently now, though we have done nothing consciously to remove them; nevertheless, our lack of response, of even being able to understand the question causes these questions to vanish, this memory of his to fade.
World-weariness, weltschmerz, is the dangerous offspring of a life not lived in holiness, obedience, and truth. One does not see this in the lives of the Saints. Rather one remarks in their every movement and every word a sense of profound joy, of profound peace. This is the proper offspring of love of God inspired by fear of the Lord. And this love of God brings the fear of the Lord to perfection.
O Lord,
This Lent,
teach me to fear you
as the prelude to proper love.
Set my feet in the paths of
truth, obedience, and holiness
that I may spread the light of your peace and joy
and be your humble servant here on Earth.
Amen.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 7:16 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Grace and Will
Perhaps this reminder is only for me, but perhaps there are others out there who are secretly lured into the waters of quietism--I don't know. However, when I pause to think that I can do nothing by myself except sin, the temptation is to do nothing whatsoever, because at least in so doing I won't be sinning. This isn't a realistic attitude, it is fatalistic, and it comes upon us when we forget the dual mechanism of Grace and Will.
It is true that I can do absolutely nothing on my own except sin, that grace powers every good thought or action. Grace inspires them and grace sees them through to completion. Explained that way, it almost seems as if a human mechanism were not required at all. If grace is doing all this stuff, why do I need to be involved at all.
The fact is, grace causes and completes all of these actions, BUT no action is done without the cooperation, however weak, of the will. True, grace supports even this cooperation--nevertheless, at some point along the line we must say, "I will it, let it be so."
Forgive the inept analogy, but grace and will are akin to a person who has long been laid up in the hospital or in a rehabilitation facility. Grace brings a wheelchair to the door, opens the door, puts the wheelchair where we can sit in it, walks around to help us lower ourselves into it, and then simply waits until we decide that we will actually do so--will. Every motion of the will is fostered, supported, and enshrouded by grace, but grace doesn't come and push us into the wheelchair. Grace waits. Not wishing to cripple us and make us less than our human selves, grace never forces the issue, it simply makes available every possible help to accomplish the actions of the will that correspond to God's will. God is the Divine Physician, and grace is His nurse. This is not to imply two different sources or a separation of grace from God, but rather the role grace plays in our healing--helping, aiding, constantly attentive and supporting.
Grace always works to move our will to where it should be. Just as the nurse getting the patient into the wheelchair will say, "Okay, everything is ready, now just slowly lower yourself. . . that's it, keep going, almost there." The nurse may hold the patient's hands or support the patient in some other way as the patient, aided by all of this seeks to comply.
I cannot do anything good of myself. Grace inspires all, supports all, completes all. But the good that I do, I must will to do and I must, at a minimum, cooperate with grace. (I won't go into the fractal nature of this process pointing out that even our cooperation with grace is supported by grace, because it becomes too mind boggling.) Grace makes everything possible even to the point of carrying us when all we can say, is "I want to do it." However, grace of itself cannot accomplish anything in the person who resists it. When we remember this key, the threat of quietism disappears. We can't sit around and wait for grace to do it all, we must move as she coaches.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:39 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Reflection on the Rule III
In part this is a reply to and confirmation of a comment made in the entry below about the Carmelite rule. I had been mulling this over for some time, and the response was the kind of confirmation I needed to go ahead and post these thoughts as disparate and tenuously connected as they are.
from The Rule of St. Albert
Chapter 18
Since man's life on earth is a time of trial, and all who would live devotedly in Christ must undergo persecution, and the devil, your foe, is on the prowl like a roaring lion looking for prey to devour, you must use every care to clothe yourself in God's armour so that you may be ready to withstand the enemy's ambush.
The subtlety of this translation is particularly appealing. Note that the phrase used is "God's armour," not the more usual "Armor of God." This is an important difference, even thought the Latin can usually be translated either way. God's armour is the armour that belongs to God , His own battle gear, as it were. The Armor of God is armor that is not necessarily a personal possession, but rather a creation of God himself.
During our recent retreat, the retreat master went to great lengths to lay out a clear biblical exposition of the meaning and presence of God's armor in the scripture. He took great pains to make us aware that this armor was not our own armor that was "manufactured by God," but it was the very armor God himself wears when he is figuratively described in battle in a number of old-testament passages. When we clothe ourselves with it then, following the whole concept of the Simplicity of God, we are putting on God himself.
Chapter 19 of the rule goes on to give the traditional description of this armor, following closely that in Ephesians 6. What Father John-Benedict pointed out very clearly is that the vast majority of this weaponry is defensive. There is only a single offensive weapon--the sword of the word. We put on the armor to protect ourselves in the midst of the ongoing battle, not to launch an assault ourselves. The battle is the Lord's, He is the victor, and His victory is already won, we are protected by God's own armor as we walk the battlefield--but Jesus Christ wins the battle on His own merits. Our job in the battlefield is to wait and pray for all of those who have not put on the armor, who are not protected and who are not even aware that they are walking through a war zone.
Spiritual combat is never directed at another person, as Joachim notes below, it is always directed at fighting evil within us, and we do very, very little except don the armor and let God fight (see the notes on grace and will below). The spiritual battle is good vs. evil and we fight it every day in the most seemingly insignificant choices we make. Do we give alms, or do we ignore? Do we judge or do we help? Do we choose what is forbidden us, or do we accept God's commandments as a central pillar of our lives? One by one, or all at once, we face these choices in seemingly little things--for some it may be the question of whether they buy the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated; for others it may be returning the extra 5 dollars that came back to you by accident in change. These are small, but meaningful choices and our ability to make them in accordance with God's will is fostered by putting on His armor.
Each moment has decisions enough for a lifetime--accept God's will or reject it. And we can only perceive and understand that will when we are encased in His own armor, one body of Christ fighting the evil within ourselves by allowing the Lord to enter and win the battle, taking back the world one person at a time through His grace. So, as I concluded a day or so ago when I reopened comments--don't look to wage the battle "out there," although the battle rages there also, fight the battle within--your choices there will echo and reecho throughout the outside world, changing it slowly, subtly, bit-by-bit, to be more a reflection of what we choose moment to moment.
Deuteronomy 30:19-20: [19] I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse; therefore choose life, that you and your descendants may live,
[20] loving the LORD your God, obeying his voice, and cleaving to him; for that means life to you and length of days, that you may dwell in the land which the LORD swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give them."
Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:10 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
March 18, 2006
A Library Tag Cloud that Describes Many of Us
My current Tag cloud. It reads very nicely:
20th Century American Catholic christian--golden age mystery religion.
Mostly true if you count my birthday as my "age."
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:45 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack