Paths of Renewal for Religious

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Sept. / Oct., 1986 Volume 45 Number 5

Manuscripts, books for review and correspondence with the editor should be sent to I~v~Ew FOn REt,tG,OUS; Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd., St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the department "Canonical Counsel" should be addressed to Richard A. Hill, S.J.; J.S.T.B.; 1735 LeRoy Ave.; Berkeley, CA 94709. Back issues and reprints should be ordered from REVIEW ~Oa REL~C~OUS; Room 428; 3601 Lindell .... Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. "Out of print" issues and articles not published as reprints are available from University Microfilms International; 300 N. Zeeb Rd.; Ann Arbor, M! 48106. A major portion of each issue is also available on cassette recordings as a service for the visually impaired. Write to the Xavier Society for the Blind; 154 East 23rd Street; New York, NY 10010. Dominican Mission and Apostolic Common Life

Mary A nn Fatula, O.P.

Sister Mary Ann is the Chairperson of the Theology Department of Ohio Dominican College (1216 Sunbury Road; Columbus, OH 43219). Her last article, "Trusting in the Providence of God," appeared in the issue of January/February, 1986.

In company with other religious orders, we Dominicans have placed a great amount of energy into reclaiming our mission of apostolic preaching in the Church. Yet even as we have become increasingly competent and professional in our ministries, more than a few of us have sensed that something is radically missing from our reappropriation and that our mission requires far more of us than the total dedication of our energies to ministry. If we are honest, we must admit to a growing pain which we too easily push aside because we fear the cost of facing its implications. We find our ministries consuming us, sapping our energies and perhaps making very little real or lasting impact on others in spite of our hectic lives. At the same time, we see that the women and men drawn to Dominican life do not come to us for the sole sake of ministry. In many cases they already have been successful in a ministry and are looking for a committed community which will nourish their prayer and service in the Church. Yet we know in our hearts that precisely what these young people desire and have aright to expect from us we seem unable to offer them. In addition, our study of Dominic shows us that his vision entailed not simply a task to be accomplished but the far more comprehensive and demanding reality of a life to he lived. As we catch glimpses of these truths, we are beginning to suspect that our desire for "something more" in our life together expresses 641 642 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

the Spirit’s own cry within us for the very life to which this same Spirit has called us: a life of preaching as the apostles did, out of a rich communion not only with the Lord but also with one another.

The Relation Between Dominican Mission and Apostolic Common Life Many of us may not have reflected on the importance of community when we entered religious life, and yet we probably experienced its value, at some level at least, simply because we could not escape its structure. Today, however, we often have local settings in which hardly a semblance of community life exists. On weekends no one is around; on weekdays it is difficult, if not impossible, to find one evening during a given month when even a small community is present in its totality at a supper meal. In many instances, not much binds us together except the TV set. We know by experience that simply promulgating laws does not make us choose something, no matter how valuable it is. We make free commitments because we have experienced the beauty of the reality held out to us, or because our hearts and minds reach out to claim a value when its beauty becomes apparent to us. Perhaps we do not experience the beauty of common life today--quite the opposite. But a deepened understanding of what common life can and must be for us could inspire us to consciously claim it anew. Far from providing "icing on the cake" to pep up our mission, so to speak, apostolic common life is literally a matter of life and death for us: if we do not reclaim it, we will perish. The interior communion and interdependence at the heart of Dominic’s vision is something no structure or law can deliver to us; no outside force will hold us responsible for living it unless we ourselves do. Dominican apostolic common life, and thus the Dominican mission, will survive only if living men and women freely choose to devote their energy to living it. As M.H. Vicaire points out, Dominic renewed the apostolic life in its fullness precisely because he founded the outer element of missio upon the inne~ element of communio. The mission of itinerant preaching of God’s word, the very ministry that founds the Church, was to flow from the rich interior life the Dominicans lived through prayer, the evangelical counsels, community and study. Far more than the task of merely verbal or written preaching, Dominic’s mission entailed living the Word we preach with our mouths and pens, preaching in fact with our very lives. "I have come to cast fire on the earth" (Lk 12:49). We know the difference between the preaching of mere words, and the kind which enlightens and sets fire to us: "Were not our hearts burning within us as he spoke to us on the way" (Lk 42:32). Dominican preaching is meant to be both light (or the mind and warmth for the heart because that preaching Dominican Mission / 643 comes from fire in the heart. This constitutes the Dominican mission in the Church, inseparably Word and Spirit, truth and love, light and fire--the fire of loving communion lived and put into words. The Spirit of communion anointed Jesus himself in the word he proclaimed (Lk 4:18); gathering a community around him, he preached not as an isolated individual but united to his Father and also to the twelve: "Let usgo to the next towns that we may preach there also, for this is why I came out" (Mk 1:39). When Jesus sends the apostles to preach, he sends them not one by one, but two by two (Mk 6:7). A witness at Dominic’s canonization process in Bologna testified, "his words were so moving that most of the time he himself and his listeners were stirred to tears." We ourselves weep when something in a speaker’s heart sets fire to our own hearts. Dominic wept when he preached because he spoke of what he loved and lived in his communion with the living God and with brothers and sisters. Jordan of Saxony writes of him that his "frequent and special prayer to God was for the gift of true charity." In a marve- lously creative synthesis Dominic combined the itinerant preaching of the apostles with the communio of the early Church. Preaching formed the purpose of the Dominicans’ prayer, study, and community; but even more, the apostolic life they lived together, the reality of their love and communion with one another in the Lord, constituted the loudest and clearest word they preached. "Living Together," Community Life, and Common Life We have learned to distinguish between mission and ministry; our mission of preaching entails living the apostolic life in its fullness, preaching what we live, while our ministries express that mission in concrete and diverse ways. In a similar manner, we can distinguish between simply living together, community living and common life. Most of us perhaps know the first reality, "living under the same roof." Like ships in the night we greet each other but have no real connection to or interaction’with one another. Some of us may know, too, the deeper reality of community life, concrete sharing of goals, interests, work, prayer, responsibilities. But the words "common life" in fact translate the Latin word communio denoting an interior reality, a union of hearts and minds which only the Spirit can effect. Certainly this communion must be expressed in concrete forms, yet its reality is far more deep and inclusive than what "living together" or even "community life" denotes. We can share many things in community and still not share the deepest reality for which we are called together, the Lord whose love makes us one. The Hebrew and Christian Scriptures which, inspired Dominic’s vision 644 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 portray preachers as people joined together to receive and to proclaim the Word expressing the very life they live in communion with others. Recalling how communities gathered around the Hebrew prophets, the author of John 17 places on the lips of Jesus the following prayer: May they "be one, as you, Father, in me, and I in you." May they all "be one in us, that the world may believe that you have sent me... I have made known to them your name and I will make it known, that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them." These words hint at the truth that no mere human effort can bring about communio. We have already tried human plans, projects, laws and programs, and we still find that we cannot achieve by our own efforts alone the kind of communion to which we are called as Dominicans. Only the Spirit gives life, and only the Spirit can offer us the power to live the kind of communion to which our vocation calls us, a human sacrament of the unspeakable communion at the heart of the triune God. When we ourselves love, we find that the closer we come to another, the more the union causes a bitter-sweet pain precisely because we cannot achieve the kind of oneness we desire. Because we cannot literally have one mind and heart with another; there remains always that final place in us which no one else can know or enter. But the Father, Son and Spirit live literally one life; in their communion no hint of division or separation exists. Our call to communio, to the common life, invites and urges us to be in some way a sacrament of this trinitarian communion. The Acts of the Apostles describes this reality among the early Christians: "The company of believers were of one heart and one soul in the Lord . . . they had all in common" (Ac 4:32). Here common life signifies not simply the sharing of material goods but ultimately the interior bond which makes them of one mind and heart in the Lord. Precisely because of this communion, the early disciples share everything in a "common life." This apostolic communio described in Acts 4:32 clearly inspired Dominic’s own vision. The Rule of Augustine which he adopted for his Order opens with the proclamation that those gathered together have been called by the Lord precisely to live with one heart and mind in the Lord. And the primitive Constitution of his Order begins with this prologue: "Because a precept of our Rule commands us to have one heart and one mind in the Lord, it is fitting that.., the uniformity maintained in our external conduct may foster and indicate the unity which should be present interiorly in our hearts. "" The earliest constitution of Dominic’s Order thus identifies preaching not as a mere speaking of words, but as the expression of unity in the Lord which even in their diversity binds the members together in the apostolic common life. Dominican Mission / 645

The Basic Constitution adopted at River Forest in 1968 emphasizes this theme anew. The first three paragraphs speak of the mission of proclaiming God’s Word, but the fourth paragraph makes clear the very heart of this mission: "Because we share the mission of the apostles, we follow their way of life as Dominic conceived it. With one soul we live in community." This distinction between the interior communion and the concrete expression of it in community life has important implications. Those who for serious reasons are unable to live in Dominican community may yet be truly living in the communion that binds us together with one heart and soul in God. Communio does have to be lived out in concrete ways, and community life is one of them, but Dominican communio is lived out also through study, prayer and ministry that flow from our interior union with our brothers and sisters in Dominic’s family. We are called to foster one heart and soul in the Lord--a mystery far more deep and demanding than simply living under one roof. The Holy Spirit at the Heart of Dominican Apostolic Communion We address Dominic as "Preacher of grace" precisely because his procla- ¯ marion came not only from grace, from the Spirit’s fire, but also spoke about grace, the supremacy of God’s mercy and power in our lives. The Dominican mission calls us to preach from the fullness of our own experience of this mercy, our own realization that finally God’s work and not our own will save us. In our attempts to renew and to live this communion among us, we are thus brought to our knees; the word of grace we are called to preach to others becomes only a "noisy gong and clanging cymbal" (1 Cot 13:1) unless it is also the word of grace we ourselves live together. In writing of love, Aquinas stresses how the activities of knowing and loving expand and enlarge us by uniting us to reality beyond ourselves. The process of becoming mature adults entails the ability to extend ourselves outside of our own limited being to others around us. Knowledge takes reality into us, so to speak, but in also lov!ng what we know we reach out in an "ecstatic" movement outward toward what we love (ST I, 16, 1). In love, we put others in place of ourselves and regard their good truly as if it were our own. The ecstatic nature of love’s union in this way truly enlarges our being, increasingly actualizing us as human persons. Thomas distinguishes, however, between self-gratifying love and the love of friendship. In self-gratifying love, although we seem to be drawn out of ourselves to good outside us, the movement of love remains within us and focused on ourselves; we desire the good of others not for their sake but for our own (ST I, 28, 3). The love of friendship, in contrast, loves others as equals and directs 646 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 our affection outside of us to their reality precisely as other. True union thus happens only when we reach out of ourselves in an unselfish movement of love toward others’ own uniqueness. Yet as experience itself teaches us, our own efforts alone cannot effect this kind of love. Precisely for this reason, "the love of God has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit who has been given to us" (Rm 5:5). Most of our communities have engaged in some program of helping us to appreciate and to tap our own resources, especially the gift of one another. But the gift we have left most untapped is the very person of the Spirit. Aquinas notes that the Spirit’s name as Gift denotes gratuitous, unreturnable bestowal, with no expectation of return. And because a gift is presented to us only so that it may belong to us, the Spirit given to us is truly ours, our possession, our gift, our Spirit (ST I, 38, 1). Dominican women especially are called upon to renew this awareness of and reliance upon the Spirit’s power in our life and ministry together. If we would claim our affinity for the Spirit’s tender mercy and strength within and among us, we could become ourselves a new gift in and for the Dominican family, a living gift of women who live and speak the anointed word. For the word we have preached as Dominicans too often has not conveyed or come from the Spirit’s anointing. This seems to me a special contribution which Dominican women can make to the Order today: to live and to proclaim the word of truth warmed with the fire. of life. Aquinas stresses that the Word cannot be divorced from the Holy Spirit: because the Son eternally breathes forth the very love between him and the Father, the living person of the Spirit, the Word is always Verbum spirans amorem-- the Word breathing forth love (ST I, 43, 5, ad 2). Only when we internalize this truth will we live out our call to be preachers not simply of the Word but of the anointed Word. Our mission to preach the Word by its very nature thus demands our increasing submission to the Spirit of God in whom we are to find the motivation and power for our life together. "Ask, and it will be given you . . . if you who are evil know how.to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Fath.er give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him" (Lk 11:9, 13). We need to call down upon our life together the Spirit who alone can effect the interior communio at the heart of our preaching mission. As Aquinas stresses, the charity at the heart of our union is a created participation in the very person of the Spirit (ST II-II, 24, 2). This is a profound and radical insight, it seems to me: the bond of love we share is in some sense nothing less than the very reality of the Spirit, the divine person of love. As a participation in this Spirit, charity heals and enlivens our capacity to love one another truly as other. Again as Aquinas Dominican Mission / ~147 comments, charity of all the virtues has the strongest inclination to its act, for it reaches out to live in a spontaneous movement of pleasure and delight (ST II-II, 24, 5, ad 3; II-II, 23, 2). Since the Spirit’s own person dwells in us by charity, making his power of love in some sense our very own, charity is specifically the same act whereby we love God and also one another. The movement of selfless love that binds us to each other thus of its very nature binds us also to God (ST II, 25, 1). The interior communion at the heart of our preaching mission calls us to reach out to one another’s joys and sorrows, but we know how difficult it is to do this. We may be physically in the same room, apparently speaking and listening to one another, and yet we know in our hearts how often we are not present to one another’s concerns. This kind of communion can happen only when the Spirit opens us to one another. As William Hill points out, the Spirit--and not just some effect of the Spirit’s activity--is the very bond in some way uniting us in apostolic communion.’ Perhaps we have had tastes of this communion at a time when we were bound together in a community sorrow or joy or at a time of deep prayer and celebration. We may have experienced this interior bond when the group was lost in silence and we had an intimation that our common life is not simply words we say or tasks we do for another. As Hill notes, when the Spirit "lays fast hold of us, we begin to live from a personal center that is our own self.’’2 This last insight suggests that Dominican apostolic common life is possible only at the price of a profound continuing conversion on the part of each of us. W~ are called to live not from a center of narrow interest and self- concern, but from the abundant love of the Spirit who enlarges our hearts by making room in them for the truth of one another, In the depths of our being, the Spirit "lures us to the self-transcendence" of interdependence in the midst of our diversity: "The proper domain of the Spirit is not life in isolation, but in communion.’’3 Neither Jesus nor Dominic sent our people one by one to convert the world, to be individual leavens in many places. This is a valid call, but it is not ours as Dominicans. If we are to live our charism in the Church, our preaching must express the fire of love that we live first of all in communion with one another. Individual men and women may have 1o minister alone in special cases, but their ministry also is called to give voice to the communion at the heart of the Dominican mission. If we are truly to live what we preach and preach what we live, the word we proclaim as Dominicans must express the apostolic communion we live with one another. The apostles’ own preaching had such power because it overflowed with the Spirit’s love lived in communion with one another, Because the Spirit inflames and anoints our preaching only to the extent that this same Spirit 648 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 binds us in love in one another, we will rediscover what it means to be fire in the Church, as Dominic was, only when we rediscover the absolute centrality of apostolic communion. In many instances we still do not preach and minister out of the abundant communio we live with one another. And to the extent that we do not, we are insipid in the Church, a "noisy gong" and a "clanging cymbal" (1 Cor 13:1). Each of us is called to beg the Spirit’s grace in our individual life and in our life together that our preaching would in fact give voice to the communioh we live with one another. Renewing Common Life Through Renewing the Four Elements of Dominican Life Because the Spirit’s grace entails the mystery of both God’s activity in us and also our free human cooperation, perhaps our most significant task in deepening our communion is to give renewed attention to each of the four elements which comprise Dominican apostolic life. And for both Dominican women and men, it may well be not simply a question of reclaiming but also of claiming these elements as our own in a way we have never done before. With regard to the first of the elements, prayer, we realize that our preaching is meant to flow from the abundance of our contemplation: "’contemplata aliis tradere. "" Yet too often we find ourselves saying, "My work is my prayer; the demands of my ministry prevent me from devoting explicit time to prayer." But as Vincent de Couesnongle, former master general of the Order, commented in an address at Providence in 1982, "People quickly distinguish the preachers who speak of the Friend with whom they constantly live, from the preachers who speak of him as of a stranger and try to pass him off as a companion with whom they are on familiar terms. The first know how to speak about God, because they are in the habit of speaking to God." People are thirsting to find in us women and men of God, and they recognize our pretense when we do not pray. And because this is so, what we most owe others in our ministry is precisely what we do with our time when we are not with them. Experience itself teaches us the paradox of grace: that God accomplishes wonderful things through us when we do not devote one hundred percent of our time to ministry, when we devote ourselves also to adoration before the living God in prayer. Many of us are perfectionists who think that our time must be consumed by projects to make our ministry more effective. Without belittling these efforts, more than a few of us are discovering that redirecting some of our " energy from compulsive busy-ness to time in prayer and fostering contemplative peace in our lives effect far more profound results than our efforts alone could have accomplished. What we do with our time when our people do Dominican Mission / 649 not see us often bears the deepest gifts for them when they do see us. We owe the people to and with whom we minister a consecration of our time to prayer so that they will find in us living evidence that God’s presence and mercy fill the world. With regard to the second element of Dominican life, we are beginning to suspect the radical nature of our call to study. Dominic identifies as the crucial element at the heart of his Order the sacred study which opens us to contemplation and preaching. And is this not what we most lack in our lives today? Again, in his 1982 Providence address, de Couesnongle stresses, "It is a systematic, deepened and persevering study that we need to undertake .... If this is not the case, then spiritual suffocation awaits us. The experience of each one of us shows this sufficiently." De Couesnongle comments that he stopped congratulating members of the Order for working so hard precisely because "people are overworked.., they believe that one has to work like this. And thus, an unbalanced life results" whose equilibrium can be regained only by "stressing more a basic study that is at once serious and prayerful." Without prayer and study, we do no real preaching. We women especially must claim as never before our call to profound study; if we think we have no time for this because of our ministry’s demands, we fool ourselves. No one will force us to study; this is a priority choice we ourselves must make. We come now to the third element that fosters communio, our community life. In 1980, de Couesnongle noted in his report to the General Chapter meeting at Walberberg that he too easily believed the common life could be renewed simply by insisting on meetings and rules, as if these would automatically bring results. He came to see that true community life flourishes only to the extent that each person freely chooses to commit herself or himself to a real interest in the community members and to sharing what makes up his or her own life. "The newspaper and TV . . . will simply not suffice to excite and nourish an authentic community life... How many of us know how to share with outsiders what is best about ourselves, but become soeechless with our sisters and brothers?" We need to become, as never before, women~and men of the Word shared with one another, choosing to live what Dominic asked of us by speaking to and about God with one another. Is this not what we so little do? Because very few structures foster our communio, community life will cease to exist unless we freely choose it. We easily blame those in authority for the erosion of our life together when in fact we ourselves are responsible for its life or death. If our communities die, each one of us is responsible. We must begin to speak the Word to one another, to pray together, to speak to one another of deeper matters than simply the weather. 650 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

Because mission is our purpose, our community life and sharing of the Word with one another cannot be a matter of adding more time requirements to our already busy day; our commitment to one another must be in terms of quality rather than quantity time. Even if we are fortunate enough to experience a measure of community life, it is often not communio, our shared faith in the living God, that binds us together. But by taking advantage of the opportunities we already have for quality time together, we can take the risk of improving the level of conversation at table and of sharing the Word at our prayer and house meetings. And instead of harboring anger and resentment, we can begin to speak the truth in love to one another, for even honest fights do far more to foster communio than polite silence. Candidates to our communities who may have tremendous gifts for preaching and prayer and yet do not value the commitment to communio show by this very fact that whatever call they do have, it is not to Dominican life. And we who have already consecrated ourselves to this life must consciously choose today what perhaps we have never really chosen before, a true commitment to the community life that fosters the communio at the heart of our Dominican mission. De Couesnongle noted in his 1982 Provi- dence talk that as we have abandoned structures, individualism and non-participation have grown, and these are the "enemy number-one of community life." "Community life demands interpersonal relationships. Are we not too easily secretive... Do we not spontaneously hide what we are?... We bottle ourselves up and dodge compromising questions." He also notes the radical nature of our present call to community, precisely because so much today militates against a true union among us. We have become as secula- rized as the world, as filled, perhaps, with a selfish individualism that makes it increasingly difficult for us to reach out of ourselves to one another. Just as we ourselves must ratify our own baptismal vows, we Domini- cans are called to make a personal choice to live in fact what we say we are living. We can no longer escape facing ourselves with the question: "Why am I here? If I want to preach as a Dominican, my preaching must come from a true communio I myself concretely live." Unless each of us squarely faces this question and lives out its implications, we will surely die as communities, because we will fail to live our charism in the Church. Since the Dominican tradition has always treasured the richness of plural- ity, there are and will be diverse ways of living our call to communio. Our being bound together with one heart and mind in the Lord will express itself in different ways according to the character of each local community. And if for some serious reason a Dominican must live alone, he or she can still live out the Dominican call to communio-missio by fostering in whatever ways possible a true communion, a oneness of mind and heart with the Dominican Mission / 651 brothers and sisters. As our congregations decrease in numbers, we will be forced to cooperate with one another in the kind of collaboration that the Dominican family asks of us. Increasingly we are called to minister together, to provide options for living in communities of other Dominican congregations in order to preach and minister from a communio concretely lived. And we need to actively work toward these new kinds of configurations. We consider finally the relation between communio and ministry. We Dominican women especially are growing to realize that our mission is not simply ed.ucation but Dominic’s mission, the preaching of God’s Word through our varied ministries. Each of us needs to take personal responsibility for the extent to which her ministry concretely expresses this mission and to ask ourselves how we can best focus our varied gifts in the service of proclaiming the Word. Perhaps more than a few of us are called to re- examine whether the ministry to which we are devoting our energies is the one to which God is calling us now, the ministry which best utilizes our gifts for the mission of proclaiming the Word. We need also to ask ourselves whether we have allowed our ministries to consume and master us, rather than to free us in joyful service. When we fail to live the Dominican call in all of its elements, when we cheat other dimensions of our life to devote all of our energy to ministry, we find ourselves in an inevitable burnout, ministering not out of the abundance of our communion with God and with one another, but out of our own emptiness. Not every possible ministry is meant for us as Dominicans. If we are not ministering from the fullness of a contemplative peace and in a way that fosters this peace in others, we need to face the hard question of why this is so. If all that we bring to the world as Dominicans is more busy- ness, more hectic activity, we have nothing to contribute. What others need from us is not more unpeacefulness but the witness of men and women who minister from the depths of contemplative peace. This is one of the chief ways we are called as Domincans to be counte~:-cultural. When our ministry no longer fosters this peace within and around us, when it drains us end- lessly and yields nothing but unpeace, we need to take a second look at whether God is not calling us to another ministry more at the heart of our mission to proclaim the Word. De Couesnongle points out in his 1982 Providence address: "Work is not prayer.., in saying we lack time we find an easy excuse... Do we have the right to present ourselves as religious whose word proceeds from the abundance of contemplation? Time is needed, if we are to pray. Let us find this time and give it to God . . . This is my dream for the Order: contemplation and preaching.., preaching ex abundantia contempla- 652 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 tionis. "’ This is also Dominic’s dream for us. But a dream becomes reality only when we ask it as a gift from God and then with all of our hearts make a conscious choice to commit ourselves to its realization.., together. In his 1970 commentary on the Fundamental Constitution, Vicaire stresses that our one profession, our one vow, integrates us "’into the communion, and it is the communion which has the mission. "" Our vow consecrates us not only to God but also to one another, for it consecrates us to be a "religious community of life vowed to preaching." Our Dominican life itself "is an apostolic mission in the Church" that springs from the communion we live with one another. Vicaire continues: we are not "just a team engaged in a common task." We are "a community of life, centered essentially in faith’s response to the Gospel and in the seeking for God together." Our call to the common life is the heart of our specific mission in the Church, for our preaching as Dominicans is meant to flow from our communion with God and with one another, the communion that makes us in truth of one heart and mind in the Lord. "This requires that we be a true community. We are in it for better or for worse, as in the conjugal community, until death." We need to take seriously this "conjugal" relationship not only with the Lord but also with one another, for as married people can and do tell us, real communion happens only at the cost of personal time and energy and commitment. Our Dominican mission will again bring fire to the Church and world only to the extent that it springs from and expresses the communio we live with one another. As ! write these words, 1 am conscious of how little I live them. But I also know that to run from the truth is to sell our very soul. May the words de Couesnongle spoke in Providence in 1982 about the common life as the indispensable well-spring of our preaching mission in the Church continue to knock at the door of our minds and hearts: "Each of us must feel herself or himself responsible for this. We have to pay out of our own person .... Alone and in community, let us have the courage to confront this problem and then, ’Do what he tells you.’ "

NOTES

~William J. Hill, O.P., The Three-Personed God (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1982), p. 303. 21bid, p. 288. 3lbid, p. 307. Active and Monastic: Two Apostolic Lifestyles

George A. Aschenbrenner, S.J.

Father Aschenbrenner is well known to our readers especially for the series of yearly surveys in spirituality he authored from 1980 through 1985. For the past year he has been Director of the Spiritual Formation Program at the North American College in Rome, where he may be addressed (00120 Vatican City State). This article originally appeared in the USIG Bulletin (Rome: no. 70, 1986), and is reprinted with permission.

The spirited beauty and gracefulness of Jesus Christ has inspired the minds and hearts of women and men for centuries. They have been stirred, at times, to feats of missionary heroism all over the world. At other times, they have found encouragement for quiet, hidden faithfulness to the daily duties of a very ordinary state in life. In all these different types of heroism the motivation is the same: an enthusiastic love of Jesus Christ. In some way, then, Christian spirituality is always one and the same. Its beginning and end, its motive and energy always focus on that one whose words still echo in hearts today: "I am the Way, the Truth and the Life" (Jn 14:6). But over the many years, this one, central essence of Christian spirituality has taken expression in many different forms, some of which, at times, have seemed almost irreconcilable. Whenever these different forms are misunderstood and their common rooting in one basic Christian spirituality is forgotten, then they can become competitive or even truly at loggerheads. The interrelationships of each form with the one fundamental Christian spirituality, and of the various forms among themselves, have not always been easy and clear. But as long as we are careful to maintain a lively familiarity with and a genuine belief in Jesus Christ as the root and foundation of 653 654 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

Christian spirituality, we can speak of numerous Christian spiritualities. The following quotations are good examples of two very different dynamics within the one basic Christian spirituality: The Carthusian life rests upon a deep foundation of silence which you know and love, and it is in that depth that the Eternal Word is born for each one of us. There lies our whole vocation: to listen to Him who generates the Word and to live thereby. The Word proceeds from Silence, and we strive to find Him in His Source. This is because the Silence here in question is not a void nor a negation but, on the contrary, Being at its fullest and most fruitful plenitude. That is why it generates; and that is why we keep silent.~

Take down your lantern from its niche and go out! You may not rest in firelight certainties, Secure from drifting fog of doubt and fear. You may not build yourself confining walls And say: ’thus far, and thus, and thus far shall I walk, And these things shall I do, and nothing more.’ Go out! For need calls loudly in the winding lanes And you must seek Christ there. Your pilgrim heart Shall urge you still one pace beyond. And love shall be your lantern flame.2

Though the dynamic of expression is different in these two instances, the core of the matter is the same: a heart afire with God’s love in Jesus. But there will often be a very significant difference in the details of the daily living out of these two dynamics. And though the difference is never so profound asto destroy a common essence and a genuine bond, yet it is significant enough to prevent an easy identification of these two forms. My concern in this article is to describe and distinguish further these two different charisms or spiritualities, without endangering their basic rootedness in the tradition of Christian spirituality. Often in the past the Christian tradition has distinguished between monastic and apostolic spiritualities. I would like to suggest a further refinement of that distinction--a nuance that seems to me to be important and clarifying in these present times of struggle to understand the essence and expression of apostolic spirituality in religious life and throughout the Church. After some comments on the essence of all Christian spirituality as being apostolic, I will describe at some length what I will call two different apostolic lifestyles, charisms or spiritualities: the monastic and the active. Among the ancient world religions Christianity is unique in its strong Two Apostolic Lifestyles / 655 incarnational quality. In the Christian religion, at its center, is the claim that the Son of God became a full human being. Neither a deceptive illusion, nor a passing hallucinatory appearance, Jesus of Nazareth intimately, precisely, awesomely gives flesh in our midst to the God who lives, beyond beginning or end, in unapproachable light and holiness. In Jesus, there can be no doubt that God is turned toward us forever in loving forgiveness and is ineluctably involved with and committed to our world evolving in time. In fact God is the decisive source and gentle sustainer of all being and creation. And so we find in Jesus someone who enters our world confidently and profoundly, someone who lives and loves tenderly, courageously, thoroughly, and yet whose center of identity is never fully of this world. His God, addressed so intimately as Abba, "my dear Father," focuses his heart far beyond all of this world. On Calvary an apparently absurd and horrendous death can be desired, even chosen, precisely because his identity, though fully lived within this world, is not finally rooted here. And this identity is then fully revealed by God in the blessing of resurrection. The God of Christian religion always far transcends in being, beauty and life anything of this world. And so the Christian God is never fully identified with or by anything of the here and now, but, in Jesus, stands forever committed in loving forgiveness to all of us and to our created universe. Fired by the same Spirit of God, all disciples of Jesus must learn to find an identity resonating in God far beyond this world while they live and love with a profound joy and hope that implicates them seriously within this world--but never so as to confine their identity to what they can see, taste and know here and now. And this balanced integration of the seriously incarnational with the transcendently eschatological has never been easy for any disciple of Jesus. There must never be any doubt of Christianity’s healthy, creative and serious concern for this world. In the sense of a serious commitment to and involvement with our world, every disciple of Jesus must be intensely apostolic. Not to be apostolic, in this sense, is simply to betray Christian discipleship. For this reason, any facile distinction between apostolic spiritualities and monastic spiritualities may confuse, and may even deny the healthy, creative and serious concern--the apostolic concern--with this world that must be part of monastic spirituality. Nevertheless, as the central point of this article will make clear, there are two different ways of living out Christianity’s serious, loving concern for this beautiful, anguished world. A central assertion of this article is that the essential apostolic orientation of Christian spirituality can be expressed in either a monastic or an active lifestyle. And these two quite different apostolic lifestyles are the result of God’s Spirit at work in the hearts of men and women. This distinction, then, 656 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 is not something simply of human invention. Over centuries, as believers have struggled to be faithful to the Spirit of God inspiring their hearts, apostolic concern for our world expressed itself in a variety of ways. The evidence for our distinction here has resulted from God’s love stirring human hearts down the ages. This distinction between the two dynamics of a monastic and an active relationship with the world cuts across the whole Church. It can name the experience of lay men and women as much as it can describe different types of religious congregations. And the Church has not always found it easy to acknowledge and respect these different apostolic charisms among women and men. Today, however, as a result of Vatican II, we are in a better position to recognize and cooperate with the different ways that grace stirs human hearts to express themselves and to be present.to God. To confuse or blur these two distinctive apostolic dynamics runs the danger of not respecting God’s call in human hearts and of not cooperating properly in the formation of an appropriate apostolic Christian presence. The monastic and the active styles of Christian apostolate are not meant as hard and fast divisions. Rather, they express tendencies, movements of grace in our hearts. For many people and for many religious congregations, the challenge is to achieve the proper blend of these tendencies. We are speaking here, then, of a whole spectrum of development, from the highly monastic with little mixture of the active, right through to the highly active with a similarly small mixture of the monastic. It is like a long clothesline, and every individual and every group in the Church may be imagined as a clothespin that God attaches to some part of the line. As we consider these two different apostolic dynamics and tendencies of grace in the human heart, the issue centers on nothing less than identity-- either the identity of an individual or the corporate identity of a religious congregation. To avoid spiritual schizophrenia and identity confusion, no pins ought to be on the clothesline in the exact center. People who try to focus identity on this central point of the spectrum attempt the impossible balance of a life in apostolic faith of exactly equal monastic and active proportions. Religious congregations that referred in the past to themselves as semi- cloistered have been invited after Vatican II more carefully and decisively to interpret their identity with clear priority for either the monastic or the active style. The semi-cloistered balancing of exactly equal monastic and active dimensions is not possible. And such identity confusion, besides the damage done an individual or a religious congregation, also wreaks havoc in the ministry which, as the product of such identity confusion, must also be confused and weakly focused. Before moving now to a description of each of these two apostolic dynamics and lifestyles, two further comments are in order. First, no priority Two Apostolic Lifestyles / 657

of one style over the other is intended. The claim is that the monastic and the active are different and distinctive. There is no claim that they are superior, one to the other, in any way. Second, in describing each dynamic I will center on groups or on individuals who legitimately embody each tendency in a fullness and a clarity--with little qualification and nuance. When seen in such simple clarity and fullness, the dynamic in question can be better appreciated. But it should be understood that for many individuals and religious congregations, the precise challenge is for them to qualify and nuance both dynamics so as to achieve an appropriate and identifying blend of each one.3

The Monastic Apostolic Dynamic I will describe six aspects of the monastic charism. These aspects are not disparate realities that stand on their own; rather they coalesce into a whole sensibility and way of life. As integrated and unified, they make up the monastic experience of God and the monastic vision of reality. These aspects are rooted in a distinctive dynamic at work in human hearts and comprise what, in the Church’s long history, is usually called monastic spirituality.

1. Formal prayer is the primary determining influence. In the monastic apostolic lifestyle, the formal prayer of the Liturgy of the Hours and the Eucharist, and any other private contemplation resulting from the liturgy, has a clear and decisive primacy in the development of the Whole way of life. These times of formal prayer are the first items placed in the daily schedule. They literally determine the schedule and the contour of the life. As regularly spread throughout the day, this experience of formal prayer clearly determines, not only the schedule, but the very structure of monastic spirituality. The heart of the monastic person is primarily and thoroughly rapt in the contemplation of God. And simply everything reveals this primacy.

2. Order, routine, regularity and schedule are central. Because of the clear priority of the Liturgy of the Hours and the Eucharist, the monastic life reveals and requires a regularity of order and schedule. Often, only Sundays"and special feasts will vary the fundamental routine of monastic life. An active prejudicefor variety as the spice of life should not lure monastic people away from a profound regularity of life in which the monastic heart is purified and disciplined for docility to the spontaneity of God’s Spirit. The disorder of any inappropriate irregularity is serious enough to trivialize the monastic experience of God. 658 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

3. Being set apart from the world in order to be part of the world. The monastic dynamic always requires an appropriate withdrawal from the world. This being set apart from the world can never become an end in itself, nor an uncaring protection from the world. Should such a lack of concern develop, the monastic life would have lost that apostolic commitment to this world which is essential to all Christian discipleship. But for the monastic heart, it is precisely through being set apart from the world that a care and concern for the world grows and is appropriately expressed. This monastic withdrawal from the world can serve as a reminder for all disciples of Jesus. "If you belonged to the world, the world would love its own; but the reason that the world hates you is that you do not belong to the world for I chose you out of the world" (Jn 15:19). These words of Jesus profess a type of separation from the world without which serious Christian discipleship can never be possible. The monastic separation from the world-- never meant to be a frightened disinterest, but rather a sharing in God’s passionate care for this world--serves as a reminder of Jesus’ words for every Christian disciple. This monastic separation from the world is expressed in many different ways. Some monasteries are situated literally out in the middle of nowhere. Others are situated in the midst of an inner city, still crumbling or now being redeveloped. Sometimes the monastic person is set apart from the world in a small, simple apartment-hermitage. Especially in experimentation after Vatican II, monastic women and men have rediscovered that the cloister of the heart contemplatively fascinated in God is the central issue, much more than any grilles and cloistered spaces. And yet, unless there is an appropriate external separation from the world, the monastic heart will be distracted and become trivialized in its simple contemplative focus on God. 4. Stability, solitude and peace figure prominently in the monastic life. From the outset, in discussing the importance of each of these three qualities in the monastic life, key distinction must be made between the quality considered as a profound inner reality of heart and as an external expression of that same interior reality. When stability is viewed as a profound, inner quality of heart, it typifies and would be expected of any mature believer-- and not just of the monastic person. Interior stability, as dependability and responsibility before God, always entails the refined sensitivity which distinguishes God’s word of true love from the many other seductive words of apparent and fallacious love heard at times within the human heart. This inner stability and refined insight comprise the core of faith maturity and, therefore, would be at the very heart of both monastic and active apostolic lifestyles. Two Apostolic Lifestyles / 659

But there is an appropriate external expression of this inner stability of heart that typifies the monastic lifestyle and not the active. Vowed stability in a monastic congregation, though surely a profound reality of heart in all the members, also unites them in this specific place with a communal bond that facilitates their ongoing search together into God. This kind of external stability, while stimulating profound communal experience of God in the monastic life, obviously interferes with the mobility of the active life. To appreciate the necessary role of solitude in the monastic life, the same distinction must be applied. A regular experience of solitude alone with and in God is another sign of every mature believer, whether called to the monastic or the active life. Without such experience of God in solitude, we remain superficial and immature, in our experience of life, ourselves and God. One of the dangers that could weaken the Church’s ministry today, especially in the active form, is the situation in which active apostles become too busy for regular prayer in solitude--with the result that their faith becomes immature, superficial and indecisive. But for the monastic heart there must be an appropriate external expression and atmosphere of quiet solitude if one is to maintain a live witness within the Church of an inner solitude with God, a nourishment for which all our hearts year9 and are made. In a similar fashion, peace, as a deep inner quality of heart, is Jesus’ gift to every serious disciple. Beyond this mature, inner experience of Jesus’ peace, the monastic apostolic lifestyle also provides an external expression and atmosphere of peace, without the disruption and distraction of the active lifestyle. This distinction between inner quaiity of heart and external expression is very helpful in describing both the overlapping and the distinctiveness of these two apostolic lifestyles. I will make use of it later in describing the active style of being apostolic.

5. The apostolate of formal prayer is most typical of monastic spirituafity. The formal prayer of the Liturgy of the Hours and the Eucharist and of individual contemplation is the chief and primary apostolate or ministry of the monastic heart. No other secondary ministry should be practiced except insofar as it relates to and does not interfere with the monastic life of contemplation alone with God. To blur or confuse this ministerial primacy of formal prayer could, once again, trivialize the monastic experience of God. The monastic heart always senses a salvific radiation emanating from its contemplative adventure alone in God.

6. Importance of physical presence in the formation of monastic community. Christian community is usually easier to define than to live. Wherever 660 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 it occurs, it is a union of minds and hearts primarily focused by a shared faith vision. Though many other elements, like similar age, training and interests, may facilitate union of minds and hearts, nothing is more important than a genuinely corporate faith vision regularly experienced and appropriately expressed. In the monastic style of Christian community, physical presence, often in silence, plays a very important role in developing and maintaining the unity deriving from a corporate faith vision. A physical togetherness in prayer, reading, eating, sleeping and recreating are further aspects of the monastic dynamic at work in human hearts--and they are not unimportant ones in the living of monastic community. The Active Apostolic Dynamic Contrasted with the monastic, the active apostolic lifestyle is rooted in a different dynamic in the heart, and it also takes a different expression. This difference becomes obvious in the first of the six aspects that I will now describe.

1. Ministry is the primary determining influence. Vatican II, when describing this active dynamic in terms of religious life, speaks of communities in which "the very nature of the religious life requires apostolic action and services.’’4 When this active charism is given either to a whole community or to an individual believer, it is ministerial involvement, rather than formal prayer, that determines the contours and the schedule of daily life. This is an important but very subtle point, which requires further eluci- dation, lest it be seriously misunderstood. To give primacy of influence to ministry is not meant to deny the absolute importance of quiet contemplation for the active apostle. Henri Nouwen states clearly the importance of formal prayer for ministry when he says: "If the minister wants to minister ’In the Name’ he must live in the Name and speak and act from there.’’5 Without mature prayer, mature ministry just is not possible. To deepen their regular contemplative experience is a great challenge today for active apostles, so busy and fatigued with responding to our modern world’s needs. Let me be firm and clear in asserting this radical importance of formal prayer for the busy minister. The point to be stressed here, while not denying the importance of regular prayer, concerns the influence that ministry has on the whole makeup of the active life. The legitimate demands of ministry form the schedule of the day. When people enter a new ministry, with the intention of maintaining a past set time for private prayer which now will clearly interfere with availability for the new ministry, this violates the dynamic of the active apostolic charism. Two Apostolic Lifestyles / 661

To have a schedule of formal prayer already in place before entering into the new ministerial situation is backwards for active apostles. Rather, they must first insert themselves into the new ministry and get an honest sense of its reasonable demands. Only then can their conviction about regular contemplation determine the specifics of when, where and how long they should pray each day. That there be regular contemplation is beyond doubt, regardless of ministry. But the determination of the specifics of regular contemplation depends upon the demands of the new ministry. For the active apostle, ministry, then, while not a substitute for regular contemplation, is the primary determining influence in this whole way of life.

2. Flexibility for change is central. Because busy ministry and service of others is essential to active spirituality, a regular routine scheduled around formal prayer is not possible. A flexibility of heart and spirit is called for, in order to respond to the challenges and needs of a world so often in great upheaval and unrest. The earlier distinction between a profound reality of the heart and its external expression is important here again. Flexibility of heart is not something that only active apostles know. A profound inner flexibility of spirit makes possible genuine docility to the spontaneity of the Holy Spirit--and is always a sign of spiritual maturity, both for monastic and for active people. Responsible involvement in complicated and unsettled situations, something not usual in monastic life, calls forth in the active apostle a distinctive external expression and practice of this mature flexibility of heart. The struggle and anguish involved in much of our response to Vatican II reveals how hard it is to change a routine and how prone many of us are to find our security in a rather rigid routine rather than in a faithfully loving God. As indicated above I believe that a routine is not only healthy, but necessary for living out the monastic charism. But, while a certain routine is necessary for all human life, the active apostle must always resist the escape into an overly monastic routine and must learn to trust the gift of flexibility that is always part of the active apostolic dynamic in the Church.

3. Ability discerningly to find, be with and serve God in all activity. Someone in a busy, active life can become very scattered and distracted. One’s attention almost constantly flits from one thing to another. One’s energy and concern are poured out in one situation after another. Drained and running, one loses a sense of focus, of unity and maybe even of fundamental meaning. As life gets more and more hectic and chaotic, burnout of body and spirit sets in. Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

Moments of special religious experience in formal prayer cannot, all by themselves, stem the tide of this heightening discouragement and tension. More than regular formal prayer is needed. Despite a great desire for unity and integration, human consciousness is capable, often without being aware of it, of various compartmentalizations. One of these is the split between formal prayer and the activity of life. In such a split, the surge of religious experience in private prayer ebbs in the face of all the busy activity of the rest of the day. The frantic, frenetic business of the day often calls forth and reveals in the apostle little sense of God. Private prayer is stubbornly maintained in an attempt to keep religious experience alive. But such an ebb and flow of religious experience actually saps the apostle’s energy and finally fails in accomplishing the desired integration in which all the activity of a day contributes to, rather than interferes with, a person’s unifying religious experience. The proper balance of regular prayer and discerning involvement in the business of everyday can simplify and purify the focus and commitment of a heart so that the compartmentalized split of human experience into sacred and secular is gradually healed in a unity whereby all human experience bbc0mes religious--and finds God. In my own opinion, this is the greatest challenge still facing active apostolic spirituality. Often, past religious formation produced a compartmentalized relationship between prayer and activity. Religious formation, in many ways, is still struggling to help active apostles find the proper interior integration that facilitates, and actually makes possible, the religious experience of finding, being with and serving God in all activity. Active apostles need a reflective sensitivity, in order to recognize the subtle but real difference between a selfish manipulation of others that finds self and a generously humble service of others that finds God. Only a genuine experience of the intimacy of God’s love as beyond all other love and inviting a radical abandonment of self in love to God, together with a rigorously careful discernment of inner affective experiences, can make possible a human, loving presence that finds God in all activity and dealings with others. Vatican 11 makes a similar claim when it says that, for communities in religious life whose very nature requires apostolic action and services, "their entire apostolic activity should be animated by a religious spirit.’’~

4. Mobility and apostolic availability are key in active spirituality. Because mission and active ministry are so central to the active apostolic dynamic, mobility of body and spirit are important. Any rigidity in a person can interfere with the fruitfulness of this charism. In an active religious corn- Two Apostolic Lifestyles / 663 munity, the members come together precisely in order to be sent out on specific ministries, each of which shares in God’s mission of salvation in Jesus. Any stubborn selfishness or immature insecurity will always corrode that mobility for mission which should characterize active spirituality. Apostolic availability is a readiness of spirit born of a freedom radically fascinated with a loving God’s faithful commitment to us. Because of the inevitable limitation of human weakness and sinfulness, this freedom never perdures perfectly in a human heart. It must be won and received again and again. But the more this precious freedom grows in a human heart or in a whole congregation the more an availability of spirit allows the person or congregation to be thoroughly committed to a present ministry, but always with a readiness for wherever God’s love may lead in the future.

5. The prayer of the apostolate is most typical of active spirituafity. The phrase that typifies monastic spirituality is reversed here. Granting, once again, the absolute value of regular contemplation in any serious spiritual life, the typical and more important prayer of the active apostle is a distinctively prayerful presence in and through all activity. This is related to. the third element above, i.e. the need to find, be with and serve God in all activity. The prayer of the apostolate should not be misunderstood as that claim and practice that many of us struggled with through the 1960s and 1970s: "my work is my prayer." Most of us now know the heresy.of such a claim, even though active apostles who would not want to profess an identification of work and prayer can still easily be pressured into living such a heresy. We have learned again over recent years that for no one does work become prayer, unless that person regularly stops working--and prays. So the prayer of the apostolate does not mean any simpliste identification of work and prayer. Rather the prayer of the apostolate involves two mutual and integral movements. The first is an appropriate, regular involvement in contemplation, which gradually spills over and renders pi’ayerful everything the person does, says and is. The second is an involvement in activity which stirs a desire for, and sometimes provides the subject matter of, formal contemplation in private. As one grows faithful and sensitive to these two movements, a presence in all activity develops which is prayerful--a presence which is the Spirit of God praying and which reveals those clear signs of the Spirit mentioned in chapter five of Galatians. ¯

6. A unity of mind and heart extending far beyond physical presence. Whereas the corporate faith vision of those sharing the monastic charism 664 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 requires much physical presence with one another, the active apostolic dynamic, because its very nature requires apostolic action and services, does not depend as much on the physical presence of the members to each other. It can foster a union of minds and hearts among members missioned all over the world in various ministries. Obviously, this corporate bond is not automatic. It is not the effect of any one person’s fiat. It cannot be something superficially external. Rather, a unity rooted deeply in the hearts of all members will always require a profound attitude of heart on the part of each member, a distinctive type of missioning process and the careful practice of certain human, symbolic means. To say that the active charism depends less on the physical presence of the members than the monastic does certainly does not mean that physical presence can be simply disregarded in active communities. It is inhuman to imagine that members of a local live-in community, whatever the size, can develop a union of minds and hearts if they never gather together in quality physical presence. However, without disregarding the need for some such physical presence, we must not conceive the communitarian dimension Of the active charism according to monastic norms. Many active congregations today continue to struggle in local communities with how much physical presence of all members and what quality of presence of each is needed if there is to be a genuine, faith union of minds and hearts. If this struggle is not better resolved soon, increasing numbers of active religious, caught in the tension between involvement in an exciting ministry and the boring frustration of no shared vision in the local community, may well find celibacy too heavy a burden to bear alone.

The De-monasticizing of Active Religious Life As religious have seriously responded to Vatican II’s invitation to return to "the original inspiration" behind their own institute, a greater realization of the clear distinction between the differing and graced dynamics of the monastic and active has grown among us. In the wake of this growing clarity there also comes the realization that in the past we have not always respected this distinction with enough care. A major part of the renewal of religious life, therefore, has involved the de-monasticizing of institutes which were, in their founding, and which should, with greater fidelity over the years have continued to be, actively apostolic rather than monastic. This de-monasticizing process has not been easy. Mistakes have occurred. At times, inevitably, overreaction has set in. And many individuals have experienced great personal anguish in the midst of the confusion and turmoil of critiquing and of changing, through experiment, revered and long-standing practices. But this process, although most painful, was unavoidable. To avoid it Two Apostolic Lifestyles / 665 would have been as serious a refusal as to violate the reverent d~cility due the Spirit of God who invites us to be faithful to the genuine, graced identity of our religious institute. In the past twenty years much headway has been made in realigning the fundamental conception, formation programs, ministerial practices and daily living of communities according to their rediscovered, original identity. Though the process is surely not finished, we are presently involved, appropriately enough, in a period of careful assessment of the fruits of this renewal process.7 A successful evaluation can help us to sift the precious wheat of fidelity to the essentials of religious life, as incarnated in appropriate contemporary expressions of the original founding charism, from the deceptive (though often attractive!) weeds of contemporary developments that either destroy a necessary continuity of identity or shortsightedly try to defend older forms, which are now, and ought to be, simply dead. Vatican II reminds us of the importance of fidelity to the unique charism and identity of each religious community. "It serves the best interests of the Church for communities to have their own special character and purpose."s In line with this directive Thomas Merton cautions us against confusing the monastic and active dynamic: "The monastic life must not be evaluated in terms of active religious life, and the monastic orders should not be equated with other religious institutes, clerical or otherwise. The monastic community does not exist for the sake of any apostolic or educational work, even as a secondary end. The works of the monk are not justified by their external results but only by their relevance to his monastic life alone with God.’’9 In conclusion, let me point to three results of respecting the clear distinction between the active and monastic dynamic. First, we must be careful how we make use of the Liturgy of the Hours. In the monastic community the Liturgy of the Hours is a primary determinant and focus of the whole day, at which the physical presence of all is expected. In the active community, a regular communal prayer besides th.e Eucharist seems necessary. Some use of the Liturgy of the Hours may serve as an appropriate regular community prayer. On the other hand, some other type of communal prayer may better serve a particular community. If something o.f the Liturgy of the Hours is used, it should not become a primary determinant and focus of schedule, to the detriment of the members’ ministerial involvement. So, depending on the size and variety of the local community, the physical presence of all members is neither expected nor possible. However, the active community would be deficient in its unified faith vision if each member did not share the same desire to pray together regularly--which desire would always take expression in physical presence, except for ministerial reasons. But for an active community to use the Liturgy of the Hours in a monastic fashion would be to violate its God-given charism. 666 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

Second, members of active communities cannot avoid a natural monasticizing tendency as they get older. As the biological breakdown of old age sets in, religious become less and less active, they settle into a much more regularized pattern, and the apostolate of prayer becomes more predominant in their daily lives. If we are careful of certain presuppositions, this natural monasticizing tendency will not necessarily violate the active apostolic nature of a community. But the older members, whose lifestyle is now understand- ably more monastic, must not claim that this monastic lifestyle is the genuine identity of the whole congregation. Another subtle change of attitude could be entailed here. If a section of the motherhouse is located where many of the older, retired sisters are living, then naturally the style and schedule of life for that part of the house will be more monastic--as it should be. However, we must then be careful .that this more monastic schedule and style not be idolized as typical for all other houses of the congregation, an image that motherhouses often in the past have projected. Such a misunderstanding would be a serious interference with the unity and ministerial effectiveness of the whole congregation. In fact, it can be downright demoralizing and distorting for younger members. Furthermore, though these older members are much more inactive than earlier in their lives, they must be helped to keep the active zeal and concerns of their hearts alive and peacefully integrated with their bodily inactivity. These older members must also have a live sense of the ministry of old age and retirement. They must be helped to realize how valuable and necessary for the whole congregation’s ministerial effectiveness is their own ministry of prayer and sacrifice. So often older religious think they have retired from ministry. I cannot stress enough the need for the elderly, and for everyone, to realize that while the aged and the sick must humbly retire from active involvement they never retire from ministry. The final and most important ministry is dying. If these concerns are not forgotten, then the natural monasticizing tendency of old age ’will not interfere with the active, apostolic nature of a religious community. Third, in the long history of women’s religious congregations, for various historical reasons which are beyond my simple point here, the Church has had great difficulty in recognizing the active charism at work in the hearts of various foundresses. Angela Merici, Mary Ward, Marguerite Bourgeoys and Louise de Marillac and their followers are but a very few examples of the suffering this confusion has caused. In some ways the Church still continues to struggle today with this issue of more fully acknowledging and facilitating the active charism within communities of women religious. It is very clear that the Church’s welcoming approval of valid contemporary forms of active spirituality among women religious--and without imposing any additional, Two Apostolic Lifestyles / 667 illegitimate, monastic expectations-- will enormously enrich God’s mission of justice and love in our world. This article has described two different charisms, two different apostolic lifestyles, the active and the monastic. The Spirit of God has created and kept these two charisms alive in the Church. In a recent talk to the American bishops Michael Buckley, S.J., summarized the treatment of charism in the document "Directives for Mutual Relations Between Bishops and Religious in the Church": "Charism always involves three factors: It is an enabling gift of the Spirit which so conforms the recipients to Christ that they build the Church.’’~° Three things, then: a gift of the Spirit, intimacy with Jesus, for the sake of the Church. As we come to appreciate further the active and monastic lifestyles in the Church, it is the hope of this writer that we will not confuse or corrupt these different charisms, but cooperate with what God intends, through them, for the unity of the Church, the holiness of its members and the service of a faith-filled justice in our world. Paul’s words to the Corinthians both confirm and stimulate our hope: There is a variety of gifts but always the same Spirit; there are all sorts of service to be done, but always to the same Lord; working in all sorts of different ways in different people, it is the same God who is working in all of them. The particular way in which the Spirit is given to each person is for a good purpose (1 Co 12:4-7).

NOTES

~They Speak By Silence, a Carthusian (Huntington, Indiana: Our Sunday Visitor Inc.), p.3. 2One Pace Beyond--The Life of Nano Nagle, M. Raphael Consedine, P.B.V.M., (Moorabbin, Victoria: L.R. McKinnon & Co., 1977), p. 7. 3As a result of their study of the document "Essential Elements in the Church’s Teach- ing on Religious Life as Applied to Institutes Dedicated to Works of the Apostolate," Franciscans are investigating and proposing the evangelical life as the best description of their charism. It remains to be seen whether this evangelical life is a third type of spirituality different from what I am calling the monastic and the active, whether it is its own unique blend of the active and monastic, or whether it is a particular version of an active spirituality. 668 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

4Vatican 11, "Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of the Religious Life," #8. 5Soul Friend, Kenneth Leech, (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1977), p. viii. 6Vatican II, "Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of Religious Life," #8. 7See my two articles "Assessing and Choosing Even as the Journey Continues," REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS, March/April 1984, and "Come Let Us Talk This Over: Issues in Spirituality, 1985," Part 1, ’REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS, July/August 1985, and Part II, REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS, September/October 1985. 8Vatican II, "Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of the Religious Life," #2. 9The Monastic Journey, T. Merton, (New York: Image, 1978), p. 213. ~°See "The Charism and Identity of Religious Life," REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS, September/ October 1985, p. 661.

From Tablet to Heart: Internalizing New Constitutions I and II

by Patricia Spillane, M.S. C.

Price: $1.25 per copy, plus postage.

Address: Review for Religious Rm 428 3601 Lindell Blvd. St. Louis, Missouri 63108 Canonical Considerations of Autonomy and Hierarchical Structure

Elizabeth McDonough, O.P.

Sister McDonough is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Canon Law at The Catholic University of America (Washington, DC 20064). This article is based on a presentation she made to the LCWR convention in New Orleans last September.

In the Middle Ages--from the grips of which many people suspect canon law has never been freed--canonical discipline was known as "practical theology." That is, it was not a separate science as it is today, with specialized formulators, practitioners, codifiers and interpreters. What people did on a regular basis became operative norms of action. By authoritative intervention or by custom these operative norms of action eventually became recognized as laws in the technical sense of the Aristotelian/Thomistic construct, that is: An ordinance of reason formulated and promulgated by one charged with care of the common good. At that point in time the reasonableness of the norm, the intelligence of the individual, and each person’s freedom of choice were paramount. Also in the Middle Ages--from the grips of which many people likewise suspect religious life has never been freed--the ancient monastic and recently discovered mendicant ideas of religious life held sway. By that time the former was already highly clericalized, feudally land-based, rather well- off, and subject to frequent reforms. The latter was a new notion capitalizing on mobility, the development of towns, the discovery of trade, the rise of universities, and renewed lay piety. It, too, soon became rather clericalized; comfortably land-based, economically well-off, and in need of frequent reforms. 669 670 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

Nearly three centuries later at the time of Trentmfrom the grips of which most people are quite certain canon law and religious life have not been freed--canonical science was heavily influenced by nominalism, voluntarism, legalism and emerging casuistry. At that point in time the reasonableness of the norm, the intelligence of the individual, and one’s freedom of choice were no longer paramount. The then recognized forms of religious life were suffering badly from the mediocrity and compromise and half measures that commonly accompany the waning of initial fervor, the dissipation of energies, the loss of resources, the monotony of the ordinary, the discovery of personal interpretation, and the sometimes misplaced convenience of dispensation, exception and privilege. Similarly, all of society was in flux: notions of political power, emerging nations, methods of warfare, forms of communication, frontiers of exploration, monetary systems, philosophical reasoning, theological conclusions, and ecclesiastical structures all experienced incredible upheavals and alterations. And in the midst of this social and ecclesial melange, the desperately needed "new idea" of apostolic religious life was conceived by Angela Merici, Ignatius Loyola, Mary Ward, Louise de Marillac and Jane de Chantal. These charismatic individuals were followed in a few centuries by Catherine McAuley and many others. Perhaps it was a failure of imagination on the part of the ecclesiastical establishment that perpetuated the ancient, cloistered, monastic model in theological reasoning and canonical practice for women religious. But religious life itself simply continued to develop. Eighty percent of the religious groups ever founded became established between Trent and the twentieth century, and non-cloistered, non-solemnly vowed, apostolic religious life for women was finally universally recognized, but not until 1900. Canon law-- retaining some remnant of its medieval ’,practical theology" identity--could not ignore the reality of the "new idea" in religious life forever, although recognition came rather slowly by our standards.

Relating to the Present But what precisely is the connection of all this with the topic at hand, namely "Canonical Considerations of Self-Determination, Just Autonomy and Hierarchical Structure"? The connection is this: At the moment recognized forms of religious life are suffering badly from the mediocrity and compromise and half measures that commonly accompany the waning of initial fervor, the dissipation of energies, the loss of resources, the monotony of the ordinary, the discovery of personal interpretation, and the sometimes misplaced convenience of dispensation, exception and privilege. Similarly, at the present time all of society is in flux: notions of political power, emerging nations, methods of warfare, forms of communication, frontiers of explo- Canonical Considerations / (171 ration, monetary systems, philosophical reasoning, theological conclusions, and ecclesiastical structures are all experiencing incredible upheavals and alterations. We are clearly in a post-conciliar era incredibly comparable to the late Middle Ages and to post-Tridentine times. In the midst of this social and ecclesial melange, religious life is again in need--perhaps desperately in need--of yet another "new idea." But those of us who are currently members of established communities, more than likely, are not the bearers of this desperately "new idea." At best we are perhaps--or certainly have the opportunity to be--artisans of a transition. And with proper understanding and use, this writer contends that canon law can be a great aid in this transition. Fostering a Transition To illustrate the transitional role of contemporary religious institutes, let us for a moment take the medieval methodological approach of canon law as "practical theology" and look at what current "theology in practice" in the 1983 code suggests about this life we call "religious." To begin, the new law talks about life: an identifiable form of life, a substantive form of life, a stable form of life. It speaks of a life clearly understood and freely chosen: a life of following Christ, a life of total dedication to God. It con- siders this life a particular state in the Church undertaken by profession of the evangelical counsels and lived in accord with the supreme law of the Gospel as expressed in the proper law of one’s institute. It is a life involving some fixed organizational structures, certain obligations and rights, various spiritual exercises, some restrictions on personal and apostolic activities, numerous clear procedures for admission and departure, and a public connection to the local and universal Church. From the point of view of "practical theology" the new code requires proper law specification in seventy-four out of the one hundred fifty-three canons that apply to religious institutes. In other words, in nearly half of the canons concerning religious, the institute itself must or may determine specific elements of the life of its members, both individually and collectively. Thus, widespread distinctions in practice are not excluded by the universal law requirements for common life, identifiable superiors, necessary formation, apostolic limitations, departure procedures, and the like. The principle of subsidiarity is canonically incorporated in the new code, and opportunities for practical variations are amply provided. How well or to what extent these are utilized depends entirely on one’s proper law. Proper-law revision, or the writing of constitutions, as experienced during the last two decades in the life of religious institutes has been no easy task, however. In some instances the process was carried out in an ambience of 672 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 internal polarization that fomented contentions among members as each retreated to his or her corner courageously defending the truth for the sake of God. In other instances the formulation of an institute’s truly representa- tive legislation was complicated by a certain lack of contemporaneity in institutional and hierarchical Church structures themselves. Nevertheless, these difficulties do not negate the fact that it is precisely the revision of proper-law wherein lies the opportunity for institutes to incorporate new ideas and new experiences of religious life. Good proper-law revision allows them to accomplish this without having to shoulder the burden of being the initiators or receivers of the desperately needed "new idea" mentioned above. Moreover, incorporating new ideas and experiences in proper-law to the greatest extent possible now, can help pave the way for later canonical acceptance of other, newer ideas and experiences, however long that may take.

Institutionalizing Charisms Backtracking momentarily before going on, let us note that the phrase "new idea" is entirely inadequate. Ideas have consequences, but they are not the only realities that have consequences. And religious life is never primarily or merely an idea, an intellectual endeavor. It is a gift of the Spirit to, in, and through the Church. Charisms are like seeds planted in particularly fertile soil in a specific historical context. They are shaped and reshaped by the exigencies of history, by the fortunes and misfortunes of the passage of time. They are nourished and grow and evolve in the context of everyday life with everyday people--interspersed here and there by those we happily refer to as "saints" (while being equally happy we never had to live with them). Charisms are never captured in constitutions or any collection of fundamental and secondary documents. Charisms live in people or they do not live at all. Legal norms, on the other hand, are externally formulated and externally measurable. They can never totally express internal motivation. Thus, the basic import of any constitutions and any collection of fundamental and secondary documents is not merely their juridical perspective and canonical determination. The legal heritage of an institute, capturing as best it can the articulated charism, is always conditioned by the emerging values of real life as experienced by those inspired to embrace the charism. People are, you see, an undeniably important element of the canonical system. On another level, the institutional Church, which in some form or another has been with us for nearly two millennia, must itself occasionally reach out and embrace a genuinely new charism. In such instances the ecclesial structure must fracture its preset boundaries, redefine its established categories, and reorient its institutional life in order to incorporate, that is, take Canonical Considerations / 673 into its structures, a new breath of the Spirit. This reaching out and embracing a charism has probably happened only three times in Church history: for Benedictine monasticism, medieval mendicancy, and post-reformation apostolic orders. In each instance, institutional embracing of the new charism occurred quite slowly, required numerous adjustments and experienced setbacks over the years. The time may very well be ripe for another institutional embracing of truly new charisms of consecrated life in the Church. If so, this too will occur slowly, require adjustments, and experience setbacks. And, if history can offer us any objective insights regarding the process and its effects, one might be cautioned to note that once the institutional Church reaches out and embraces a genuinely new charism, the rest of the story is that of the charism’s institutionalization. It is simply a matter of time and human nature: initial ideals are eventually dimmed or forgotten; initial fervor is slowly chilled or lost; initial Gospel goals are gradually subordinated to preservation of the new institution. Suffice it to say that the readers of this article are, more likely than not, part of already established, already institutionalized charisms and, as such, are not the first wave of any new movement in religious life.

Limiting Self-Determination and Autonomy The parameters of ecclesial embrace and the exigencies of historical evolution are the primary limiting factors in the "self-determination"aspect of any religious founder or foundress, of any religious institute. Self-determination is never absolute. It has always been far from so for religious life, and still is. But this is also the case, for example, regarding members of the Christian faithful in general. In the new code all Christians are entitled to form associations (c. 215). All Christians should lead holy lives and promote the building up of the Church (c. 210). All Christians have the right and duty to work towards announcing the Gospel of :salvation (c. 211) and to undertake apostolic activities (c. 216). But no Christians are obliged in any way to seek official recognition for these :activities in ’any canonical form unless they choose to do them in the name of the Church ’(c..301,). And no Christian is obliged in any way to choose any form of consecrated life (c. 573 §2). Yet the self- determination of any Christian (which is never absolute to begin with) is quite circumscribed and channeled--limited, if you will--by either of the above choices once made. As individuals we cannot be both teachers and nurses at the same time. As communities we cannot be both monastic and apostolic at the same time. As institutes we cannot be both Ursuline and Franciscan at the same time. Thus, in an era that prefers to deal with "both/and," we are sometimes faced with an inevitable "either/or" because 674 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 no self-determination is absolute. Similarly the "just autonomy" of any institute is always and only to be considered within the context of ecclesial embrace and historical evolution. Philosophically speaking, autonomy refers to freedom from external control and censure. It guarantees room for action and reflection without disruption, but it includes necessary coordination in reference to the whole. Nevertheless, any auto nomos, from the Greek to be self-normed, is funda- mentally limited by creation and redemption: by our realistic situation of being creatures in an ambience of and affected by evil. As individuals we have from the start only limited independence that remains always relative: so, too, with religious institutes in the Church.

Appreciating the Role of Obligation Here it may be important to digress somewhat to consider the bias that supports the current canonical system. It is a philosophical/theological construct characterized by valuing status, common good and obligation. This is so in contrast to more recent philosophical/theological constructs characterized by valuing human dignity, individual advantage and personal rights. Neither need be mutually exclusive of, or in direct contradiction to, the other. But both have often appeared so. Even with the advances of the last few centuries and the affirmations of recent popes and the articulations of Vatican Council II, the former construct is the one that clearly underlies the new law. In the new code, the communal context of "status" constantly qualifies any affirmations of equality in dignity. In it, the common good--perceived as a set of conditions enabling the attainment of reasonable objectives for the sake of which individuals have decided to collaborate--is clearly prior to independent, individual advantage. In it, rights are subordinate to and conditioned upon duties intrinsic to the Gospel and to our social nature. In it, the protection of rights is for the sake of fuller participation in one’s evangelical and social obligations. And in it, patriarchal paradigms and male-dominated linear images still predominate. But what of the alternative constructs? What of, for example, the philosophical and theological mind-set that emerges from the social contract and human rights theories of Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau? These are to a great extent the basis of our constitutional republic and the foundation of American civil law and jurisprudence. Prescinding from their equally patriarchal paradigms and male-dominated linear images, note that social- contract and human-rights theories appear to posit the pristine existence of free, independent but highly vulnerable individuals willing to ransom a portion of personal autonomy for collective security. Rights are the "playing Canonical Considerations / 675 cards" or the "poker chips" of the barter: some cannot be relinquished (these are termed "inalienable"); others can be relinquished but can also be recalled (in breach of contract). It may appear, at times, that the institutional Church would be much better off with a healthy dose of American civil liberties incorporated into its legal system: with a civil rights basis; with non-hierarchical checks and balances; with protection by administrative procedures; with guarantees of prior notification, due process, provision for counsel, and the like. And, for the most part, this is probably not only an accurate observation but also a viable possibility and partial reality. Witness, for instance, the numerous appeals boards and administrative tribunals that already exist in many religious institutes and dioceses to complement the heavily hierarchical Church system. Indeed, it is clear that these two systems are not, and need not be considered, contradictory or mutually exclusive. Nevertheless, there is a significant difference between the Medieval and Enlightenment mind-sets, and the difference is crucial for ecclesiastical law and especially for religious institutes. Social-contract and human-rights constructs, while very affirming of life and dignity in theory, are singularly inept at guaranteeing life and dignity to the individual from the community in practice. This is because one finds in them no legal locus of obligation. They are based, if you will, on the implicit myth that somewhere there exists a Utopian world of perfectly free humans who have no alienated or usurped rights and who experience no unresolved conflicts, individually or collectively. Reality is not quite so Utopian. So, for example, in the American social- contract/human-rights systems, suppose you are .walking over a bridge beneath which there is someone in the water drowning. Note that, even though the drowning person has affirmed rights to life, education, suitable housing, equal-opportunity employment, a just wage, and more, there is absolutely no civil-law focus of obligation for anyone to come to his or her aid. This is not to say there is no moral obligati?n to come tothe person’s aid, but there is no legal one. In fact, the legal system--because of numerous possibilities for litigation--at times seems even to militate against fulfillment of one’s moral obligations in such situations. And note that we are not discussing here the medical/moral/legal subtleties of prenatal life or of the terminally ill. We simply have a recognizably fully alive human being with numerous affirmed rights who ends up quite dead because of lack of legal obligation in the system itself. In sharp contrast, the Aristotelian/Thomistic system of law, and even further back the Judaic/Talmudic system of law, are based primarily on obligations: common, mutual, reciprocal obligations that arise from a corporate experience. The Hebrew, the Christian, the religious is chosen-- passive voice--be it at Sinai, through the Last Supper, or by a call to conse- 676 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 crated life. We are chosen. This is not to suggest that we, therefore, have no responsibilities; but rather, to highlight the fact that the initiative is God’s. Only the response is ours. Thus it is the beginning of our system’s notion of legal obligation that becomes the crucial difference in the end.~ We do not begin by bartering away any pristine "rights." We receive a gift, with consequences. The legal constructs of our lives relate to divine events in and through which everything necessary for the eternal salvation of everyone for all ages has somehow already been given, in some sense even commanded. They are the same divine events in and through which we have freely assumed personal perpetual obligations. And they provide for an amazing absence of Utopian myths. For there is in salvation history ample evidence of human failure, outright betrayal, personal and collective infidelity, repeated digressions, and an uncanny unwillingness to live up to our part of the bargain. In contrast, on the part of God, there is ample evidence of long-suffering patience, relentless forgiveness and unswerving fidelity to the promise of mercy. Moreover, if we do not read the Gospel too selectively, even after having done everything expected, you and I have no basic right or even a distant claim to any reward whatsoever, although we are assured in the end of attaining the greatest possible goal.

Situating Obligation in Hierarchical Structures The importance of proper law--the law that obtains for one’s own institute-has already been mentioned in regard to fostering the current transition in the paradigms of religious life. Proper law is also crucial to any element of self-determination and just autonomy within the Church’s hierarchical structure. And the central element of ecclesiastical proper law, as well as ecclesiastical universal law, is the locus of incumbent obligation. This is what gives our laws content and objectivity for assuring the protection of values and the exercise of rights, even if these values and rights are not directly named as such. In fact, whether or not the values and rights are actually named in the law is of minimal importance. Perhaps at this point an example is in order. There is an ancient principle of Roman Law which states: Where there is a right, there is a remedy (Ubi ius, ibi remedium). It is in the logical contrapositive that we more readily recognize the truth of the principle, namely: If there is no remedy to be found for violation of an affirmed right, there is really no right at all. With this in mind, let us proceed to the example. It is an example not taken from ttie~ law for religious so that the content will not distract from the point intend~dl.. Chnon 22’1! §’2’,of~ the 1983 code states: If the Christian faithful are sum- Canonical Considerations / 677 moned to judgment by c6mpetent authority, they have the right to be judged in accord with the prescriptions of law applied with equity. It sounds wonderful.. But what is there to guarantee that this will, indeed, be the case? The answer: incumbent obligations and opportunities to insist on their fulfillment as provided in the canons on judicial procedures. °The affirmed right of c. 221 §2 can be vindicated because all tribunal personnel must take an oath that they will fulfill their functions properly and faithfully (c. 1454). All tribunal personnel must disqualify themselves from involvement in cases concerning: (1) persons with whom they have a first-cousin or closer relationship, (2) persons for whom they are guardians or trustees~ (3) persons with whom they have a close friendship or for whom they feel a great animosity, as well as (4) those instances in which they desire to make a profit or avoid some loss (c. 1448). And if the tribunal personnel do not disqualify themselves, the parties in the case can lodge an objection (c. 1229) to which the court must attend before the trial can continue (c. 1451). All tribunal personnel are forbidden to accept any gifts whatsoever for the performance of their duties (c. 1456). And any tribunal personnel are subject to penalties, including loss of office, if they refuse to deal with a case for which they are competent, or attempt to deal with a case for which they are not competent, or violate the law of secrecy, or inflict damage on the parties out of malice or serious negligence (c. 1457). In other words, these procedural canons--specifying as they do the legal locus of obligations and providing the opportunity to insist that the obligations be fulfilled--are really what give canonical force to c. 221 §2. But the point is this: These canons, albeit with different numbers, were also in the former code. The affirmation of current c. 221 §2 was not. How much this newly affirmed "right" would mean without these related obligations is questionable, for indeed: If there is no remedy, there is really no right. And how much this newly incorporated right actually adds to the related, already long-standing procedures still remains to be seen. All the foregoing in norway intends to ignore the fact that. even in the best of legal systems incumbent obligations can upon occasion be observed primarily in the breach. The intention is, rather, to provide a clear understanding of the importance of obligations in the Church’s legal system in order to investigate more meaningfully the numerous obligations contained in the canons concerning religious institutes.

Religious Institutes and Obligations To begin our discussion, as well as to illustrate the complexity of the: interrelationships among canons, let us consider thosecanons contaii~ed under the title "Obligations and Rights of Institutes and of their Members,." cc. 678 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

662-672. As often as one might comb the (official Latin) text of the canons, there is not one strict right (ius) to be found. But at this point in the presentation, such a discovery should be no great surprise: It is the locus of incumbent obligation, not the affirmation of rights, that is the substantive base for our legal system. Moreover, listed in these canons there are numerous obligations from which it is clear that what other legal systems call "rights" will be respected even though not mentioned by name. To pursue the practical content of obligations/rights in the code as related to self-determination, just autonomy and hierarchical structure, we will isolate one of the canons in this section and investigate its canonical consequences. Perhaps the most important obligation listed in this set of canons is that of c~ 670: Each institute must (debet) supply for its members all those things necessary for attaining the end of their vocation. The debet is canonically preceptive language. The subject, object, and matter of the obligation are, respectively, the institute, its members, and necessities. Proper law should certainly address itself to the objective meaning of "necessities," and the meaning should have some reference to what is justly judged so in an equit- able manner by competent authority within the norms, structures, and resources of a particular institute. There is some problem, to be sure, with relating mandated necessities to the end of one’s vocation when that end ultimately transcends temporal realities and, thus, is effectively precluded from the possibility of practical evaluation. But consequences of the mandate in c. 670 are extensive and have already been addressed by canonists.2 At the very least, this obligation on the part of institutes is interpreted as requiring those in positions, of government to provide for, and as giving members a corresponding right to: (1) sound, complete, approved proper law, (2) structural provision for general chapters, superiors and councils, (3) systematic formation, (4) stable community life, (5) suitable options for apostolic action or internal work in accord with the institute’s mission, and (6) appropriate material goods and .opportunities for ongoing health care, formation, work and renewal. Note that none of the mutual obligations/rights in this list are meaningful except as connected to a coherent legal system that can guarantee their fulfillment. And recall that in Church law the locus of incumbent obligation is what provides objective content and procedural safeguards for affirmed or unaffirmed rights. It is the locus of incumbent obligation that is the basis for whatever downward or lateral accountability might exist in our hierarchical system, which Canonical Considerations / 679 operates primarily on the intrinsic principle of upward accountability. That is, in fulfilling well the obligations it has towards its members (i.e., its downward accountability), any institute is also more than likely fulfilling its obligations towards the other elements of the hierarchical structure (i.e., its lateral and upward accountability). Simply put, an institute cares for downward accountability by attending to the legal obligations it has towards its members. It does this by providing for at least the six categories mentioned as flowing from the requirement of c. 670. But in so doing the institute is not only protecting the rights of individual members. It is also establishing itself on a sound operational basis for relating to equivalent juridic persons, such as other religious institutes, in lateral accountability. And it is likewise contributing to its own just autonomy in the upward accountability of the institute to higher authorities in the hierarchical structure. Thus, all of the mutual obligations/rights that derive from c. 670 are directly or indirectly related to the question of an institute’s existence and just autonomy. But the motive for action and the locus of accountability in c. 670-- fulfilling obligations toward members--shift the focus for the institute from that of accepting the collective imposition of alien restrictions to that of guaranteeing the possible pursuance of someone’s response to having been chosen. It is possible to approach this accountability from an entirely different perspective, namely: from the recognition of just autonomy for religious institutes in c. 586. Indeed, the result of beginning with c. 586 might even be somewhat similar, as will be seen in the next section. Yet the basis for action in the former approach is probably more canonically sound.

Religious Institutes and Just Autonomy Canon 586 states that it belongs to local ordinaries to preserve and protect (servare ac tueri) the autonomy of each institute. In the same canon "just autonomy of life, especially of government" is recognized by universal law. The canon goes on to describe this "just autonomy" as that by which institutes enjoy (gaudeant) their own discipline and have the power to pre~serve (servare valeant) their patrimony3 intact. The patrimony of an institute of consecrated life is described in c. 578 as the intention and purpose of the founders/foundresses, sanctioned by competent ecclesiastical authority, concerning the nature, end, spirit and character of the institute as well as its sound traditions. The canon adds that this patrimony is to be faithfully preserved (servanda est) by all. Elsewhere, in c. 631 § 1, the general chapter is given special responsibility both to protect (tueri) the institute’s patrimony as described in c. 587 and to promote its appropriate renewal (accommodatam renovationem). Still elsewhere in c. 587 §1, institutes must (debent) incorporate into their constitutions .whatever is established regarding their 680 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 patrimony in order to faithfully protect (ad... fide#us tuendam) the vocation and identity of their instutute. Another set of canons is also pertinent to the investigation at hand: cc. 675 §1, 611 #2, 677 §1, and 671. The first states that in apostolic institutes apostolic action is part of their very nature (ipsam eorundem naturam). The second states that a bishop’s consent for canonical erection of a religious house includes the right (ius) to exercise the works proper to the institute according to the norm of law and within any restrictions contained in the consent. The third states that superiors and members of institutes should faithfully retain (fide#ter retineanO and prudently accommodate (prudenter accommodenO the mission and works of their institute. And the fourth states that members may not undertake pgsitions outside of those proper to the institute,without the permission of legitimate superiors. Both the language and the interplay of all these canons are significant. The patrimony of any institute, or, if you will, the meaningful heritage or expression of its charism, is somehow to be contained in its proper law. Note that this is the same sound, complete, approved proper law to which membe~-s have a right by reason of the obligation in c. 670. And this patrimony is to be preserved by all--an unqualified and inclusive all--according to c. 578. Con- stitutions (c. 587), general chapters (c. 631), and local ordinaries (c. 586) are each required (using some form of the same Latin verb, tueor) to protect the institute’s patrimony. Chapters have the responsibility to renew it (c. 631), while superiors and members have the ability to retain and accommodate certain aspects of it (c. 677). Now for the sake of example, let us suppose that an institute has been founded whose nature is apostolic, whose purpose is to practice the corporal works of mercy, whose spirit is non-monastic, and whose character, because of its purpose, is for the most part one of commitment to individual rather than to collective apostolates. Let us also suppose that the instutute is of pontifical right, that it has three canonically erected houses in three dioceses, and that its members are present in seven other dioceses in which the institute has n6 canonically erected houses. Finally, let us suppose that a member of this institute, with appropriate permission from internal authorities and fulfilling the norms of universal and proper law, is exercising an apostolate which the diocesan bishop does not wish this person to exercise in the diocese entrusted to his care. The stage is set, is it not, for the play of tensions commonly experienced between just autonomy and hierarchical structure? Without being facetious, let me suggest further that the script for this act of the play commonly has the religious entering stage left, the bishop entering stage right, and all definitive action coming Deus ex machina from above. The entire performance Canonical Considerations / 681 is usually viewed only through the opera glasses of a communications media well known for its ability to distort the factual while filling lacunae with unfounded conjecture. When the curtain falls, there are inevitable winners and losers, but who belongs to which category most often depends on where you were seated--center orchestra, third balcony, backstage, or in the wings. And usually the real issues have neither been well addressed nor even partially solved, while genuine Christian values, not to mention Christian people, have more than likely been forgotten or neglected or badly battered during the performance. As a canonist, this writer holds there are viable alternatives to the above scenario. For, if law does nothing else for us in the Church, it ought to at least be able to function as the impartial arbiter in cases of conflict. How well it can do this for cases such as the above, however, depends on how clearly and thoroughly obligations are both delineated in proper law and fulfilled by those responsible for them. But, to return to the case and the question at hand: Can the bishop prohibit the religious from exercising the apostolate in the diocese entrusted to his care? If you view it from the perspective of the religious--to use familiar phraseologywthe "bad news" is that he probably can, because ultimately all religious are subject to the power of the bishop in apostolic works (c. 678 §1). The "good news" is that such a prohibition would be very difficult in some circumstances. Needless to say, if you are looking at this case from the vantage point of the bishop, the content of the answer is exactly the same: The prohibition is probably possible but possibly very difficult. The law, you see, is rather objective and can be an impartial arbiter in such matters, even though the "goodness" or "badness", attributed to the content would probably be reversed (and logically so) in the judgment of the bishop. Why is it probably possible but possibly very difficult for the bishop to forbid the religious from exercising an apostolate in the diocese entrusted to his care? The answer, to be canonically sound, requires a careful investigation of the canons previously mentioned. If the institute is an apostolic one, then apostolic works are part of its nature by law (c. 675). The nature of an institute as sanctioned by ecclesiastical authority is part of its patrimony to be preserved°by all (c. 578) and contained in its constitutions (c. 587). The power to preserve this patrimony is part of an institute’s legally recognized just autonomy of life, and local ordinaries are to preserve and protect this autonomy (c. 586). Regarding just autonomy of life, on the one hand, it cannot be restricted merely to internal matters or only to government. If autonomy is restricted to internal matters, then the understanding of religious life under universal law would be a dichotomized, compartmentalized one. The code takes great 682 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 pains to indicate that this is clearly not the case, and especially for the apostolic activity of apostolic institutes (cc. 662, 673, 675). Furthermore, if autonomy is restricted to the institute’s internal government, then the just autonomy "especially of government" recognized in c. 586 is a meaningless phrase even canonically. On the other hand, if any apostolate is fundamental to an institute and if any autonomy in regard to this apostolate is to be recognized, then the apostolate must be clearly articulated in the institute’s constitutions. If it is clearly articulated in the constitutions, and if the institute has a canon- cially erected house in the diocese, then this includes a strict right (ius) to exercise proper-law apostolate(s) of the institute from this house (c. 611 #2). Note, however, that while the institute has this right, each and every member of the institute is not necessarily free to exercise the right. Canonists do agree that, in granting consent for a religious house, a diocesan bishop can restrict some of the institute’s activities for all of the members or all of the institute’s activities for some of the members. But they also agree that he cannot restrict all of the institute’s activities for all of the members. If he judges this extreme restriction necessary, he simply ought not to grant consent for establishing the house. Thus, in response to the case, if: - there is a constitutionally established apostolate - exercised by a member of the institute -~with proper internal permissions ~ according to universal law (i.e., legally) -. from a canonically established house -to which no general or specific apostolic restrictions have been attached, it would be very difficult for the bishop to prevent the religious from continuing the apostolic activity. The prohibition would not be impossible, however, because it is provided by c. 679, that if: - the bishop judges there is a most grave cause - after having referred the matter to the major superior - and if the major superior does not take appropriate action - the bishop can prohibit the religious from remaining in the diocese. But this action constitutes a penalty (c. 1327 §1) which means that -the procedure for application of penalties is to be followed (cc. 1341-1353) - no steps may be dispensed with (c. 87) 7 all wording must be interpreted strictly (c. 18) - the constitutions of the institute may not be violated (c. 1327 §1) and - the bishop must immediately inform the Holy See of his action (c. 679). Canonical Considerations / 683

Whence, the answer given above must contain an important qualification: The prohibition is probably possible but possibly very difficult only if the initial legal obligations regarding apostolate, houses and constitutions have been fulfilled by the institute to which the member belongs. But such is not usually the case, is it? For the most part situations arise in which it is clear that one or many of the above legal obligations have not been fulfilled and, consequently, the rights involved are not well protected. It often happens that the institute has no canonically erected house in the diocese. Then there is simply no right for the institute or any of its member to exercise any apostolate there. If they do so, they do so at the good will of the bishop who can subsequently forbid what he has previously permitted. The written agreements between diocesan bishops and competent superiors, which are now required by c. 681 when entrusting works to religious, might possibly give the religious a cause for civil-law action in the case of a breach of contract, but this could only occur if the agreements were poorly composed canonically in the first place. One might add that adhering to the requirement for these written agreements, which are supposed to include the type of work involved, could possibly identify potential conflicts such as the above case in their incipient stages. It also often happens that a particular activity exercised by a religious is not mentioned--or at least not referred to in a specific enough manner--to definitively include it in the constitutionally approved elements of the insi- tute’s apostolate. The competent internal authority by making a practical interpretation in the course of good government may judge that this specific activity is included within the constitutionally approved elements of its apostolate. But if this practical interpretation is challenged and recourse is had to the competent external authority, the interpretation of the authority who approved the constitutions in the first place is the one that prevails. Another common occurrence is practical accommodation of an institute’s mission and apostolic works by the superiors and members in accord with c. 677. An institute may adapt its apostolate from educating orphans, for instance, to educating Blacks or Hispanics. Or, again, an institute may relin- quish nursing in hospitals in order to serve in home-nursing ministries. Some- times these accommodations are not subsequently or accurately incorporated into one’s constitutions by a general chapter. But legal affirmation of such adjustments is both the obligation and prerogative of general chapters according to c. 631. If general chapters do not fulfill their obligations by providing an adequate update of an institute’s proper law, the "good news" and "bad news" for the religious will be rendered as mentioned above. Three other forms of apostolic accommodation are also common and can be far more problematic, namely: 684 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

(1) defining the institute’s mission and apostolate in so generic a manner that almost any apostolic activity can be included in them, (2) including in the institute’s mission and apostolate some activities that appear to be only indirectly connected with its patrimony, and (3) including in the institute’s mission and apostolate those activities which relate closely to those prohibited for religious in universal law. It would be unrealistic--if not grandiose--to attempt a treatment here of the specifics of each of these instances, but all three can certainly be recognized as occasions for another play of tensions between just autonomy and hierarchical structure. In the process of approval of constitutions, competent ecclesiastical authorities often perceive these instances as fostering generic vagueness or minute inclusiveness or institutional challenges: Their response is usually to request or to mandate adjustments in wording and/or content. This is often viewed by the institutes both as a violation of their just autonomy and as a negation of their renewal experiences. There is no doubt that the attitudes of those involved in the dialogues concerning constitutional revision are crucial to the results. In the first case just suggested, there can be--but need not be--a real danger of dissipating an institute’s resources by too extensive a diversification within a generic category, such as education or health care or social justice. In the second, there can be, but need not be, a noble attempt to "legitimize" the activity of every member, however diversified, by incorporating it by name into the institute,s proper law. In the third, there can be, but need not be, a genuine and necessary prophetic challenge to the gradually institutionalized: restrictions on Gospel imperatives. Whether competent authorities and religious institutes approach these and similar situations from a stance of polarization and confrontation or from a stance of pluralism and constructive compromise alters the "flashpoint" of the matter involved. A "flashpoint" is the degree of flammability of combustible materials. Most readers will probably be aware that there have been many tenuous "flashpoints" approached and passed by the interaction of hierarchy and religious--as well as among religious themselves--throughout history. Such opposition and conflict, indeed, utter conflagrations at times, have been regrettable and are certainly not to be excused.4 But in the interaction of religious charism and ecclesial institution they will always be potentially present. Suggestions are sometimes made that religious institutes experiencing great charism/hierarchical tensions might opt for what is referred to as "non- canonical" status. Legally speaking "non-canonical" is a misnomer as well as an almost impossible option. Religious institutes are by law public juridic persons (c. 634, 116 §2). Canonical Considerations / 685

This means they automatically have a "canonical status" which can also be described as legal standing or public authentication within the ecclesial structure. This status is understood to guarantee the soundness of the institute’s charism and traditions, to empower the duly elected officers of the institute forgoverning, and to confer a mandate on the institute (and its members) for apostolic activities. It is quite clear in Church law that only the appropriate ecclesiastical authorities--namely, Diocesan ]~ishops or the Apostolic See--can erect religious institutes (cc. 576, 578-579, 589), can approve and accept the charisms of founders and foundresses (c. 578), and can officially interpret and moderate the practice of the evangelical counsels (c. 576). Any public juridic person in the Church is by law a "perpetual" entity and can be legitimately extinguished only by competent authority (c. 120 §1). The Apostolic See alone is able to suppress an institute of consecrated life once it has been canonically erected (c. 584). On the occasion of such suppression, the disposition of the goods of the institute, which are by law "ecclesiastical goods" (c. 1257), belongs to the Apostolic See (c. 584) unless the approved statutes of the public juridic person (i.e., the institute’s proper law) provide otherwise (c. 123). Thus, the material possessions of any religious institute, as well as the final decisions regarding what is to be done with them, do not belong ultimately to the institute or to its members but to the institutional Church. Moreover, religious institutes are "collegial" public juridic persons (c. 115 §2) andas such continue to exist (unless suppressed) as long as there is one surviving member, upon whom all the rights and obligations of the institute devolve (c. 120 §2). For two major reasons, therefore, it is not legally realistic for a religious institute as such to become "non-canonical" in response to the tensions experienced in the interplay of the institute’s charism and hierarchical structures: (1) suppression of a religious institute is difficult to accomplish and (2) truly non-canonical status is almost impossible to find. First, an institute does not have the authority to suppress itself; and it is rare that all members of an institute might opt for requesting suppression by the Apostolic See. If such were the case., however, the juridic person could totally cease to exist. But if even a few chose to remain and were allowed to do so, these few would then enjoy all the rights and assume all the obligations of the still existing original religious institute. The ecclesiastical goods of the institute would also be subject to the care and control of the remaining members according to Church law? In other words, the members of any religious institute cannot simply decide to self-destruct the juridic person and head off into the sunset, each fortified with his or her own "piece 686 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 of the (institutional) rock." Second, even if an institute were suppressed (with every member obtaining an indult of departure or transferring to another institute), the now non- "religious" former members would still have some "canonical" status of legal recognition as Christian faithful. Individual members of the Christian faithful have an affirmed right to participate in apostolic action (c. 216). However, the exercise of this right is subject to ecclesiastical authority (cc. 223,394), and the right itself has far less legal protection than that of religious institutes to exercise proper law apostolates from canonically erected houses (c. 611 #2). The new code also affirms that members of the Christian faithful can form and govern associations, whether in the category of public ones (cc. 312-320) or private ones (cc. 321-326) for evangelical, charitable or pious purposes (cc. 215,299 §1). There are various types of associations of the faithful including "unrecognized" ones (c. 298 § 1), "recognized" ones (c. 299 §3), and "praised" or "commended" or "erected" ones (c. 298 §2). But all such associations must have statutes (cc. 304 § 1). All are subject to the vigilance of competent ecclesiastical authority (c. 305). All can be rather easily suppressed (cc. 320, 326). And the public ecclesial activity of any association in the areas of teaching and worship is severely restricted unless the association has been legally erected by ecclesiastical authority (c. 301). In other words, baptized Christians and any of their even faintly collective public ecclesial activities already have some form of "canonical" status which is impossible to avoid completely. It should be obvious that, in view of the above, it is perhaps more accurate and certainly more realistic to speak of a religious institute’s being able to opt for an alteration or transfer of "canonciai" status rather than for a "non- canonical" one. It may even be correct to suggest that, due to post-Vatican II developments, some institutes currently categorized as "religious" are actually experiencing transitions that allow them to identify more closely with another canonical category, such as secular institutes (cc. 710-730) or societies of apostolic life (cc 731- 746).6 Secular institutes do not require common life (c. 714) and have greater latitude in their governing structures (c. 717) than do religious institutes. Societies of apostolic life do require common life (c. 740) and are quite similar to religious institutes in their governing structures (c. 734) but have fewer aspects of these defined or limited by universal law. But these, too, are public juridic persons; these, too, are subject to ecclesiastical authority; and these, too, are all bound by the same basic requirements for erection, suppression, and proper law (cc. 578-597). Then again, perhaps it is even more obvious that the issue at hand may not be so much one of canonical status or legal categories as it is the real Canonical Considerations / 687 life question of how to deal constructively with the temptations of accommodation and retreat or of how to find the middle ground between compromise and confrontation. Those of us who are members of religious institutes in the United States survey the nation, the world, and indeed, the Church from an incredibly privileged vantage point. As American religious, like it or not, we are part of that fifth of the world which consumes four-fifths of its resources; we are part of that one-third of the world which does not usually go to bed hungry; we are citizens of an industrialized, technological superpower with the unique distinction of being the only nation in history (so far) to have dropped a nuclear bomb on people. As American religious, like it or not, we are members of a tax-exempt group of usually well-dressed, rather well- educated, for the most part professionally successful, comfortably well- to-do, noticeably articulate and unusually widely-traveled people. As American religious, like it or not, we admit and form our own members, elect our own leaders, manage our own finances, formulate nearly half of our own legislation, and belong to a structured category in a structured, hierarchical Church. As American religious, like it or not, we have the unique opportunity now--as in the past--to contribute to fashioning a future that is not only different, but better, for others in the nation, in the world, and in the Church. What, then, is the significance, from this incredibly privileged vantage point, of the real-life temptation to accommodate the demands of the Gos- pel to less than Gospel values or to retreat into the safety of less than Gos- pel structures? What, indeed, is the importance, from this incredibly privileged vantage point, of the real-life challenge to find that tenuous middle ground between compromise and confrontation, not because it is a safe loca- tion but because it is a constructive position from which to work for the good of others? And what, again, does any of this have to do with canon law, self-determination, just autonomy, and hierarchical structure? Summary and Suggestions It has been the underlying thesis throughout this presentation that our canonical legal system is primarily a good one: certainly not a perfect one; often a poorly used one; but basically an adequate one. It has been clearly stated that this system functions more by insisting on fulfillment of obligations than by pursuing articulated rights. Although the former approach fosters more substantive content than does the latter, it also often provides a ready mask for indifference, hostility, oppression, isolation, and ossifi- cation of the status quo. But no legal system of external norms, externally measurable, can effectively eliminate these aspects of human reality. And 688 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

a system that clearly defines the locus of legal obligations and provides the ability to insist upon their fulfillment can function as a marvelous operational base for living Gospel imperatives in an institutionalized setting. In other words: If you want to protect rights, work for obligations and their fulfillment. Work towards incorporating downward accountability in your proper law within the Church system of upward accountability that is practically devoid of checks and balances for controlling arbitrary downward misuse of power. It must be admitted that non-institutionalized groups and structures can probably provide as good operational bases for living Gospel inperatives. But these do not usually survive the test of time beyond the original charismatic leaders and their immediate followers. This fact, along with the need for protection from the ultimately intervention of hierarchs, was why most founders and foundresses sought ecclesiastical approbation in the first place. Within this ecclesial approbation, it is clear that canonically proper law-- as the "articulated-as-best-it-can-be" character of the institute--is the key to preserving sound traditions, finding workable structures, electing good leaders, forming new members, fostering fidelity to charism, providing the possibilities of seeking holiness and of nurturing true love for God and one another, and, yes, even of assuring the protection of just autonomy and the preservation of rights. It is quite unlikely that long-established religious institutes, especially in this country, can have the luxury of their legal reality "both ways": that is, they probably cannot clearly abandon the hierarchically structured, centuries-old institutional Church with its (at times) all too obvious human limitations and canonical restrictions and also continue to contribute the basic gifts of their already recognized charism to the spread of the Gospel and the betterment of the world in the same fashion. Some as yet unrecognized groups will be able to offer totally new charisms for ecclesial embrace; but this is not our task. Our transitional task is to recapture and revitalize original charisms with new fervor and revised emphases. And in this process, already established institutes can and should stretch the boundaries of institutionalized structures and expand the horizons of an (at times) all too narrow vision. In ttiis process there is need to avoid an accommodation that results in bland unidentifiability for the sake of being contemporary as well as a need to avoid a retreat that engenders preservation of the past for the sake of~being secure. In this process there is need to balance choices for constructive compromise and creative confrontation in such a way that energies are not dissipated in the pursuit of self-serving ends or quasi-messianic visions. Let us be careful, so to speak, in our choice of windmills; and let us not be canonically naive. Our life is too Canonical Considerations short; our resources, too few; the future, too uncertain; the Gospel, too precious; and human needs, too pressing, to allow ourselves the luxuries of carelessness or naivete. In this process there is need to face real problems and mirror true Christian values especially in matters of genuine poverty and fundamental human rights both in the world and in the Church. In this process there is need to be distinctively different, yet not elitist. Thus the current transitional role of established religious institutes is certainly no easy task and can be at times a difficult burden. It probably will not be accomplished in the near future, and we probably will not see the full results, for better or for worse, of our best efforts. And neither canon law nor self-determination nor just autonomy nor hierarchical structure is the key to, or the stumbling block for, success or failure. Canon law does not dictate life. Self-determination and just autonomy are limited in any legal sphere. And hierarchical structures, although antiquated, are still workable. Those of us who represent religious now do not represent the future of religious life. Therefore, in pursuing the task and shouldering the burden there is a special need to recall that as Christians and as religious we are basically chosen. The initiative for any good that we do is God’s; the response, and only the response, is ours. So, although we are tax-exempt, usually well-dressed, rather well-educated, for the most part professionally successful, comfortably well-to-do, noticeably articulate, unusually widely- traveled people, and view reality from an incredibly privileged position, perhaps our one overriding need at the moment is to be visibly less cautiously in love with God. There is no legal system anywhere that can do anything about legislating that.

NOTES tFor this analysis of civil and ecclesial legal systems, as well as the example given, the author is indebted to the insights of Robert M. Cover, LL.B., of the Yale University School of Law in his unpublished paper "Obligations: A Jewish Jtirisprudence of the Social Order" presented at the symposium on "The Religious Foundation of Civil Rights Law" sponsored by the Columbus School of Law of The Catholic University of America, April 19-20, 1985. Professor Cover contrasted the American civil-law system to the Mosaic legal system of Judaism. 2See, among others, David O’Connor, "Obligations and Rights," pp. 188-189, in A Handbook on Canons573-746, ed. by J. Hite, S. Holland and D. Ward (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1985); Domingo Andres, El derecho de los religiosos (Rome: lnstituto Juridico Claretiano, 1983), p. 475. 690 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

3The term patrimony may be familiar to some readers from the former legislation as referring to one’s personal property which, under the vow of poverty, a member of an institute can in some cases still own but which he or she may not administer. Many institutes still use the term in this manner. However, the new code refers to property belonging personally to a religious as bonasua, one’s goods, rather than a patrimony, and refers to the entire heritage of a religious institute as patrimony. Compare cc. 578 and 667. 4See Mutuae relationes, 12b, and the assessment of J. Beyer, "Religious and the Local Church," The Way Supplement 50 (Summer, 1984), p. 83. 5Ahhough former members have no legal claim to remuneration for services and the goods of the juridic person do not belong to them, there is a requirement that any religious institute treat its former members with equity and charity (c. 702). 6Secular institutes received universal-law recognition in 1947 and are now governed by cc. 710-730. Societies of apostolic life, which are now governed by cc. 731-746, were known under the old code as "societies of men or of women living in common without VOWS."

The Art of Healing Write, because I cannot doctor or clown, Cannot straighten any fracture or frown, Bring a circus to suffering, or heal A mother watching hungry children steal. 1 can only elevate blank or rhyme-- Like the Drummer Boy make muffled taps on time. Net casts, Nurse Carole smooths furrows from sight; Christians working the dark, praying the light. I offer simple verse on a chipped dish, My function in Christ’s circle--baking fish. Thomas Kretz, S.J. Casa Scrittori Via Dei Penitenzieri, 20 00193 Rome, Italy "Towards a Civilization of Love": The Church’s Course for the Third Millennium

John F. Kobler, C.P.

Father Kobler is currently engaged in full-time research on the Second Vatican Council. A preliminary version of this article had appeared in the February 1986 issue of the Canadian Catholic Review (Saskatoon) and is published in this revised form with permission. Father Kobler may be addressed at the Passionist Community; 5700 North Harlem Avenue; Chicago, Illinois 60631.

The Roman Synod’s Pastoral "Message to the People of God" is a brief and serene evaluation of the implementation of the Second Vatican Council in today’s Church viewed on a worldwide basis. It reminds us somewhat of the "Message to Humanity" issued at the beginning of Vatican II (Oct. 20, 1962). As translated in Origins (15:27 [Dec. 19, 1985] 441-444), the synodal statement contains only four numbered sections (I-IV). However brief this pastoral message may be, it expresses cogently the ecclesiai mind-set operative both at the Council and among today’s leading bishops. Hence, it is important for us to appreciate its substance, its pattern of value-judgments, and their functional inner logic. The "Message" intends to be a positive statement about the Council and its aftermath. As the bishops remark: "We do not fix upon the errors, con- fusions and defects which, because of sin and human weakness, have been the occasion of suffering in the midst of the People of God" (#I). The gospel wisdom evidenced here is that of the man who sowed good seed in his field, but is afterwards informed that an enemy has also sown weeds there (see Mt 13:24-30). In the field of the Church today many divergent dynamisms 691 692 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

have sprung up and only as they mature will it be possible to tell the good seed from the bad. Nonetheless, a weeding-out process looms on the horizon, and the implication seems to be that the principles of discernment needed for that work are basically understood already. The Synod’s Endorsement of Vatican I! Since the pastoral "Message" was issued on Dec. 7, 1985, we may assume it represents the corporate mind-set of the synodal bishops toward Vatican II for this day and age. This emphasis on contemporaneity, rather than abstract theory, is extremely important since it provides the framework within which we understand the meaning of a pastoral council. In regard to Vatican II the corporate outlook of the bishops is quite clear: All of us, bishops of the Eastern rites and the Latin rite, have shared unani- mously in a spirit of thanksgiving, the conviction that the Second Vatican Council is a gift of God to the Church and to the world. In full adherence to the council, we see in it a wellspring offered by the Holy Spirit to the Church, for the present and the future (#I). There are two things to notice about this endorsement of Vatican II. First, the statement’s emphasis on our contemporary era: i. e., "for the present and the [foreseeable] future." As a pastoral council, Vatican II has applied the deposit of faith (or "faith-theory") in a discernment process analyzing today’s global situation. This was done in order to develop a formation program adequate to the challenges of evangelizing a seriously dislocated world. The formulas of Vatican II are not chiseled in granite! For example, if the present world situation were to change radically for the better, some future council could--for its own pastoral purposes--totally recast the present imagery of the Church as the People of God into something more useful for that era: e. g., the Spouse of Christ, the Family of God, and so forth. Secondly, the above synodal statement sees Vatican II as God’s gift not merely to the Church but also to the world itself. This implies that the religious teachings of Vatican II have a properly human and humanistic dimension benefiting all of mankind. We cannot really appreciate either of these two points unless we skip over to #IV, where the contemporary situation of the modern world is described as "mankind’s present crisis." Mankind’s Present Crisis The synodal statement about to be quoted is extremely important as a clear and corporate expression by the bishops about the practical (pastoral) context of Vatican II. Up to this point such clear statements could be found in the writings of John XXIII and Paul VI, but the term "world," as it appears in certain conciliar documents (e. g., Gaudium et spes), is a rather A Course for the Third Millennium / 693 ambivalent concept. This forthright statement by the bishops does much to clarify matters: Brothers and sisters, in the Church we experience with you in an intense and vital way mankind’s present crisis and dramas, upon which we have reflected at length. Why? In the first place, because the Second Vatican Council had done so. The council, in effect, had been convoked in order to promote the renewal of the Church with a view to evangelizing a radically changed world (#1v). The bishops go on to remark: "Today we fed impelled toward a deeper understanding of the true significance of Vatican If, in order to respond to the world’s new challenges and to those which Christ ever addresses to the world" (#1V). The bishops then catalogued some of the larger problems associated with today’s crisis of’mankind: And this, whether it be a question of challenges of the social, economic or political order, or those related to lack of respect for human life, the suppression of civil and religious liberties, contempt for the rights of families, racial discrimination, economic imbalance, insurmoui~table debts and the problems of international security, and the race for more powerful and terrible arms (#IV). The bishops here are but echoing problems first voiced by John XXIII in Humanae Salutis and later in Vatican II’s own "Message to Humanity." Most of these problems have, in one form or another, been with mankind from the dawn of history, but it is only in our century that they have reached a certain "critical mass." The existence and proliferation of nuclear weaponry is the catalyst which has introduced mankind into a uniquely "new moment" of human history. We are now capable of destroying all life on earth and possibly even the planet itself. We should not, however, fasten on the problem of peace as if it were the only problem. From a human point of view the ongoing dehumanization of people (whether by self-indulgence, poverty or oppression) provides an integral aspect of the problem of peace. Although the peace problem may loom first in our intentions, it may not ultimately be resolved until we remedy the problems associated with the dehumanization of people around the world. In her book The Home of Man (New York: W. W. Norton, 1976), Barbara Ward discussed such problems in great detail. In an extremely perceptive line the bishops provide further insight into the above situation: "The world’s ills also stem from man’s incapacity to dom- inate his conquests when he closes in upon himself" (#IV). In the West since the era of the Enlightenment we have witnessed this process of man closing in upon himself by his growing reliance on science and technology. While these developments have helped us to manipulate things for our own pur- 694 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 poses, such scientific reductionism-- whether we fully understand the process or not--has turned against us in extraordinarily subtle ways. Today vast portions of mankind are totally devoid of any transcendent values in their lives, and their moral capacity has been correspondingly diminished. The American version of this problem has been acutely discussed by Robert N. Bellah et al. in the book Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commit- ment in American Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985). The Synod of Bishops, however, as a repository of global experiences, viewed the problem of dehumanization on a much broader scale than anything found in Bellah’s reflections. The Hope of lhe Gospel In the context of the complex morass of problems mentioned above, the bishops go on to make an extraordinary statement: From Vatican II the Church received with certitude a new light: The joy and hope which come from God can help mankind already on this earth to overcome every sadness and anguish, if men lift their gaze to the heavenly city (#IV, emphasis added). This has always been the eschatological teaching of the Church: in this life the followers of Christ journey in joyful hope and confidence toward a heavenly city where "God will wipe every tear from their eyes" (see Rv 7:17). By reason of the Catholic doctrine of sanctifying grace the Church and its tradition of contemplative prayer teaches a certain realized eschatology even in this life where holy people may experience a foretaste of the heavenly joys to come. An extraordinary manifestation of this phenomenon, called the "mystical marriage," has been described in the writings of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross, but the substance of such a union with God here on earth has generally been attributed to all persons of authentic holiness. Here, however, the bishops’ teaching has taken a certain "quantum leap": realized eschatology has metamorphosed into realized messianism! However strange this "new eschatology" may appear, it is an authentic development of John XXIII’s teaching in Humanae Salutis: "This supernatural order must ¯.. reflect its efficiency in that other order, the temporal one, which on so many occasions is unfortunately ultimately the only one that occupies and worries men" (emphasis added). If we grant the "claw and fang" history of mankind, this statement of "realized messianism" comes through as a decid- edly utopian aspiration--as has much of the vision of John XXIII (see G. Zizola, The Utopia of Pope John XXIII. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1978). Such a quantum leap would be totally unwarranted unless the bishops viewed Vatican II’s renewal program as a "last chance" opportunity for humanity in the present global crisis of mankind. The options being presented A Course for the Third Millennium / t195 to us seem to be: the moral renewal of mankind or a totalitarian form of world government or the final global holocaust. The first option projects a society of free but self-disciplined men. The second, a society of ruler and ruled..The third, only the unthinkable. The certitude which the~ bishops have about this matter is not utopian but a product of the "new realism." From among many writers, perhaps E. F. Schumacher, in his book Small is Beautiful (New York: Harper & Row, 1975, pp. 293-294), has formulated the implications of our present global crisis most graphically: ¯ . . There has never been a time, in any society in any part of the world, without its sages and teachers to challenge materialism and plead for a different order of priorities. The languages have differed, the symbols have varied, yet the message has always been the same: "Seek yefirst the kingdom of God, and all these things [i.e., the material things which you also need] shall be added unto you." They shall be added, we are told, here on earth where we need them, not simply in an afterlife beyond our imagination. Today, however, this message reaches us not solely from the sages and saints but from the actual course of physical events. It speaks to us in the language of terrorism, genocide, breakdown, pollution, exhaustion. We live, it seems, in a unique period of convergence. It is becoming apparent that there is not only a promise but also a threat in those astonishing words about the kingdom of God--the threat that "unless you seek first the kingdom, these other things, which you also need, will cease to be available to you."

A Catholic Manifesto for the Twentieth Century It is in such a global context of "blood, sweat and tears" that the bishops issue a ringing manifesto. It is also important to realize that it is the same manifesto implicit in John XXIII’s Pacem in Terris. Both of these statements should be read in conjunction with the Communist Manifesto issued in 1848. We are not made for death but life. We are not condemned to divisions and wars, but called to fraternity and peace. God did not create man for hate and distrust; rather, he is made to love God. He is ’made for God himself. Man responds to this vocation by renewing his heart. For mankind there is a path-- and we already see the signs of it--which leads to a civilization of sharing, solidarity and love: to the only civilization worthy of man. We propose to work with all of you toward the realization of this civilization of love, which is God’s design for humanity as it awaits the coming of the Lord" (#IV, emphasis added). This manifesto, quite traditional in its doctrinal content, summarizes the challenges "which Christ ever addresses to the world." (#IV) In this sense, it is not to be viewed as a modern version of Deutero-lsaiah’s messianic prophe- cies. Under prodding from the uniquely new crisis of mankind traditional 696 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

Christian thought has become courageously daring and reached out into the future more in the spirit of the Good Samaritan than any Old Testament prophet. This authentically Christian spirit has set the Church on her present- day course towards a "civilization of love." Although this goal was implicit in John XXIII’s opening speech at the Council where he called upon the bishops to prepare "the path toward the unity of mankind," the phrase, "civilization of love," was first used by Paul VI in 1975 at the end of the Holy Year. Pope John Paul II called attention to this fact when he himself appropriated th~ expression again in his encyclical Dives in Misericordia (#14, no. 150). In 1981 the international congress on the Sacred Heart held at Toulouse, France, had as its theme Towards a Civilization of Love (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1985). This religious train of thought is not without its antecedents. As early as 1934 Jacques Maritain, in his book Integral Humanism (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1973), was pioneering such ideas by his speculations about a "New Christendom." In Italy after World War II there was Riccardo Lombardi’s Toward a New World (New York: Philosophical Library, 1958), the origin of today’s "Better World Movement." The Synod’s manifesto, then, is the clearest positive statement of the ultimate practical goal of the Second Vatican Council. All the other aspects of the Council (e. g., its recasting of theology, its liturgical innovations, its ecumenical out- reach, and more) must be viewed in the higher light of this ultimate practical (pastoral) goal. Since the days of Hegel, and more especially of Karl Marx, some such global vision of humanity has been under development in the West. Two earlier American Christian efforts in this regard are worthy of mention. In The Problem of Christianity Josiah Royce spoke movingly of the human quest for the "Beloved Community." After the Second World War Paul Tillich formulated his systematic theology on the basis of the Christ as the "New Being." In my own book, Vatican H and Phenomenology (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff, 1985), I have formulated the Church’s religio-social movement today as "The Vision of the New Humanity." A comparable com- prehension of the Council’s intent is shared by Juan Luis Segundo who has authored a five-volume set under the rubric of "A Theology for Artisans of a New Humanity" (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1974). Such a wealth of ideas cluster around the Synod’s thematization of Vatican II’s ultimate practical goal that the main difficulty of the post-conciliar era has been how to harness these ideas in a constructive way, meeting the needs of the world’s diversified cultures. Due to the scope and complexity of such a civilization- building project, it is no surprise that the bishops end their reflections by calling attention to the important 1987 synod on "The Vocation and Mission A Course for the Third Millennium / t197 of the Laity in the Church and World, Twenty Years After Vatican II." The Religious Ontology Structuring This New Movement In the light of the above complex religio-social movement we can easily appreciate the importance of the Gospel and the Council for contemporary human existence. As the bishops emphasize: Today more than ever the Gospel illuminates the future and meaning of every human existence. In our day, in which an intense thirst for God manifests itself, especially among the young, a renewed reception of the Council can still more deeply gather the Church together in her mission to announce the good news of salvation to the world (#111). Since the good news of salvation today involves an enormously complex civilization-building project, it is imperative that each member (particularly priests) and every ecclesial community assume the responsibilities proper to their respective roles in either Church or society (#III). Although the bishops exhort all Church members to study the entire Council, special emphasis is placed on the four constitutions of Vatican II: i. e., Church (Lumen gentium), Revelation (Dei verbum), Liturgy (Sacrosanctum concilium), and the service of mankind (Gaudium et spes) (#III). This is an extremely important guideline. The pastoral reordering or reexpression of theology formulated by Vatican II for its service of mankind is found in these four constitutions. Unless their inner consistency is appreciated and unless their connection with the previous doctrinal development of the Church is seen, it becomes virtually impossibleto make coherent theological sense out of the Council or to inte- grate the lesser decrees and declarations into the Council’s overall pastoral program. Participation in the life (and consciousness) of the Council is also dependent on such insights. Such participation is a prerequisite for the profound attitudinal changes which the Church is demanding of us at this "turning point" of human history. From Functional Religious Ontology to Mystery As one begins to get a basic understanding of the structure and inner- connection between the four major constitutions mentioned above, one also begins to appreciate the extremely sophisticated theological method employed by the Council. Having spent five years studying the subject, I feel 1 have only uncovered the "tip of the iceberg." The delicate formularies of Vatican I1 and its subtle ontological structuring can only have been the product of some very fine theological minds. In thei~ost-conciliar era, however, theologians (some of whom were periti at the Council) have become somewhat notorious for attempting to monopolize the interpretation of Vatican 1I on the basis of their particular "scientific" methods. This is simply a form of that reductionism 698 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 which has plagued modern mankind from the period of the Enlightenment and has contributed its quota of fragmentation to the contemporary crisis of human beings. In such a context the bishops remark: "It is thus necessary to understand the profound reality of the Church and consequently to avoid false sociological or political interpretations of the nature of the Church" (#II). To offset this tendency toward scientific reductionism the bishops remind us that the Church is a "mystery" (#I1). This is not a retreat into obscuran- tism. As every scientist knows, life, electricity and other such natural phenomena are all, ultimately, "mysteries." If such is the case in the order of nature, all the more reason to assert "mystery" in the order of faith which contemplates a divinely given revelation. Yet, by their meticulous study of natural phenomena scientists have learned much reliable information about such "mysteries." After two thousand years of experience and careful reflection by the Catholic community, much the same thing can be said about the "mystery" of the Church. However much we may know about the way the Church functions as a spiritual reality, ultimately it remains a true mystery because the Glorified Christ, its vital dynamic principle, remains a divinely revealed mystery. No human science is capable of. probing into the authentic reality of such matters. There is, furthermore, a hierarchical interlocking relationship between the mysteries at the heart of the Church’s existence. Christ, the Logos-Shepherd, is God’s primordial sacrament (mysterium) for the salvation of mankind. The Church, as the body of Christ, is in turn his primordial sacrament for the same purpose. Such descending levels of "incarnation" are meant to convey the merciful and concerned accommodations which the Infinite has made toward the finite. Within this set of relationships must also be inserted the other sacraments of the Church and its whole system of religious symbolism. The patterns which we are deOribing reflect a corporate religious consciousness (communio) permeating a shared-life of God with man joined in Christ. To trivialize such matters by some form of scientific reductionism would jeopardize the sense of The Holy at the heart of the Catholic religion. In this regard one of the beneficial side effects of The Ratzinger Report (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1985) was to stimulate the Synod to confront the theological issues surrounding the nature of the Church in a more careful, intellectual way. Much of the strength of the Synod’s Final Report, issued on Dec. 9, 1985, derives from this type of high-level dialogue.

The Unresolved Issues E. J. Dionne, Jr., writing in theNew York Times(Sun., Dec. 15, 1985, Section 4, p. 24E), wrote a final report on the Synod which merits recalling. A Course for the Third Millennium / 699

He mentioned some of the many topics which the bishops were silent about: e. g., birth control, women’s ordination, priestly celibacy, admission to the sacraments for divorced Catholics, and others. He goes on to say: "Under- lying the areas of dissent is the broader question of where authority really lies in the Catholic Church. It is for this reason that the bishops spent so much time discussing ’collegiality’ and ’mystery.’" Using the overworked clas- sifications of liberals vs. conservatives Dionne attempts to explain the significance of this polarization: "Collegiality" refers to shared authority within the Church between the Pope and his bishops. Everyone is for collegiality, but it has become a liberal slogan because it tends to emphasize the power of the local churches and thus carries with it the idea of diversity. "Mystery," on the other hand, is popular among conservatives. They argue that those who speak too much of power relations in the Church are missing the essentially spiritual--and mysterious--character of Roman Catholicism. Dionne is quite right when he suggests that there is a power-struggle going on in the Church today. But we can somewhat trivialize the authority problem in the Church if we view it solely in terms of juridicism or cultural-clash, as is often the case today. The power-struggle in the Church today is rooted in profound doctrinal issues. Less than a year after Vatican II, Leslie Dewart in his book The Future of Belief(New York: Herder & Herder, 1966, p. 14) could write: ¯ . . the differences between "conservative" and "liberal" Catholic opinion today.., run considerably deeper than liberals have ordinarily admitted. The conservatives may have been closer to the mark when they "alerted" the Church to a profound division within the Catholic faith .... Ultimately, we may have to do with divergent conceptualizations of the God of Christian belief. The ultimate theological issue in the post-conciliar era is what the Church means by doctrinal integralism and doctrinal development. This is a highly speculative and theoretical issue intensified by the style of reflection employed at Vatican II and by certain notions endors.ed in its documents: e. g., collegiality, inculturation, ecumenism, and so forth. 1 have no doubt that the power-struggle surrounding these and other more practical problems will continue for the foreseeable future. Conclusion: Seeing Things in Perspective The most important item in the Roman Synod’s Pastoral "Message to the People of God" is the "Manifesto" for Twentieth Century Catholicism contained in part IV. The well-kept secret of Vatican II has now been revealed: 700 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 the ultimate practical goal of the Council was, and is today, to solve the contemporary crisis of mankind by working to establish a new civilization of love. The word "civilization" is not employed here as a metaphor but desig- nates a concrete reality. As the Church once founded the historical reality designated as "Christendom," so she is now in search of a new global civilization of love embracing all men. As voicing sentiments originally formulated by John XXIII in Pacem in Terris, this "civilization of love" really involves truth and love, justice and freedom working in a harmonious, dialectical ensemble. All of this gives a very concrete sense to the Church as a "Pilgrim People" with strong overtones of "Exodus." The critical problems associated with achieving such a project are in our age of advanced science not so much technological but moral. In this regard the Church is trying to exercise an essentially religious role by moral leadership in the pattern of Christ. Within such a purview, all the "unresolved issues" and such highly theoretical problems as the nature of the development of doctrine must be seen in their proper perspective. If such controversies are not handled in a mature and responsible way, they will most certainly jeopardize the authentic pastoral program of the Church. The contemporary crisis of mankind is such that we cannot afford to let that happen. Since the ultimate practical goal of Vatican II should be a leaven in all future pastoral planning, the understanding of "ministry" both in Church and society should be influenced by this goal. Our dislocated age is very much in need of a new "servant leadership,’ which is both prophetic and sapiential. The easily understood statement, which the bishops have made about the ultimate practical goal of Vatican II, has justified the work of the Synod and rendered an invaluable service toward our comprehending the Second Vatican Council as a pastoral undertaking of global concern. The Conversion of St. Augustine: 1600 Years in Retrospect

Thomas F. Martin, O.S.A.

Father Martin is a member of the generalate community of his order, where he may be addressed: Curia Generalizia Agostiniana; Via S. Uffizio, 25; 00193 Roma, Italy. The issue of September/October, 1982, carried his "Oneness of Heart Intent Upon God: Religious Life and the Rule of St. Augustine."

The year 1986-1987 marks the sixteenth centenary of the conversion of St. Augustine of Hippo. It was a fateful day at the end of August in 386, a time of intense personal struggle and spiritual crisis when Augustine heard that mysterious voice "Tolle, Lege"--"Take and Read," as Augustine himself narrates in Book VIII of The Confessions. And it was during the Easter Vigil in the spring of 387 that Augustine, his son Adeodatus and his close friend Alypius were baptized in Milan at the hands of St. Ambrose. As Augustine again relates: "and we were baptized, and all anxiety as to our past life fled away" (IX, vi). (The English text of The Confessions is taken from the F.J. Sheed translation with occasional modifications.) Augustine, writing almost fifteen years later in The Confessions, narrates the events leading up to his conversion and from the perspective of his role now as bishop of the flock at Hippo, shares the ongoing task of that conversion experience with his readers. Some sixteen hundred years later the story of Augustine’s conversion continues to evoke a response-- due in part to the fact that his definitive turning to Christianity at the same time allowed his genius to impact profoundly upon the future shape of Western Christianity; due in part to the fact that the person of Augustine continues to mystify, attract and challenge. ’701 702 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

Augustine would be very much amused by all of this (if not a bit embar- rassed or even somewhat taken aback by such attention). He tells his readers in The Confessions that the focus is not himself--that would miss the point completely and would smack of pride (for Augustine the root sin). The Con- fessions are, from Augustine’s perspective, an invitation to his readers to reflect upon his experience so that they in turn will reflect upon their own experience. What, therefore, have I to do with people that they should hear my confessions, as if it were they who would cure all that is evil in me? They are a race curious to know of others’ lives, but slothful to correct their own. Why should they wish to hear from me what 1 am, when they do not wish to hear from You what they are themselves... For to hear from You about themselves is simply to know themselves (X, iii). "To hear from the Lord our own deepest and most personal truth"-- Augustine’s Confessions detail his experience of that call and invite the reader to enter into the same listening process--a process that of its very nature leads in the direction of conversion--"towards God"--"ad Te’" (see I,i). What emerges from The Confessions is a picture of a Christian, an extraordinary Christian but deep down, like all, a "simple beggar before God" (see Sermon 61, 4-8; PL38:410-411) who has been transformed by Christ and continues to be so transformed and who shares that experience so that others may possibly find light, encouragement and edification for themselves. The Confessions, however, are not offered as a "how-to" manual but rather as a type of "promotional literature"--the readers are invited to experience for themselves firsthand the same adventure that is being described. Yet without offering a specific methodology of conversion (after sixteen centuries there is still debate regarding the exact nature and purpose of Augustine’s Confessions), there are some clear and obvious lines that do emerge regarding important dimensions of the Christian’s journey of conversion. It is these dimensions that provide both challenge and direction to our own contemporary search for God. A New Vision It is with the light of faith that Augustine looks back upon his life and it is with that same healed faith vision that he can discern God’s dynamic presence in his life as well as the promise of its continued presence. This healed faith vision enabled him to recall many still-painful experiences, not however with any morbid sense of dwelling on the past or in the past, but with a clear sense of grace, healing and wonder. At the time of the experiences he is relating, he certainly did not see that Presence, "a mist hung between my eyes and the brightness of Your truth" (II,iii), and yet in prayerfully The Conversion of St. Augustine / 703 looking back he discovers: "You were there with me all the time" (see II,ii). His conversion journey could very clearly be described as a movement from blindness to vision. "... the very limit of human blindness is to glory in being blind"(III,iii)--this is where Augustine began. It is a scriptural image that resonated deeply in Augustine. It is obvious that this blindness of Augustine stands in sharp contrast with Monica’s faith-filled vision. One only need recall her dream of Augustine’s conversion and his own blind response to her telling him of it (IIl,xi). In that blindness he sought his own path only to later see that he was guiding himself to destruction (IV,i); "For I did not realize that my soul had to be illumined by another light, if it was to be a partaker of truth, because it is not itself the essence of truth" (IV,xv). "I had my back to the light and my face to the things upon which the light falls; so that my eyes, by which I looked upon the things in the light, were not themselves illumined" (1V,xvi). "An eclipse of the sun they see so long before it happens, yet they fail to see their own eclipse actually present" (V,iii). As The Confessions move the reader towards that fateful day in the garden we find Augustine bitterly lamenting: "I was so blind... " (VI,xvi). Augustine’s coming to vision was a gradual process, much like the blind man in the Gospel who only gradually received his sight at the healing touch of the Lord. In Book VII he relates how his "vision" slowly began to be healed as he moved from a "physical" concept of God and evil to a new vision of God and of spiritual reality: "But you caressed my head, though I knew it not, and closed my eyes that they should not see vanity; and I ceased from myself a little and found sleep from my madness. And from that sleep I awakened in You, and I saw You infinite in a different way; but that sight was not,with the eyes of flesh" (VII,xiv). The new vision was not yet complete, for he still could not face his own truth. Yet the events of his life were pushing him, driving him towards that fuller vision: "You were setting me face to face with myself, forcing me upon my own sight, that I might see my iniquity and loathe it. I had known it but I had pretended not to see it, had deliberately looked the other way and let it go from my mind" (VIII,vii). Weary, frustrated, at war within, he suddenly found himself in the garden of the house in Milan and as he flung himself down in tears under "a certain fig tree," he heard the call to take and read. He found in Rm 13:13 the "light" of God’s word: "And in that instant, with the very ending of the sentence, it was as though a a light of utter confidence shone in all my heart, and all the darkness of uncertainty vanished away" (VlI,xii). That light of utter confidence shining in all his heart would continue as Augustine’s guide--as the very telling of The Confessions clearly demonstrates. 704 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

As Augustine narrates his post-conversion experience he does not hesitate to point out that the definitive moment of conversion did not mean that all the shadows had vanished--"For the waters often seem dark and storm tossed and the abyss appears so close" (see XIII,xiv). After the conversion, the struggle will continue and at times the victory will appear so fragile, but in fact the "Light interior and internal" (IX,iv) is ever present. And it was the presence of that Light that enabled Augustine to look with healed vision upon his past and present and to look forward in hope to that day of perfect vision when he would see God (and his own self) in the fullness of Light (see XIlI,xiii). The darkness could no longer overtake nor over- whelm him. Interior Transcendence There is what would seem to be a human paradox but is in fact a profound dimension of the mystery of our relationship with God that forms the fabric of Augustine’s conversion experience. Augustine intensely sought his deepest and truest self (and was pained to see how false he could be in order to win superficial recognition--see e.g., VI,vi). However, in discovering the inner path that led away from his false self and brought him towards his truest self he was surprised to discover that this very same path led him to God. Being admonished by all this to return to myself, I entered into my own depths, with You as guide; and I was able to do it because You were my helper. 1 entered, and with the eyes of my soul, such as it was, 1 saw Your unchangeable Light shining over that same eye of my soul, over my mind (Vll,x). Augustine’s conversion journey followed an inner .path that led him from being out of touch with his own depths to an experience of his own truest self. It was precisely at the convergent point that he also discovered his Lord, "nearer to me than I am to myself" (see lll,vi). The pages of The Confessions are filled with both the joy and tension of that inner journey--a journey that did not end with self but, at the point of the inner self’s deepest contact with what was most authentically self, opened to that which was most beyond the self. How did Augustine embark on this inner journey and what enabled that journey to conclude in transcendence rather than a self-focused resting-in-self? First there was the commitment to no longer be content with living on the surface of life. This commitment began early in .Augustine’s life as he recounts in Book III. While still a teenager and immersed in the passions of that age he read Cicero’s Hortensius: "Suddenly all the vanity I had hoped in I saw as worthless, and with an incredible intensity of desire I longed The Conversion of St. Augustine / 705 after immortal wisdom" (III,iv). But this was only a first step, for Augustine’s definitive conversion was still some fifteen years in the future. Nonetheless his Manichean period, his brief flirtation with scepticism, and finally his encounter with the Platonists all formed part of that commitment to find wisdom, to not be content with "surface answers." It was precisely that commitment that led him away from the Manicheans and the Sceptics, and paved the way for his journey towards Truth. Secondly, the inner journey would be a subtle and intricate interplay between God’s grace and Augustine’s own complex self: his passion for truth, his craving for acceptance, his need for physical embrace, his rap- port with his mother, his intellectual genius, his career ambitions and so on. All this would need to be sorted out, and this would not be easy: "And I remained to myself a place of unhappiness, in which I could not abide, yet from which I could not depart. For where was my heart to flee for refuge from my heart? Whither was I to fly from myself? To what place should I not follow myself?" (IV,vii). Despite the wavering and wandering, Augustine can look back and see that the journey was leading him deeper and deeper, closer and closer. Despite his many a "wrong turn" he was still not allowed to be lost: "So I dwelt upon these things and You were near me, I sighed and You heard me, I was wavering uncertainly and You guided me. I was going the broad way of the world and You did not forsake me" (VI,v). Thirdly, as Augustine journeyed within, he had to face the truth: the truth of his brokenness (see VII,vii), the truth of his helplessness (see VIII,x). The pain of this suffering evoked some of the most moving passages in The Confessions. In the midst of that great tumult of my inner dwelling place, the tumult I had stirred up against my own soul in the chamber of my heart, I turned upon Alypius, wild in look and troubled in mind, crying out: "What is wrong with us? What is this that you heard? The unlearned arise and take heaven by force, and here are we with all our learning, stuck fast in flesh and blood! ...’ These words and more of the same sort 1 uttered, then the violence of my feeling struck. For I did not sound like myself. My brow, cheeks, eyes flush, the pitch of my voice, spoke my mind more powerfully than the words I uttered.., there I was, going mad on my way to sanity, dying on my way to life, aware how evil 1 was, unaware that 1 was to grow better in a little while (VIII,viii). But even more important than his discovery of brokenness and helplessness was his discovery of the truth of God’s presence within, a Transcendent Presence, overshadowing the truth of his brokenness and helplessness. But you, Lord, are good and merciful, and Your right hand had regard to the profundity of my death and drew out the abyss of corruption that was 706 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

in the bottom of my heart .... How lovely I suddenly found it to be free from the loveliness of those vanities, so that now it was a joy to renounce .what 1 had been so afraid to lose. For You cast them out of me and took their place in me, You who are sweeter than all pleasure, yet not to flesh and blood; brighter than all light, yet deeper within than any secret; loftier than all honor, but not to those who are lofty to themselves (IX,i). Finally, journeying within, Augustine called upon and used all the complexity and richness of his own human interiority: his reason, his memory, his will. The Confessions document the healing and purgation of them so that, through these faculties, he found himself able to draw closer and closer, deeper and deeper to his own center. One could read Augustine’s conversion as an "emotionally peak experience" if seen only from the perspective of Chapter VIII,xii of The Confessions. However, when the garden scene is viewed in the context of the entire narrative, it becomes the culmination of a great deal of what one might call interior groundwork. It was not simply spontaneous. Through an immense amount of suffering and an intense effort, a firm foundation was prepared. Its depth helped insure that the reality of the garden experience would endure.

With Others, For Others While Augustine’s conversion experience was deeply personal, it could never be called "individualistic." His spiritual unfolding was played out always with a marked communal and ecclesial dimension. At the same time as he discovered the "God of his heart" (see II,iii; VI,i; IX,ii) he learned that God could never be considered a merely "private possession" but rather a "common vision, a common possession, a common peace" (see Enar. in Ps. 84,10 PL 37:1076-1077). It is Augustine the Bishop who is writing The Confessions, a Church man, writing in the Church, writing for the Church. As private as one might say The Confessions are, Augustine’s very soul being laid bare, it is a confession made in front of the community: "Let the ear of Your Church, the fraternal loving ear of Your Church, hearken . . ." (X,xxxiv); it is a confession made for the Church: This is the fruit of my confession--the confession not of what 1 have been, but of what I am--in that 1 confess not only before You, with inward exul- tation yet trembling, with inward sorrow yet with hope as well: but also in the ears of the believing sons of men, companions of my joy and sharers of my mortality, my fellow citizens, fellow pilgrims: "Those who have gone before," and those who are to come after, and those who walk the way of life with me (X,iv). Augustine could so share this deeply personal inner dimension since from The Conversion of St. Augustine / 707 the very beginning he never journeyed tO the Lord unaccompanied: Monica-- "... your servant, who brought me forth--brought me forth in the flesh to this temporal light, and in her heart to light eternal" (IX,viii); Ambrose- "... that man of God received me as a father, and as bishop welcomed my coming..." (v,xiii); Simplicianus--"So I went to Simplicianus, who had begotten Ambrose, now bishop, with Your grace, and whom indeed Ambrose loved as a father. I told him all the wanderings of my error" (VIII,ii); Ponticianus--"... there came to Alypius and me at our house one Ponticianus, a fellow countryman of ours.., he was a Christian and a devout Christian; he knelt before You in church, O, our God, in daily prayer and many times daily" (Vlll,vi). These devout Christians, who themselves had found a home in their "Catholic mother" (see IX,xiii), helped guide Augustine to arrive at that same home. And once home, he found himself impelled to do likewise for others what Monica, Ambrose, Sim- plicianus and Ponticianus had done for him. He now shares so that others might also discover Who and what he had found. When the confessions of my past sins.., are read and heard, they stir up the h~art. It no longer lies in th~ lethargy of despair and says: "I cannot" but keeps wakeful in the love of Your mercy and the loveliness of Your grace... (X,iii). For Augustine, the experience of conversion did not allow the luxury of a flight to the desert, although this would have been his initial desire (see, X,xliii). As others were called to lead Augustine to Christ, so he in turn would be called to the same task. This would be his ministry in the midst of the ecclesial community of Hippo and North Africa, as well as the entire Church. As deep and as personal as Augustine’s conversion was, its ultimate beneficiary was the whole Christian community.

Conclusion The story of Augustine’s conversion as related in The Confessions continues to serve as a challenge for us. Some sixteen hundred years later it continues to remind a vastly changed world that we, too, are called to the same fundamental transformations: to a new vision of self, to a profound interiority, to a movement out of self and towards The Other, to a sharing of grace and mercy received--all of this being carried out in a subtle interplay between God’s mercy and grace and our own individual uniqueness. It is striking that so many themes of contemporary spirituality find a resonance in this experience of Augustine: the search for the true self, the concern for inner healing, the reawakened quest for interiority, an eccle- sially and socially sensitive spirituality, and so on. The experience of Augustine reminds us that these are not new issues. While we approach them 708 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 from some sixteen centuries more of Christian experience and our own unique twentieth-century context, it is important for us to know that we are not the first to have grappled with these fundamental issues. Further, just as Augustine searched and struggled, wandered and stum- bled and yet arrived home, his life and experience offer us another sign of hope that our searching and struggling, our wandering and stumbling are likewise not in vain nor without purpose. Augustine’s experience of conversion teaches us that as we likewise travel that same conversion path, the experience will not be static, the transformation will not happen at once, the story will be unfolded in the context of our personal, familial and communal history, and that death will be the door to Life. Most importantly, Augustine of Hippo reminds us never to forget Who is the source of that conversion and transformation, and with such a reminder he concludes The Confessions: Of You we must ask, in You we must seek, at You we must knock. Thus only shall we receive, thus shall we find, thus will it be opened to us (XI ll,xxxviii).

The" Active-Co n te mpl a tive" Problem in Religious Life

by David M. Knight

Price: $.75 per copy, plus postage.

Add ress: Review for Religious Rm 428 3601 Lindell Blvd. St. Louis, Missouri 63108 Realism in Ignatius of Loyola

Tad Dunne, S.J.

Father Dunne, Director of Novices for the Detroit Province and a systematic theologian by profession, takes up a second theme drawn frown his study of St. Ignatius which comple- ments his article in the May/June issue: "Extremism in Ignatius of Loyola." Father Dunne may be addressed at Loyola House; 2599 Harvard Road; Berkley, Michigan 48072.

The story of Ignatius’ conversion is deceptively familiar. In 1521, while he was defending the castle of Pamplona against the French troops of King Francis I, his leg was broken by a cannonball. During his convalescence, he read a Life of Christ and a Lives of the Saints. He then resolved to go to the Holy Land to imitate the great deeds of saints for God. After an all-night vigil before our Lady at the monastery of Montserrat, he stopped at the little town of Manresa. There he worked in a hospice and spent hours in penance and prayer in a cave. For eleven months he struggled with intense scruples and spiritual consolations, all the while composing his famous Spiritual Exercises. Ignatius himself gives a more detailed account of these events in a brief story of his life. What I find to be a goldmine of wisdom about the spiritual life is the first thirty-seven paragraphs,~ which cover the time he spent at Manresa. His scribe, Luis Gonzales, notes in the Introduction that Ignatius resisted requests to dictate his story but gave in only after an occasion on which he told Gonzales about how he learned to struggle against the evil spirits regarding vainglory. It was as though he was finally moved with both a strong desire and a clear purpose for talking about himself. That purpose, I believe, is not to encourage but to enlighten, not to give guidelines for behavior but to explain how behavior is governed by the workings of the soul, so that anyone reading his story might learn to listen intelligently to 709 710 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 the voice of God within. In fact, it is misleading to call this account an "autobiography." Nadal had asked Ignatius to "make known all that had taken place in his soul up to that moment.’’2 Something like Augustine’s Confessions, his story is an exploration of the general workings of the soul through an investigation of his own inner experience. We can find out what he discovered about the soul in his "Rules for Discerning Spirits,’’3 appended to his Spiritual Exercises. But to find out how he made these discoveries, to understand the learning process, then this autobiography is the work to read. His purpose there is to teach, by the example of his own history, how to discover for ourselves the wisdom he encapsulates in the Rules for Discernment. What Ignatius discovered about the soul was made possible by an intellectual curiosity and an unflinching dedication to truth which gave his spiritual development a solid intellectual foundation. If I had to put in a single word what he is trying to say there, I would call it "realism." What follows is a plausible account of the steps in his development as he describes them. Here and there I will also refer to the parts of the Exercisesowhich clarify what happened to him at Manresa. As we go, the meaning of "realism" and its significance for our own spiritual development will become clear.

Noticing As Ignatius lay recuperating from his battle wounds, he not only read about the life of Christ and the lives of the saints. He also fantasized for long hours about doing gallant deeds for an unnamed noblewoman, and of other deeds which he discreetly puts under the category of "knight erran- try" (A:5). He noticed that the thoughts of chivalry excited him at the time but left him sad and dry later, while the thoughts of great escapades for God left him with an abiding peace. He says he paid no attention to this difference at first, but then (referring to himself in the third person as he does throughout the autobiography) he says, "one day his eyes were opened a little and he began to wonder at the difference and to reflect on it, learning from experience that one kind of thoughts left him sad and the other cheerful." He remarks that this was the beginning of a "step-by-step" (A:8,55) process by which he eventually learned the art of discerning spirits. I want to underscore the fact that this first step in his spiritual education was simply a matter of noticing two.quite different feelings which lingered long after his fantasies. He makes no mention here of examining his conscience or of feeling any interior sorrow~ for his past sins. Nor has he received any extraordinary visions at this time. What he remembers as the beginning of a profound spiritual education is a growing intellectual curiosity about the spiritual feelings left over from two kinds of daydreaming. Realism in Ignatius of Loyola / 711

But this was only a beginning. He notes that the growing desire to serve God which he experienced at this time was completely focused on external deeds--deeds as extreme as the deeds of chivalry that delighted him earlier-- and that this new intellectual curiosity did nothing at first to change this simplistic zeal. "All his thought was to tell himself, ’St. Dominic did this, therefore, I must do it. St. Francis did this; therefore, I must do it’ "(A:7,17). He describes himself as doing penances "not so much with an idea of satisfying for his sins, as to placate and please God" (A:I4). To his mind, the outer world was where real action happens, while the inner self comprised just the feelings and thoughts which react to that world. Like a child, he regarded his feelings and thoughts as simply himself. He had no idea that the self, too, might be part of an objectifiable world subject to inquiry, understanding and growing realizations. "Up to this time he had continued in the same interior state of great and undisturbed joy, without any knowledge of the inner things of the soul" (A:20). He describes here a little story of decision making so ignorant of the soul that we can’t help think of him laughing at himself as he tells it (A: 15-16). Once recovered from his leg surgery, he mounted a mul~ and headed for the monastery of Montserrat, where he intended to idedicate his life to God during an overnight vigil there. He fell in with a Moor and they began arguing whether the Virgin Mary lost her virginity in giving birth to Jesus. The Moor seems to have won the argument and spurred his mule on ahead. Steaming with indignation, Ignatius could not decide whether to give the Moor "a taste of his dagger" for what he had said about Our Lady or to let the matter pass. "Tired out from this examination," he did what many of us do on occasion. He rode to the fork in the road and let his mule furnish the best decision for him. Well, the mule chose the better part of valor and brought him on to the monastery where Ignatius laid aside his dagger and fine clothes and spent the night in a vigil of dedication before the altar of Our Lady of Montserrat. From there he headed for Barcelona, taking a side road so as not to be recognized--a road leading to the fateful town of Manresa. As you know, he ended up spending eleven months there, learning the fundamentals of the spiritual life and writing exercises for others to learn the same for themselves. Objeclivily For the first time in his life, Ignatius began to experience visions, though these first visions turned out to be less than trustworthy (A:19-20). Very frequently during broad daylight, he says, he saw a serpentine figure, covered with bright objects something like eyes, and was greatly consoled by the 712 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 vision. But not to be carried away with the consolation, he noticed two unsettling features of these experiences. First, when they receded, he was left displeased. Second, during these same days he was also bothered by an inner voice saying, "How can you stand a life like this for the seventy years you have left to live." He reacts with .the pugnacious instincts of a noble knight under attack. He retorts to this enemy, "You poor creature! Can you promise me even one hour of life?" He noted that this reaction brought him peace and that these days he made great efforts to preserve the serenity of his soul.4 However, this small victory marked just the beginning of an all-out war against him by the Tempter (A:21). Immediately after, he says, "He began to experience great changes in his soul." For a time, he felt intense distaste for spiritual things, and then as suddenly "as one removes a cloak from somebody else’s shoulders" he experienced intense spiritual consolation. Ignatius remarks, "Here he began to marvel at these changes which he had never experienced before, saying to himself, ’What new kind of life is this that we are now beginning?’" He points out that while he had "~a great desire to go forward in the service of God" he still "had no knowledge of spiritual things." Knowledge, no, but curiosity, yes: a curiosity not about what anyone said or wrote about the spiritual life, nor about any virtues or principles, but about the actual inner events which he experienced. And besides a curiosity, he acknowledges that he was very scrupulous about not departing from the truth (A: 12, 99). His sense of reality underwent a fundamental transformation inasmuch as he began to regard inner experience with no less objectivity and wonder than he formerly regarded the external deeds of chivalry. In the crucible of these struggles with consolation and desolation, he worked out not only his own personal resolution to problems, but an objective understanding of what goes on in anyone who seeks God, and how they might question their own experiences. Scruples began to toss him between certitude and doubt about whether he had really confessed all the minutest sins of his life. So he prayed seven hours a day on his knees and abstained from eating and drinking for a week, but this bias for external actions got him nowhere (A:22). As this struggle led him to the brink of suicide, he made a desperate but morally courageous leap. Of the two kinds of inner sensations he experienced during his convalescence, he realized that the scruples clearly stripped him of all the good cheer which resulted from reading the lives of the saints. Encouraged, probably, by his success in reject- ing the earlier temptation to give up a lifetime of trial, he began to look behind the content of these torturing thoughts, which were likely true enough, and to wonder about their source (A:24,25). He notes that "he began to Realism in Ignatius of Loyola / 713 look about for the way in which that [evil] spirit had been able to take possession of him" (A:25)--a habit of,scrutiny he will later recommend to anyone interested in serving God (E:333-334). He then made up his own mind, which had become very clear, he says, never to confess his past sins again, "and from that day on he remained free of those scruples, holding it a cer- tainty that our Lord in his mercy had liberated him" (A:25). We can see here how intently Ignatius wanted to show how his understanding, and not just some vague good will, was the key to his freedom. By taking responsibility for understanding his own inner experiences, he completes the crucial differentiation which had begun earlier between his "self" and the feelings and thoughts that occurred to that self. He saw the self as capable of freely choosing to accept or reject feelings and thoughts. Implicit in this drama lies the unconceptualized idea that reality is simply whatever occurs and whatever really is, no matter whether "in here" or "out there" or "up there." From this time forward he watches the arrival of thoughts and desires into his consciousness like a high-stakes poker player watching the fall of the cards.

A Theology of History At this point, we post-Freudians may wonder about the reality of these good and evil spirits. But Ignatius never doubts their reality and would not have been interested in debating doctrines anyway.5 His belief in spirits is instrumental to his far larger concern to get intelligently involved in salvation history. Ignatius does not describe this larger concern in the autobiography, but it is quite evident in the Exercises, which he was composing at the time.6 He envisioned salvation history from two angles: first, through a parable of the inner struggle of every man and woman; and second, through an extraordinarily matter-of-fact approach to the events narrated in the Gospels. First, let us look at his parable on the universal inner struggle, the meditation on the Two Standards. At Manresa, while struggling with the spirits in his own life, Ignatius also discussed spiritual matters with many people with significantly positive results (A:26,29). No doubt he explained what he learned about the spirits. But he also seems to have learned firsthand from this ministry how both the good spirits and the evil spirits themselves have a worldwide ministry in mind. We can see this in the universal and aggressive scene which the Two Standards presents. It is far more than a lesson designed for retreatants to resist temptation and cooperate with grace. It is a theology of history, a worldview, a philosophy of 3ife in metaphor projecting a vision of how all the thoughts and feelings which the various spirits initiate influence all the actions of people. It envisions every person, in every possible life, as engaged 714 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 in this fundamental battle. On the side of evil, Ignatius sees innumerable demons sent out across the face of the earth, so that "no province, no place, no state of life, no individual is overlooked" (E: 141). On the side of good he presents Jesus, described as "the Lord of all the world," who "chooses so many persons, Apostles, Disciples, and so forth," and who "sends them throughout the whole world, spreading his sacred doctrine through all sorts and conditions of persons" (E:145). In this battle, both sides employ strategies. Lucifer sends demons out to snare people by drawing them first to desire riches, and then to want honors that they may finally arrive at pride. Christ’s s~rategy is just the opposite, ploy for ploy. Christ sends disciples out to attract people to spiritual and even actual poverty, then to desire humiliations so that they may achieve humility (E: 136-148). For Ignatius, the parable of the Two Standards represents not just one way of looking at good and evil in the world. It is more than a device to provoke religious feelings. As a parable of the first order, it combines such insights and feelings into a powerfully integrating symbol meant to provoke action. In the colloquy which concludes the exercise, Ignatius has the retreatant beg for the poverty and the insults which are the earmarks of "true life" as exemplified in Christ (E:139). To drive this point home, he pre- scribes this colloquy at the end of at least forty one-hour exercises during the retreat (E:147,148,156,159)! Like Karl Marx, Ignatius’ realism aimed not just at understanding history but at changing it. The second way in which Ignatius looked at salvation history is by regarding the Gospel events as real human history. We can see this in his introduc- tions to the contemplations of scriptural passages in his Exercises. Ignatius ¯ always directs the retreatant to start with the "history" of the matter to be contemplated.7 Now, by "history," he did not mean "here is a story with a good moral." First and foremost, he meant "what really happened; what you, God, actually did.’’8 This is evident in his choice of passages for contemplation. Of the fifty-one scriptural passages he lists in the appendix, and the five passages in the body of the text, he skips all the parables of Jesus and every teaching but one (Sermon on the Mount, #278). He expects a retreatant to find fruit in such laconic references as "Christ our Lord and the disciples were invited to the marriage feast," or "He was obedient to his parents," or even "Guards were stationed." Furthermore, he warns the director of the Exercises to refrain from "dilating upon the meaning of the history" and instead direct the exercitant to begin with the "true foundation of the history," and only then to go on to reflect on the meaning of the event contemplated. "It is not abundance of knowledge," he adds, "that satisfies the soul, but the inward sense and taste of things" (E:2). Realism in Ignatius of Loyola / 715

Ignatius well knew the difference between reasoning on abstractions drawn from a story and acknowledging that an event actually occurred. It is one thing, for example, to reflect on how Mary’s humility made her an apt choice for God to work the Incarnation. It is quite another to contem- plate the raw fact that God actually became incarnate in this specific "house and room of our Lady in the city of Nazareth in the province of Galilee" (E: 103). Ignatius himself showed an intense love for the actual places Jesus walked. Twice he bribed guards to let him see the footprint supposedly left by Jesus on Mount Olivet (A:47). Ignatius’ spirituality has been called "Baroque" because it focuses so heavily on the visible and the sensible. But the deeper meaning of "Baroque" is that it begins from a conviction that God actually walked our land. This inner intellectual judgment is the real ground for the so-called "affective" and "sensual" approach Ignatius is famous for. Ignatius was indeed interested in feelings, but he did not feel about feelings, he thought about them. By focusing on the parable of the Two Siandards and on "historia" in the Exercises, I did not intend to sweep our question of angels and devils under the carpet. To fully understand Ignatius’ realism, we should understand what the reality of spirits meant to him. Ignatius was mainly committed to the realism of a world in which our desires and thoughts are not our original creations; we remain essentially free to allow or reject them. In other words, his realism is not about spirits as much as about human freedom. Let me explain this from the point of view of contemporary psychology. First of all, whether or not we believe in angels and devils, at least psychological health requires that we achieve some intellectual distance on our thoughts and feelings if we are to negotiate them responsibly. To grow out of our childish reactions to stimuli and into mature monitoring of our own reactions, we should be able to stand back from our inner reactions and notice what is going on in us. We need to insert this reflective moment between the events we experience (either within or without) and our response to those events. Secondly, besides this psychological task, we also face a moral task. Once we recognize our spontaneous feelings and thoughts, we still must decide which ones we are going to let guide our living and which we will reject. For a responsible person, this means suppressing the feelings and thoughts about mere biological comfort or mere egoism and cooperating with those that respond to the objectively worthwhile. For example, if I am irritated by the noise in the apartment next door, I not only have to admit my feelings to myself; I must also decide whether or not to express my irritation and ask for some consideration. But for Ignatius these psychological and moral challenges were embedded 716 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

within a wider interpersonal challenge. The world of Medieval Christianity was populated, not with abstract, undiscoverable "forces," but with concrete angels and devils who had will and intention of their own. So, not only do our feelings and thoughts originate outside of us in such a way that we are free to cooperate with them or not as we please; they originate from living beings who are intent on achieving their own purposes--some towards loving and serving God and some towards spiritual discouragement and the pursuits of pride. Whether or not these spirits have ontological existence as persons, at least it is easier to deal with the mysteries of grace and malice--which always remain mystery--through the metaphors of purposeful spirits than with the hypothesis of a stubbornly opaque "unconscious" that has come down to us from Freud. No doubt, before this Ignatius had a notional assent to the existence of angels and devils, but now he has set his understanding of these creatures within his own experience of how the soul negotiates its own freedom. It is very important to notice here that this is an insight not into his personal psychology but into the psychology of human nature in general. Having made the personal breakthrough to a realism about the occurrence of his own feelings and thoughts, he achieves a comprehensive viewpoint on the general nature of all spiritual reality as a struggle between contrary spirits, each with conscious designs on the essentially free person. With this comprehensive understanding he is now ready to close in, as it were, on the forces of evil.

Categories of Experience To work out a practical strategy for dealing with personal spirits, Ignatius . realized that he needed to use names, or categories, which were either drawn from experience or were defined in terms of experience. In particular, he shows extreme care to distinguish the exact functions played by human desires and human thoughts. In doing so, he created a consistent and useful metaphysics of the spiritual life. What he found there runs counter to most contemporary psychology. To the contemporary mind, for example, human desires belong to humans. The more we experience good desires and act on them, the more we consider ourselves moral persons. On the darker side, the more we experience degrading desires, the more degraded we think we really are. Ignatius, however, considered every desire for moral behavior to be a gift from God, not really our own possession, just as every degraded desire comes not from ourselves but from the evil spirits. We can make these desires our own, of course, but prior tO that choice we are free--neither good nor evil for having experienced them. Realism in Ignatius of Loyola / 717

The contemporary mind also names self-centeredness as the basic moral failing, as if other-centeredness is the basic moral success. Ignatius himself says that in principle, spiritual progress "will be in proportion to one’s sur- render of self-love and one’s own will and interests" (E:189), but he does not raise other-centeredness as a norm for moral achievement. Instead, he scrutinizes where our desires originate. Even good desires for others come under his skeptical eye, on the chance that they might originate from the evil spirit and would bring in chaos disguised as peace. The point is not how much the desires of others supersede our personal desires, but how much divine desire we allow into consciousness. The book of the Spiritual Exercises reveals the absolutely central role of desire which Ignatius sees not only regarding a person’s praxis9 of discerning spirits but also regarding his or her practical worldview. He gives a number of principles and parables that focus on a Christian’s desire?° The director of the Exercises is expected to monitor closely the desires of the retreatant, waiting until certain specific desires are present before moving the person further.~ He insists that good desires are gifts donated by God,~2 He also portrays both God and the evil spirits as having specific and urgent desires~ about a person, and in doing so, he sets each person within a universal and enduring spiritual battleground. In other words, in the worldwide spiritual struggle, both God and "our ancient enemy" strongly desire to capture us, and once they do, they lead us further by implanting their own desires to become our own. Besides discovering the central role of desires in the spiritual life, Ignatius also learned many lessons about how to deal with thoughts. Fortunately, we have not only his description in his autobiography (A:20-26) of how he learned about thoughts but also his extremely precise theory~4 and his practical advicet5 about it in the Exercises. "I presuppose that there are three kinds of thoughts in my mind, namely: one which is strictly my own, and arises wholly from my own free will; two others which come from without, the one from the good spirit, and the other from the evil one" (E:32). Else- where in the Exercises he points out that our thoughts are very largely governed by the consolation or desolation which we cannot cause in ourselves (E:317, 333, 334). At some point during Manresa, Ignatius noticed that the good and evil spirits both prefer to move our affects, leaving our affective orientation to direct our thoughts. However, there are two significant exceptions to this rule. First, there are times when the spirits can introduce thoughts in our minds somewhat independent of whether we are in consolation or desolation (E:347). Second, and more importantly, Ignatiu.s shrewdly noticed that the spirits resort to introducing thoughts chiefly when a person’s moral hori- 718 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 zon was opposite their own. So, for example, the good spirit often fills the morally good person with consolations, while the evil spirit will pry open that good conscience with disturbing thoughts in order to flood it with anxieties and sadness. For a generally immoral person the strategies are reversed, with the evil spirit flooding him or her with hedonistic consolations and the good spirit prying that conscience open with stinging thoughts in order to bring the consolations of an upright life~~6 Am I belaboring the obvious by saying that Ignatius understood the difference between thoughts and desires? I think not. Granted, we all experience the difference, but few people ask themselves about the relationships between the different roles played by thoughts and desires when they reflect on their spiritual struggles. Fewer still generalize from their own experience to understand thoughts and desires within a comprehensive viewpoint. It was Ignatius’ achievement to elevate the terms "desire" and "thoughts" from their everyday meanings to the status of reliable categories in an anthropology of the spiritual life. What makes these categories so reliable is that they are (1) verifiable in anyone’s conscious experience, (2) related to each other in a consistent and discoverable pattern, and (3) extremely useful in the praxis of making decisions that affect one’s world. Not only did Ignatius elevate the experiential terms, "thoughts" and "desires," to the level of explanatory categories, he also took a current theological category and grounded it in verifiable experience. I am speaking of the term "grace," one of the most disputed terms of his day. As Ignatius uses the term in the Exercises, he nearly always~7 refers to what we would call "actual" grace, that is, to some help from God at a particular time and place. More importantly, he specifies exactly which acts of consciousness a retreatant ought to notice. The list of these acts of consciousness is quite revealing: the grace to remember how often I have fallen into sin (#25); the grace to know my sins and to cast them out (#43); the grace that all my intentions, actions, and operations may be directed purely and solely to the Divine Majesty (#46); the graces of (l)inward knowledge of sins; of (2)feeling the disorder of my actions; and (3) a knowledge of the world; and, with each of these, a feeling of abhorrence and the ability to amend my life (#63); the graces of inward contrition, of weeping for my sins or over Christ’s sufferings, or to resolve a doubt (#87); the grace to imitate Christ and, implied, the knowledge of Satan’s machina- tions and the knowledge of the true life which Christ shows (#139); the grace to choose what is more for God’s glory (#152); the grace to be glad and to rejoice intensely (#221); the grace to know where I have failed (#240); Realism in Ignatius of Loyola / 719

the grace of great devotion, intense love, tears and spiritual consolation, which require, he says, an "intimate perception" of the fact that these are indeed grace from God our Lord (#322).t8 Notice that all these passages describe an inner experience whose occurrence is rather easy to discern.~9 Just as the ordinary experiences of thoughts and desires often have divine origins, so divine grace has its effect in ordinary experience. The point here is that Ignatius discovered that the only categories that could do justice to both grace and nature were terms that pointed to events Iocatable in inner experience.

Rules for Understanding Movements We have been looking at the roles which the categories "desire," "thought" and "grace" play in the Ignatius’ praxis of discerning spirits. We must now see how he put this functional analysis into practice. While he was at Manresa, Ignatius began spelling out guidelines for seeking God and/or God’s will in three different kinds of experiences: (1) in an undoubtable consolation, (2) in a struggle between consolation and desolation, and (3) in a time of tranquillity (E:175-178). I want to focus on the first kind as normative2° because it will best give the realistic horizon against which all the other two kinds of experiences should be interpreted. Among the many spiritual consolations Ignatius experienced at Manresa, he noticed that in some, he was left with no doubt that its source was God and not an evil spirit, while in others, consoling as they were, he still could discern an absence of conviction or certitude. Ignatius described the experiences which erased all doubt as lessons from God treating him just as a schoolmaster treats a little boy (A:27)--as lessons whose validity he felt absolutely no inclination to question. In some of these undoubtable consolations, Ignatius is moved to do something; in others, he receives an interior illumination about God’s presence in the world. Let me give you an example of an undoubtable consolation moving him to action. Ignatius, who had decided to abstain from meat, woke up one morning to a vision of a dish of meat appearing before his eyes. It was accompanied, he said, by "a great movement of the will to eat it in the future," a movement so strong and clear that "he could not hesitate to make up his mind that he ought to eat meat." Even after his confessor encouraged him to scrutinize the movement, Ignatius says that "examine it as he would, he could never have any doubt about it" (A:27). Now what are we to think of this? Does Ignatius believe he is describing something rare in the spiritual life? I do not believe so. In the first place, he does not focus on what he saw with his eyes or imagination. He underscores the clear movement of his will which, free of antecedent desire, simply and 720 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 unequivocally moved toward eating meat. In my experience as a spiritual director, ! have found that many people experience these clear movements of the will but unfortunately hesitate to trust them. Ignatius himself seems to think that these clear movements happen rather often. In a letter he wrote years later to a Sister Teresa Rejadell he says this: "It often happens that our Lord moves and urges the soul to this or that activity. He begins by laying open the soul, that is, by speaking interiorly to it without the din of words, lifting it up whollyto his divine love and ourselves to a sense of himself without any possibility of resistance on our part, even should we wish to resist.’’2~ Furthermore, the very fact that he gives rules in the Exer- cises for dealing with this kirid of consolation while a retreatant is deliberating about what action to take (E:330, 336) says that he expects that he or she will likely experience it. In his autobiography, Ignatius goes on to describe other undoubtable consolations which illumined his mind both while he was at Manresa and afterwards. These movements brought profound understanding of many things--of how Jesus Christ was present in the Eucharist, of how God created light and the world, and of a great many other things, he says, concerning faith and learning, all accompanied by intense devotion and spiritual delight. What is happening here under what Ignatius calls "understanding" is not any new message from God which Ignatius suddenly understands. Other texts show that by "understanding" Ignatius means what we might call either a judgment or a validation of truth.22 In other words, Ignatius did not experience an insight into how God creates or how Jesus is present in the Eucharist but rather what Newman calls a real assent to a known truth. In a mere notional assent, for example, we might make the judgment, "The idea that Jesus is present in the Eucharist is reliable; I am willing to stand by it." A real assent, in contrast, would assert, "It is true that Jesus is present; this is the reality of the Eucharist." In ordinary parlance, we often say "I realized" something or other. What is happening in consciousness is that a certain proposition makes so much sense of our experience that we find ourselves completely unable to raise a relevant question about its validity. ! will come back to this criterion of the absence of relevant questions shortly. Again, however, we should ask whether Ignatius believed that this undoubtable intellectual illumination was a rare occurrence. In the same letter to Sister Teresa Rejadell, he says, "I will call your attention briefly to... lessons which our Lord usually gives." He describes one such "usual" lesson as "an interior consolation which casts out all uneasiness and draws one to a complete love of our Lord. In this consolation he enlightens some, and to others he reveals many secrets as a preparation for later visits.’’23 My point here is that these undoubtable consolations had as their chief Realism in Ignatius of Loyola / 721

purpose a confirmation of Ignatius’ judgment--a judgment at times about God’s will concerning particular activities and at times about God’s real presence in the world, a confirmation mediated by an intense love for God. Ignatius discovered that human judgment, both judgments of value and judgments of fact, can be directly affected by God in such a way as to completely eliminate a certain kind of doubt. He accepted as a real and common possibility that a person can experience the complete elimination of questions about the value of one among several options. And where someone ¯ already holds a proposition about reality, that person can be stripped of all questions about the reality to which the proposition refers. Both kinds of judgments are accompanied by and probably in part constituted by an intense experience of love. It is my belief that learning how to do this is essentially a matter of trusting the inbuilt norms of one’s own intelligence. True, we need faith that God cares for us and a felt love for God, but we should complement that faith and love by an intellectual conversion that regularly monitors the presence of residual questions and knows that the absence of questions is ground enough for conviction, Although Ignatius did not write about the grounds for conviction, he certainly understood for himself what they are and how they ought to be employed if he was to be a useful instrument in the hands of God. I mentioned earlier that Ignatius also gave guidelines for finding God’s will in two other kinds of experiences. In one, a person experiences strong swings between consolation and desolation. In the other, a person is not moved by strong movements and so must rely more on reason to deliberate pros and cons.24 In either case, Ignatius intends on finding the will of God and shows every confidence that anyone who wishes can do so. Much like the disciples whom Luke described in Acts as artlessly "casting lots" to find the replacement for Judas whom God has chosen (1:15-26), Ignatius takes the reality of God’s will as the fundamental governing principle of the universe. It is this belief that God’s will is not difficult to discover, and not his psychological genius for recognizing spirits, which kept Ignatius in the real world personally and gave him the practical horizon for working out rules for negotiating inner movements which would make sense to others.

Conclusion We have seen five distinct steps in Ignatius’ discovery of the elements and dynamics of the spiritual life. I have called this intellectual achievement "realism." For the sake of drawing our own lessons from his account, let me summarize what a fully-developed realism ought to consider. 1. The absolute prerequisite for realism is the habit of noticing. By the habit of noticing I mean a healthy curiosity about my own feelings and 722 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 thoughts, unhampered by religious guilt or doctrinaire "shoulds" about religious obligations. 2. The essential breakthrough to realism is reached when I have the ability to deal with inner events as objectively as with outer events. This crucial intellectual juncture gives me a new meaning to the word "real." 3. Realism reaches its widest scope through a theology of history. My theology of history should take the Gospels as an account of real, historical work by God. It also should explain, whether in metaphor or not, how every person’s desires and thoughts are connected to this history. Finally, it should direct my praxis towards shaping present history in cooperation with the movements in me that come from God. 4. Realism next gathers its artillery of categories from the fertile field of recognizable experience. In order to deal effectively with inner movements, I ought to understand the roles which feelings, judgments, insights and so on, play in the spiritual struggle. I should also test all other categories by seeing if they can be correlated with experienced events. 5. I can now work to change reality. With a realism that has conceived a theology of history and has tested the key words used in talking about spiritual living, the door is open for me to discover patterns in the everyday experience of grace and malice, whether my own or the community’s, and to engage the real world with a love guided by the light of a converted intelligence.

NOTES ~St. Ignatius’ Own Story, trans. W. Young (Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1956), ch. 1-3. References to the autobiography and to the Spiritual Exercises will be in the form (A: Young’s paragraph number) and (E: paragraph number), respectively. For edi- tions of the autobiography without paragraph numbers, e.g, The Autobiography of St. Ignatius: With Related Documents, trans., J. O’Callaghan (New York: Harper & Row, 1974), use this legend: Ch.l = #1-12; ch.2 = #13-18; ch.3 = #19-37. 2Young, Ignatius’ Own Story, p.4. 3The full title is "Rules for feeling and recognizing in some manner the different movements that are caused in the soul--the good, that they may be received; the evil, that they may be rejected." He calls the rules for the Second Week "Rules to the same effect with greater discernment of spirits," hence their more familiar title, "Rules for Discernment of Spirits." 4In a similar fashion, Ignatius recognized that very lofty and consoling thoughts were robbing him of sleep at night. "He looked into this~matter a number of times and gave it some thought" and concluded that despite their content, their source was the evil spirit and therefore he would ignore them completely (A:26). Realism in Ignatius of Loyola / 723 sj. O’Malley, "The Fourth Vow in Its Ignatian Context: A Historical Study," Studies in the Spirituality of Jesuits, 15/i (Jan 83), Part 1: "St. Ignatius and Doctrine," pp. 8-14. 6j. de Guibert, The Jesuits: Their Spiritual Doctrine and Practice (Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1964), p. 118. 71gnatius also introduces the parables of the Two Standards with an account of "the history" (E: 137,150). i do not believe that this makes the "historical" focus of Scripture any less realistic. Rather, it makes the parable more realistic. Ignatius believes that the Two Standards represents an accurate account of what is actually going on throughout the world. Ignatius also introduces the more imaginary Three Classes of People meditation with the "history" of three couples who want to use 10,000 ducats well. It is fiction, but good fiction inasmuch as it says something about how actual people avoid letting "the desire of being better able to serve God our Lord [be] their motive" (E:155)~ 8Occurrences of "historia" in the Exercisesare: 2(three times), 102, 111, 137, 150, 191, 201,219. It is interesting to note that Ignatius never uses either the term "history" or the term "mystery" in the First Week. The first prelude during the First Week is always "a mental representation of the place" (E:47), while in the rest of the retreat it is "call to mind the history" (E: 102, 111, 191,219) leaving "mental representation of the place" as the second prelude. The reason for this difference can be found in the contrast between the graces of the First Week and the graces of the other three. During the First Week the retreatant asks for the graces of shame, confusion, sorrow, tears, revulsion and fear on account of his or her own sins (E:48, 55, 63, 65)-- as if the only realistic understanding of sin is the inverse insight that sin is utterly without sense. During the Second Week, one asks repeatedly for "intimate knowledge" and "love" of our Lord (E: 104). During the Third Week, one asks for sorrow, compassion and shame (E: 193) for the sake of Christ-- "sorrow with Christ in sorrow, anguish with Christ in anguish, tears and deep grief because of the great affliction Christ endures for me" (E:203)--not as a direct response to the absurdity of one’s own sins. And during the Fourth Week the retreatant seeks to "rejoice intensely because of the great joy and glory of Christ our Lord" (E: 221). 9There have been two meanings of "praxis" current in philosophy and theology-- Marx’s and Aristotle’s. For Marx it meant the activity, particularly the economic activity, that shapes a person’s consciousness. For Aristotle it meant the inner acts that precede making--doing rather than producing, conduct rather than product--and which are the source of external activity, even economic. I am using the term here in the far more astute Aristotelian sense. See B. Lonergan, "Theology and Praxis," in F.E. Crowe, ed., A Third Collection: Papers by Bernard J.F. Lonergan, S.J. (New York: Paulist, 1985), p. 184. t°Principles and parables on desire in the Exercises: para. 23, 98, 146, 151, 155, 166, 167, 168). ~References to the need to monitor desire in the Exercises: para. 20, 73, 89, 130, 133, 174, 177, 185, 199, 339, 350. tZThat desires are gifts from God: Exercises, para. 16. See also the many references to the "gift" of desires in his letters: W. Young, trans., Letters of St. Ignatius of Loyola (Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1959), pp. 19, 20, 43, 50, 92, 131,153,186, 222, 232, 314, 354, 368, 375, 378. Hereafter, Young, Letters. ~3Both God and Satan have desires: Exercises, para. 234, 326, 327. In his letters, see Young, Letters, pp. 18-24 (June, 1536, letter to Teresa Rejadell), 131. ~4Theory regarding thoughts: Exercises, para. 32, 346, 347. ~SPractical advice regarding thoughts: ibid, para. 314, 315, 317, 329, 333, 334, 347, 351. 16How spirits use thoughts vs. affects: ibid, para. 314, 315, 317, 329. Also: "As a sequel to these thoughts, he was seized with a disgust of the life [of scruples] he was leading and a desire to be done with it. It was our Lord’s way of awakening him from sleep" (A:25). ~TThe one clear exception is #50 referring to the angels who were "changed from grace to malice" -- an instance of what we would call "sanctifying grace." 18Ignatius has four other, more general descriptions of graces: the grace to amend my 724 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 life (#61); the grace to be prompt and diligent to fulfill God’s will (#91); the grace to be received under Christ’s standard, in spiritual poverty, actual poverty, and receiving insults (#147); and the grace to imitate Christ (#248). He also has eight completely unspecified references to "grace": how solitude makes one "more disposed to receive graces and gifts" (#20); Communion helps preserve the soul in the increase of grace (#44); to amend, with the help of grace (#61, #243); to ask for only God’s love and grace; these are enough (#234); to ask for the virtues or graces of which one has greater need (#257); see the graces and gifts by which the Apostles were raised above the Fathers of Old and New Testaments (#275); in desolation, the Lord withdraws intense graces (#320). While unspecified in these texts, the specified texts can give the perceptive director a very precise idea of the inner experience to which Ignatius is referring. t9Ignatius clearly prefers to focus on actual inner events rather than faculties. True, in the very first exercises, Ignatius has the retreatant apply the "three powers of the soul," memory, intellect and will to various stories of sin. This triad certainly originates with Augustine, but whether or not Ignatius knew of it at Manresa, he clearly has the retreatant exercise these powers sheerly in order to experience the "graces" of the further movements specified usually in the second prelude of the various exercises. 2°For persuasive arguments defending the normativity of this kind of consolation, see K. Rahner, "The Logic of Concrete Individual Knowledge in Ignatius Loyola," in The Dynamic Element in the Church (Montreal: Palm Publishers, 1964), pp. 84-170. 2~Young,Letters, p. 22 (in the June, 1536, letter to Teresa Rejadell). Italics mine. z2"Falsehood and truth have of themselves a direct effect on the understanding and lead us to accept or reject a proposition even before we have reasoned about it" (ibid, p. 198). "For the will.., draws the understanding after it and does not leave it free to judge correctly" (ibid, p. 202). Italics mine. 231bid, p. 21. Although it is not clear that doubt and resistance are impossible in the consolation he describes in this passage, at least he believes that a consolation illuminating one’s judgment of reality can be frequent in a good soul. I encourage the reader not so much to check past experience as to notice in present experience that these movements occur probably more frequently than one might suspect. 241n the section entitled "Three Times for Making a Good Election" (E: 175-178) Ignatius gives no rules for interpreting the undoubtable consolation, for the obvious reason that none is needed to settle doubt. In the case of a retreatant experiencing both consolation and desolation, he refers the director to the Rules for Recognizing Different Spirits. These are appended to the end of the Exercises, l believe, because they are applicable not only for a retreatant seeking God’s will but also for anyone negotiating the intellectual illuminations by which one sees God in all things during everyday life. In the case of a retreatant experiencing neither consolation nor desolation, Ignatius gives procedures within the text of the Exercises at that point, and repeats them almost verbatim in the Rules for Distributing Aims (E:337-344), probably because they do not apply more widely to seeing God in all things but only to finding God’s will. Victims of Abuse as Candidates

John Allan Loftus, S.J.

Father Loftus is a licensed psychologist who has been practicing in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Just recently he has accepted the position of Executive Director of Southdown, a residential treatment facility for clergy and religious near Toronto, Canada.

Vocation directors are no longer surprised by the candor of recent candidates as they describe their histories and life experiences prior to seeking admission to seminaries and religious communities. The recent "generation" of candidates seem in the eyes of many to have a remarkable awareness of themselves and a great facility for admitting with honesty their own limitations and liabilities. For some candidates, this means an early admission of the fact that they have been abused as children or adolescents; the abuse can be physical, emotional or sexual. This admission poses a unique challenge to formation personnel. In recent months, I have been invited to consider the specific challenge that abuse represents with several groups of vocation directors and formation personnel.~ I am grateful to all those who shared their own experiences during those meetings; you are reading the fruits of a collaborative concern. This article is an attempt to suggest areas of sensitivity in pursuing the topic with candidates and to detail some tentative observations for a wider audience of concerned formation persons. It should be stated at the outset that feelings of revulsion and disbelief are common whenever the topic of child abuse is mentioned. There is something in most of us that so dearly wants to avoid such a frightening and potentially devastating topic. We are not alone. These very feelings may be the reason why so many professionals continue to shy away from reporting possible cases of abuse. The whole topic raises immediately personal issues 725 726 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 and feelings for most. Police, nurses, lawyers, psychologists, clergy, medical doctors: none are immune from dealing with their own personal feelings in this regard. Even former victims themselves react with conscious disbelief and revulsion at the recollection of the truth of their abuse. The fear, shame and guilt that accompany acknowledgments of abuse are indeed widespread. It will be no less so as we consider victims of abuse who are candidates for--or members of--religious communities or dioceses.

Historical Perspective The focus has sharpened in recent years on the issue of sexual abuse of children and adolescents. More chronic and less explicit forms of abuse have, however, occupied American consciousness for several decades. The question of what exactly constitutes "abuse" continues to be refined. In the fifties, immediate life-and-death decisions involving acute physical abuse of children occupied a central position in many headlines and Social Welfare agencies. The abuse here was obvious, physical and life-threatening. In the sixties, less dramatic cases involving nonorganic "failure to thrive" syndromes were highlighted. This abuse seemed to be due primarily to parental emotional deprivation and the severe lack of "bonding" during infancy. This kind of abuse is also more subtle, discrete and difficult to demonstrate. In the early seventies, chronic neglect--obvious long-term abuse--occupied center stage. Only since 1975, has the explicitly sexual abuse of children received wide publicity; even today, however, much of the publicity seems to focus on society’s moral indignation and outrage at the perpetrator rather than upon the victims and the consequences for their lives. The issue is not new. In fact, it can be traced back much further than late-twentieth-century newspaper reports. Children may no longer be widely regarded as chattel in contemporary cultures, but widespread and systematic abuse of children and adolescents remains the norm in many areas of our world. Child pornography and adolescent prostitution by both sexes are condoned, or at least blindly tolerated, in many areas of the world today and "historical precedent" is cited as justification. Sexual mistreatment of children was widely known in ancient Greece and Rome. The castration of choir boys was common in later, so-called Christian times. And incest reports have an even more ancient history (see Oedipus et al.). In fact, some have suggested that little may have changed over the centuries except the social recognition of a "problem" and some laws governing behavior. More subtle and attitudinal forms of abuse may be even more common and have an even longer history. Few have written with as much passion and conviction about the "poisonous pedagogy" that adults and social institutions continue to use against children as Alice Miller. Her several books Victims of Abuse as Candidates / 727 should be required reading for any who would try to remain skeptics about the issue of pervasive abuse in our society.2 We will, nonetheless, confine remarks in this article to the issue of explicitly sexual abuse. Such abuse constitutes one of the most serious viola- tions of the child and may have the greatest long-range consequences emotionally.

What Constitutes Sexual Abuse The National Center on Child Abuse and Neglect defines sexual abuse as "contacts or interactions between a child and an adult when the child is being used for the sexual stimulation of that adult or by another person (sexual abuse may also be committed by a person under the age of eighteen).’’~ Others speak of the involvement of dependent, developmentally immature children and adolescents in sexual activity that they do not fully comprehend and to which they are unable to give informed consent or involvement in sexual activity that violates the social taboos of family roles.4 Almost all definitions are broad because abuse varies in the degree of physical intrusion and in the significance of the perpetrator as a figure in the child’s life. The perpetrator can be a distantly viewed exhibitionist stranger who is never seen again, or a father who may be the central person in the child’s life. Categories of definition and consequences vary greatly. Categories of sexual abuse include: incest, pedophilia, exhibitionism, molestation, statutory rape and rape, child prostitution and child pornography. Our state of knowledge varies greatly within each category; figures are doubtful even about the incidence of each and every one in the list. Some features can be detailed, however, and may be instructive in broadening concepts of how prevalent abuse can be.5 Incest denotes any physical sexual activity between family members. Note that "blood relationship" is not required. Family is used in its broad social sense. Therefore, stepfathers, stepmothers, uncles, aunts, grandparents, siblings by another marriage, and others are all possible perpetrators. Incest has also been demonstrated at almost all ages from four months through adult years. Pedophilia (literally "love of the child") denotes the preference of an adult for prepubertal children as a means of achieving sexual excitement. Either young boys or girls can be the object of sexual desire. Note that the range of sexual activities can be quite broad; pedophilia is not a specific kind of activity but a "direction" of sexual desire, namely toward children. Pedophiles have been more recently re-categorized into two relatively distinct sub-groups: so-called constitutional pedophiles and regressed pedophiles. 728 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

The distinction has to do with the exclusiveness of the sexual attraction to children (i.e., the regressed pedophile is capable of adult sexual attractions but in the absence of an adult will be attracted by children); the distinction also has significant treatment consequences. Exhibitionism (indecent exposure) involves the exposure of the genitals, usually by an adult male, to girls, boys and/or other men and women. The purpose of the exhibition is sexual excitement and occasionally masturbation; the intent is usually to produce shock or surprise. This is found to be stimulating in and of itself. Molestation is a vague term, like "indecent liberties." It is intended to denote any touching, fondling, or kissing of children--especially in the genital or chest areas. It is also used to describe engaging a child in masturbation or urging the child to masturbate or fondle the adult. It may proceed to mutual masturbation or oral-genital contact. Rape describes sexual intercourse with a child of either sex. It includes fellatio (oral-genital contact), sodomy (anal-genital contact), or penile-vaginal intercourse. Rape may occur without overt physical violence through per- suasion, seduction, bribes, use of authority, or threats. The age of consent varies from twelve to eighteen in different jurisdictions. When the child is under the legally defined age for sexual consent, the rape is described as statutory. Furthermore, an attempted sexual intercourse without the consent of the "victim" is also rape. Child pornography exists in still photographs, video and film productions of sexual acts involving children, and more recently audio cassettes. Such exploitation can be with or without the guardians’ consent. It is estimated that there are more than 300,000 children involved with this industry in the United States alone. There are also incidents of, this kind of abuse in non- commercial, not-for-profit, "family" pornography rings. Child prostitution is an obvious exploitation using young children and adolescents in sex-for-profit schemes. It is a profitable industry in many parts of the world. It is estimated that a young boy on the streets of Los Angeles can earn as much as $1000 a day for adult pimps. Sexual abuse is a broadly defined area of experience. I wonder how many reading this still feel that they have not been exposed to it in some form. If still doubtful about its pervasiveness, become aware of some staggering figures concerning the incidence of sexual abuse in our culture. Recognize, too, that rectories and religious congregations are not exempted from the overall picture.

How Significant Is the Overall Problem? It is impossible to give accurate figures for the incidence of child abuse Victims of Abuse as Candidates / 729 in the United States. Estimates vary greatly depending upon how the information is obtained; as we all know, statistics can always be drawn with jaun- diced pens. Nonetheless, it would be impossible to ignore the increasing availability of data suggesting much more massive victimization than would have been thought possible only twenty-five years ago.6 Concerning one item, at least, there is consensus: only a fraction of the incidence of sexual abuse is reported to anyone. A 1985 survey in California (an anonymous telephone interview of 2,627 persons) indicated that slightly less than half of all victims of sexual abuse had told anyone about it within one year.7 Earlier studies confirm the same finding about the "secret." A large-scale study in 1979 reported that only about one in two girls reported any incident of abuse to their parents; they rarely reported it to anyone else. Only 10°70 of the boys ever told anyone--including parents--about incidents of abuse.8 Add to the above that it is estimated the actual reported cases of sexual abuse have risen 200% since 1976 (a figure that is probably woefully conservative even as this is written),9 and we have a probable incidence of abuse that approaches staggering proportions! Other tidbits gleaned from the social scientists are equally enlightening-- and frightening. Almost half of all the perpetrators of sexual abuse in a variety of surveys are reported by victims to have been friends or relatives. Almost half of all perpetrators were viewed as "someone in authority" by victims. Only 18% of all victims surveyed suggested that physical force played a significant role in the abuse. Of equal interest is the fact that the old stereo- typed picture of abuse occurring in remote, rural, isolated, poor areas has also been refuted. Abuse--at least the abuse that is now being reported and is passing through the legal system in this country--is occurring at all levels of society. Reported cases of sexual abuse also appear today to be increasingly free of economic, educational, and racial bias. to It is interesting--and important for our purposes--to note that increasing numbers of victims who are now coming forward to "tell their secrets," are themselves members of the professional helping establishment; they are doctors, nurses, psychologists, psychiatric social workers and, in some cases, clergy and religious. Many of these victims were attracted to their professions precisely because of the opportunities therein to express the caring and concern they themselves desired; many of these persons are passionately interested in healing. In exposing their secret, they offer a first-hand account of the physical, emotional and spiritual turmoil that is the consequence of sexual abuse. As students of Carl Jung could attest, sometimes just carrying the shadow is the cure. The public carrying of this experience invites healing for many--and there is much that cries out for healing. 730 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

Psychological Symptomsof Abuse Immediate consequences of abusive acts focus on three areas: specific fears, an increased sense of vulnerability and the possibility of psychosomatic anxiety symptoms. Fear is almost always a significant consequence of sexual abuse, There is the fear of possible repeated acts (whether perpetrated by a violent stranger or familiar friend). There is the fear of physical and emotional consequences for the behavior; these can range from fears of physical damage, to pregnancy, to the equally real fear of losing emotional support and love from parents, friends, spouses because of the act of abuse. Then there are the "vague" fears--or anxiety--often related to going out alone again or being afraid of any further contact with men (or women). Such fears are often borne quietly and without obvious psychological maladjustment; these same fears can, however, lead to an almost psychotic withdrawal and extremely confused thought processes. An increased sense of personal vulnerability is also often seen as a consequence of abuse. The victim feels constantly "unprotected," or has a sense of having been physically damaged by the experience and unable to ever undo it. There can be feelings of being "small" and helpless, of having no control over one’s life. There can be a resultant desire to carefully "protect" oneself at all times. Finally, the more immediate psychological consequences of sexual abuse can express themselves in more obviously physical ways. Victims can experience sleeping difficulties, eating disordei’s, a wide variety of aches and pains, or find themselves experiencing problems with bed-wetting. In every case, these immediate consequences must be dealt with in some manner and at some time, preferably as soon as possible and with great tenderness and care. Not to do so only invites lingering doubts and fears and makes the probability of long-term consequences more apparent. The long-term consequences of sexual abuse are more varied, diffuse and more easily "disguised" or displaced (when the feelings are not repressed totally). These consequences are for the most part apparent as feelings, feelings that are primarily dysfunctional and can lead to behavioral patterns that remain problematic for the victim. They include: 1. Feelings of separation, i.e. a sense of loss of important sources of nurturance and love. Victims can sense an underlying and often pervasive loneliness; their ~ibuse is perceived as a threat to their relationships with parents, friends and loved ones. Victims often feel totally alone: "there is no one who could possibly understand!" 2. Feelings of anger. Anger is almost always present--often intense rage--but it is just as often confused and misdirected unless the abuse is Victims of Abuse as Candidates / 731 a case of clear-cut assault. If the abuse is long-term, subtle, or not believed by anyone to whom the victim reports it, the anger may never be expressed; it becomes displaced. Anger can also be displaced onto oneself in depression and/or suicidal rumination. Anger can be displaced into apparent behavior disorders; note the number of juvenile victims who themselves become delin- quent. Anger can also be displaced onto parents or other authority figures, especially when such figures did not believe the abuse story or, worse yet, were themselves involved in the abuse. Unexpressed anger is also closely related to the next consequence, a sense of helplessness. 3. Feelings of helplessness are frequently present for many years after the trauma of abusive activity. The feeling of helplessness remains often unrelieved because of pent-up anger that has no outlet. Helplessness can lead to a profound sense of apathy. On the other hand, it can also pave the way for an "identification with the aggressor" as a way of assuaging the helpless feelings; this can lead to a later desire to force their wills on others (just as happened to them), and express itself in covert, or not so covert, forms of aggression. Most of us are aware, no doubt, that the vast majority of the perpetrators of sexual abuse were themselves victims of abuse during their own childhood or adolescence. Helplessness can be dangerous. 4. Feelings of shame and guilt gradually build up in all victims. These feelings can be accompanied by depression and/or anxiety and there are often secondary neurotic symptoms apparent. Enlightened and supportive religious/spiritual perspectives can often be most helpful here; in fact, they are usually necessary. There is a danger, however. There can be a temptation to "spiritualize" (in the most negative way) the entire experience. The result can be a denial of the reality of the event, or a denial of the atten- dant feelings, especially the most °"negative" and so-called destructive feelings. Such a risk must always be assessed carefully. 5. The loss of self-esteem is a major consequence in most cases of sexual abuse. Poor self-image often results and can leave the victim as a victim for life! Victims report "feeling like damaged goods," or somehow "rotten," bad, evil, or perhaps "just different now." Such reflections can lead to more pronounced feelings of isolation and loneliness, or to further dysfunctional cognitions expressed in notions that "I’m the only one who has ever experienced this before." Ultimately this kind of affective-cognitive process has no direction other than toward significant levels of depression. 6. Personal identity issues: often abuse victims can manifest serious problems in continuing maturation; this can be true both for specifically psycho- sexual identity issues as well as more pervasive identity issues of personality. It’s hard to grow into a secure self-identity when your world has been so shattered by apparently random malice. It’s hard to come to know yourself 732 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 with confidence when you remain so unsure of your conscious or unconscious participation in an experience like sexual abuse. "Could I have brought it on myself?. Could I have been ’asking for it’?" These are the kind of identity questions that can perdure for years gnawing at the psyche and shattering self-confidence. 7. A cognitive preoccupation with fantasies and/or anxieties related to the abuse can also lead to continued difficulties with learning, attention, and relationships. Frequently such devouring thoughts lead to severe social withdrawal--either for a period of time following the disclosure of the abuse, or for a much longer period of life. Many years after the abuse and the telling of the abuse story, victims report continuing thoughts (often bordering on obsessions) about the experience. If the abuse has never been disclosed or processed in any way, it is not uncommon to have victims report recurrent and often violent nightmares. 8. Impulse control problems are common in victims, at least for some period of time. There can be a greatly lessened ability to. delay gratification in a variety of areas of life. Sometimes angry and aggressive outbursts appear for the first time in a person’s life. Other persons become more antinomian, finding it more and more difficult to follow rules and regulations or to assess realistically the consequences of their own behavior. The emotional logic is clear: why should I follow any rules? There’s no final reason for anything anyway. The whole world appears as random chance. This type of distorted thinking (although quite "reasonable" from the victim’s perspective) is also the source of many self-destructive impulses. Suicide attempts are not uncommon. Finally, there are the impulse control issues directly related to sexuality. These can include the emotional flooding of thoughts/feelings of a sexual nature, a tendency toward compulsive masturbation as the only outlet for sexual feelings, or a kind of "hyper-sexuality" in which sexual desire and expression become the primary, if not only, goal in life. A Caution It is impossible to generalize the consequences of any life experience. This is no less true for incidents of sexual abuse. The outline above represents a distillation of reactions of actual abuse victims. It is not meant to suggest that every victim of each and every type of sexual abuse will necessarily experience any or all of the serious consequences. It is meant to suggest the serious nature of possible psychological consequences. All sexual abuse is a serious, emotionally traumatic event. It must be taken seriously. Any consequences depend so much upon the vulnerability of the child or adolescent involved and on the context of the abuse. Nonetheless, the experience must Victims of Abuse as Candidates / 733 always be dealt with somehow in order to minimize adverse reactions. Alice Miller reminds us that finally the telling of the secret must be encouraged as the ultimate way to "deal with" abuse. To do less only continues an evasion of truth that sooner or later will take its toll. The truth about our childhood is stored up in our body, and although we can repress it, we can never alter it. Our intellect can be deceived, our feelings manipulated, our perceptions confused, and our bod~’ tricked with medica- tion. But someday the body will present its bill, for it is as incorruptible as a child who, still whole in spirit, will accept no compromises or excuses, and it will not stop tormenting us until we stop evading the truth.~

Specific Areas of Concern for Adult Development In addition to the possible long-term consequences of sexual abuse outlined above, there are some specific areas of concern for the later adult development of abuse victims. There are attitudes and emotional "fixations" that can be particularly problematic. Most of these concerns focus upon two areas: later adjustment to sexuality and adult sexual expression, and the ability to cultivate and maintain adult relationships in later life. With regard to sexuality itself, the most critical issue focuses upon the victim’s eventual comfort with sexual feelings and expression as an adult. Frequent sexual stimulation (as in repeated intra-familial sexual abuse) can easily lead to a kind of "sexual fixation" of feelings and impulses. There is a resultant inability to repress any sexual urge or control any sexual desire. The opposite reaction is equally possible; in this scenario there is a total repression of all sexual feeling and expression in an attempt to assuage guilt through perpetual virginity (emotional as well as physical). A midpoint is also available; in this case there is a fixation only on certain sexual expression (e.g. self-stimulation or masturbation) while the rest of the outward appearance remains devoid of any expressive emotion. Victims can also need help sometimes in distinguishing affectional needs from overtly sexual impulses. It can be difficult for the victim to separate erotic feelings from the desire for simple affection. It can also be difficult for victims to be comfortable encouraging affection from appropriate persons in their lives. There is a frequent "irrational fear" that any affective movement will stimulate repeated sexual incidents. The result can be an isolated, insecure and cold person. The need to understand the realm of sexual fantasy and its proper place in sexual development is also crucial in the developmental years. Here again, the intimidation caused by sexual abuse can create problems. Victims need to learn again that it is all right and "normal" to experience sexual fantasy and to have sexual dreams without the fear of inappropriate sexual expression 734 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 becoming the inevitable consequence. Along the same lines, it is important to reassure victims that it is a typical part of the sexual identity formation process to want to feel sexually attractive. Sexual attractiveness need not be the spark that ignites additional emotional fires; it is an important compo- nent in all adult relationships. Continuing emotional and sexual development should be monitored with all victims of abuse. There are too many places for derailment and too few trusted confidants with whom to share. Finally, victims of abuse can all too easily become life-long victims in relationships with others. There is often a distortion in the perception of warm and trusting relationships as a result of,the abuse. This is particularly true when the abuse has occurred in the context of family relationships (incest in any of its forms). In these cases (again particularly in incest situations), abnormal fears of all authority figures can emerge; it is too easy to project the fear, rage, or radical mistrust, onto anyone who occupies a seat of authority. Su,btle, and not so subtle, difficulties with trust and intimacy remain ever-present potential issues for the victim. Let me offer a word of caution again, however. All of us are subject to similar trials, disappointments, frustrations and failures in personal relationships. None of the above should be taken to construe that adult victims of sexual abuse are necessarily half-developed, problematic, disturbed, malad- justed, misfits who will bear the emotional dysfunction of their experiences for life. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, many victims, precisely because of the experience, develop more secure and confident adult selves with a greatly enhanced and satisfying circle of mature relationships and a secure sense of their own sexuality. As mentioned earlier, significant numbers of mature, adjusted people in the helping professions are themselves victims of abuse. The entire purpose of this review has been to indicate areas of potential sensitivity in development; not to condemn the victim even further by a blind insensitivity. This la~st observation becomes extremely important as we now take up the question of candidates for seminaries or novitiates who are themselves victims of sexual abuse. There may be no areas of continuing dysfunction, either physical, emotional, or spiritual in their adult lives. There may, on the other hand, remain significant areas of sensitivity with regard to sexuality itself or relationships. Finally, there is always the possibility that the issue has never been dealt with, acknowledged, or processed. If this is the case, the desire to spend one’s life in a religious environment may have overtones of expiation and/or flight and must be acknowledged as such. Again, however, gentleness and genuine compassion must be the guides; this dialogue should be an exploration, not a confrontation. Victims of Abuse as Candidates / 735

Incidence~ in Religious Life and Prieslhood This could be the shortest section in the article. There simply are no data. All that is apparent is the impression of increasing numbers of vocation and formation personnel that more people are "admitting" abusive backgrounds and talking more freely about the experience. Let me be more precise. Many vocation folks will find the above sentence preposterous, farfetched, a "damned lie" made up to make us look bad again! To be sure, there are not massive numbers of people speaking about abuse among candidates. The fact that there are even a few more than there would have been five years ago is, however, significant. There are also the observations of men and women who have worked with clergy and religious in therapeutic environments over the past few years. They have also noted increased reports of abuse among their clients. Admit- tedly, all of the material is impressionistic and anecdotal, but added to what we already know about the "secret" dimensions of this issue and the over- wh~elming reluctance to deal with it in public forums, I would suggest that it is an issue very much at home in our religious communities. Note that all of what has been said earlier about the specific challenges facing victims of sexual abuse applies to present clergy and religious as well as candidates considering such vocations. If the issue has not been acknowledged and processed in some manner, it will take its toll. People only seem to forget what has been done to them, for they have a photo- graphic memory in the unconscious, and it has been amply demonstrated that, under certain circumstances, that memory can be reactivated.~2 The following guide-list may be helpful in directing your concern wherever the issue of sexual abuse arises. It is presented as an aid to exploring the issue with all candidates in whom the possibility of sexual abuse has been suspected. 1. The single most important issue in this regard is by now clear: the telling of the secret is central. Anyone who can encourage the telling--if this has not already taken place-- performs a great service. However, there is an extraordinary need for privacy, confidentiality and a genuine atmosphere of dignity and respect. These are all words we use often; in these cases their effective presence is absolutely demanded. If, for example, you do not feel comfortable encouraging conversation in strict confidence because of your dual role (as vocation director and personal confidant, for example), then do not encourage the person further. Be supportive and refer elsewhere. 2. If there has never: been any professional consultation about the issue of the abuse, ! would strongly encourage one. Even a brief professional relationship can do much to remove lingering suspicions about the possible 736 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 negative effects of the abuse and can be even more strongly supportive of gains already made since the time of the abuse. Needless to say, one should be careful, as always, about the professional to whom one refers. 3. Above all, remain supportive and encouraging with the candidate, especially if he/she is telling of the abuse for the first time. This may sound so obvious, yet it is not always easy to practice. Some are frightened themselves when they hear the story; others simply refuse to believe it and assume that anyone who would tell such stories is ipso facto unsuited to religious life or priesthood. At the very least, anyone reporting a story of incest comes from an unsuitable family! It may not be as easy to be supportive and encouraging as you first think. 4. At a later stage of the relationship, and ever so gradually, some of the issues surrounding the possible psychological and emotional consequences of abuse might be explored. The idea here is to gauge the relative success with which issues have already been explored and processed. These areas have been outlined above; they are repeated here in schematic form: -the historical fears: the anxiety, withdrawal, confusion that attended the original experience -one’s sense of personal vulnerability -a sense of control over one’s life -security needs: the need to "protect oneself" -nurturance needs: how dependent/independent can one be? -anger: ever expressed? How? At whom? When? What about now? Is it displaced anywhere obvious? -helplessness: any identification with the aggressor? Any areas of clear danger toward aggression? -shame and guilt: moral concerns about sinfulness? unworthy feelings -self-esteem: "damaged goods" fears? Isolation and loneliness? Depres- sion? Ever? Suicidal thoughts? Ever? -identity issues: psychosexually confident? Overall personality development affected? -sexuality itself: preoccupations? fantasy? impulse-control issues? masturbation? attractiveness? Like any other characteristic of human experience, incidents of sexual abuse are multi-valenced. The trauma represents a clear crisis, but that is, as we all know, both an occasion of loss and an opportunity for growth. Gentle exploration and caring acceptance always invite the growth. Even if we must replace revulsion and disbelief in ourselves first, compassionate understanding must always remain the hallmark of our commitment to each other. This is especially so as we review men and women to join our ranks. An image borrowed for the "Medical-Moral Newsletter" written by Dr. Victims of Abuse as Candidates / 737

Fred Berlin, an expert in the treatment of pedophilia, seems appropriate here.~3 Almost two thousand years ago, folks were stoning a woman for whom they had only fear and loathing and contempt. One man said: don’t judge only on the basis of past behavior, on history, but on humanity’s capacity to transcend, to grow, and to change. He was crucified for his concern. Past experiences do not "mean" anything. They are invitations to continued growth--no more, no less. We are all "victims" in more ways than we will ever know! All we can do is encourage young men and women to be themselves. That’s all any of us can do anyway.

NOTES

~Both vocation and formation persons need to be addressed in this regard. Frequently candidates only come to the freedom and/or awareness to divulge abusive backgrounds after entry. 2Alice Miller, Thou Shalt Not be Aware: Society’s Betrayal of the Child (New York: New American Library, 1986). See also, For Your Own Good (New York, 1983) and The Drama of the Gifted Child (New York, 1981). 3Quoted in Ruth S. and C. Henry Kempe, The Common Secret: Sexual Abuse of Chil- dren and Adolescents (New York: W.H. Freedman & Co., 1984), p. 10. 4See R.E. Heifer and C.H. Kempe (eds.), Child Abuse and Neglect." The Family and the Community (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 1976). SA companion book to the one mentioned above offers a broad and easily read description of the breadth of child abuse; see Kempe and Kempe, Child Abuse (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1978). For a more scholarly and professional treatment of similar issues, see P. Mrazek and H. Kempe (eds.), Sexually Abused Children and their Families (Oxford: Pergamon Press, 1981). 6For an overview of recent statistics on abuse, see Kempe and Kempe, The Common Secret, pp. 13-19. VReported by United Press International in The Boston Globe, August 25, 1985. sit comes as no surprise that many of the recent books on this subject concern aspects of the "secret." Not only are incidents of abuse rarely reported to authorities or parents, often victims themselves are unable to consciously acknowledge the trauma of the experience; hence, the "best kept secret." Florence Rush, The Best Kept Secret: Sexual Abuse of Children (Englewood Cliffs, 1980), Susan Griffen, Pornography and Silence: Culture’s Revolt Against Nature (New York, 1982), Sandra Butler, Conspiracy of Silence: The Trauma of Incest, (San Francisco, 1978), and Ruth and Henry Kempe, The Common Secret: Sexual Abuse Among Children and Adolescents, (New York, 1984). 738 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

9See the National Center on Child Abuse and Neglect, Study Findings: National Study of the Incidence and Severity of Child Abuse and Neglect, U.S Department of Health and Human Services, No. (OHDS) 81-30325 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1981). ~°See Kempe and Kempe, The Common Secret, pp. 18-20. ~Alice Miller, Thou Shalt Not Be A ware: Society’s Betrayal of the Child (New York: New American Library, 1986), p. 316. ~2See Miller, Thou Shalt Not Be Aware, p. 318. ~3Fred Berlin, M.D., Medical-Moral Newsletter (Baltimore, MD: Ayd Medical Com- munications, The Ayd Corporation, June 1984).

Christ the Center of Our Vowed Life by Boniface Ramsey, O.P. Father Ramsey’s three articles on the vows of religion are available as a single reprint: i~- The Center of Religious Poverty ii - Christocentric Celibacy iii - Cruciform Obedience Price: $1.75 per copy, plus postage.

Address: Review for Religious Rm 428 3601 Lindell Blvd. St. Louis, Missouri 63108 Contemplative Life Today

Clifford Stevens

Father Stevens is a member of Tintern Monastery; Oakdale, Nebraska 68761.

The most contemplative piece of writing I have read recently was not a serious treatise on mysticism or contemplative prayer, still less one of the many remarkable books on Thomas Merton that. seem continually to come off the presses. The most contemplative piece of writing I have read recently is contained in Clifton Fadiman’s three volumes The World Treasury of Children’s Literature.~ Treatises on mysticism, even the best, are heavy and ponderous and introspective, quite unlike the contemplative life at its best and books on contemplative prayer are usually so arbitrary in their portrayal of this delightful exercise that they weary the mind. The contemplative life brings out the child in us, returns us to the springtime of the world and is to the serious business of living the equivalent of play in the lives of children. "In any true man," Fadiman quotes Nietzsche, "hides a child who wants to play.’’2 Fadiman is a true contemplative and a true mystic when he reminds children in his introduction to these volumes: "I didn’t read to get ahead of anyone else, or to improve my marks in school. I read for the same reason we all like to open Christmas gifts. Each book was a surprise package stuffed with things I had no idea ever existed.’’3 There could be no better introduction to the contemplative life than that and if we are going to talk about the contemplative life today, we had better start there, with a sense of wonder, than with learned and serious treatises on infused contemplation, or the dark night of the soul or the three ages of the spiritual life. If these have anything to do with anything, it is about religious psychology; they have very little to do with what contemplative life is all 739 740 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 about¯ One becomes a contemplative because he is struck by a sense of wonder: the wonder of life itself, the wonder of God’s ways with human beings, and the wonder that Fadiman himself experienced in the written page. "Here I was, a rather dull boy looking at an unopened book. Then within a short time, the dull boy found that he was entertained, amused, saddened, delighted, mystified, scared, dreamy, puzzled, astonished, held in suspense ¯.. my wish is that this set of books will give you some of these feelings. It’s good to get such feelings at an early age. They’re never quite the same for the older reader. The older reader gets some of them, but more thinly, more weakly. He gets others, too, more complicated perhaps. But what he doesn’t get in quite the same way is--surprise.’’4 The contemplative life today is under fierce scrutiny; rudely rejected by some as contrary to an incarnational Christianity and a massive social crisis that sees half the world without bread and another half without shelter and the decencies of life.~ Contemplatives themselves seem to have lost hope in this way of life, too, since so many contemplative houses have gone out of business in the wake of an intense renewal of everything religious. Con- templative life seems to be the very embodiment of sinful insensitivity and lack of involvement. These are very adult criticisms, often very concerned criticisms, but they miss the mark by several latitudes and longitudes, the kind of latitudes and longitudes amply evident in Clifton Fadiman’s volumes. Serious religious minds have simply forgotten how to play, and play is of the very essence of contemplative life. The first witness is the master of contemplative theology, St. Thomas Aquinas himself, made overserious and ponderous by the heavy ~tomes of Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange’s spiritual theology. "The contemplative life," says St. Thomas, "is a kind.of holiday .... -6 and "contemplation is good for the soul, but so is a good warm bath.’’7 Contemplatives are the children of history, the clowns of God, and their contemplative play it is that keeps the world sane for another generation. As John Garvey has pointed out in a very sensitive column in Commonweal, monasteries are "asylums of sanity" where the simplicities of childhood are recovered and where the primitive vision of the springtime of the world is fostered. Anyone trying to turn a contemplative monastery into a haven for mystics had better think twice. It is a playground for children where some deep secret keeps laughter alive, a laughter that returns the human spirit to that sense of wonder without which it very quickly dies. For too long contemplative life and "contemplation" have been the subject of treatises on mysticism, fed by something resembling "spiritual snoop- ing," with "souls" analyzed and dissected according to some master plan of Contemplative Life Today / 741 the writer. Even today there are popular and not-so-popular books on contemplative prayer that feed a certain kind of "gnosticism" and breed a certain kind of elitist spirituality that puts one just a step above the common herd, "if you are called," and gives you some vague assurance of being selected out of this same common herd for special treatment by the Lord and Creator. What has been lost sight of in all this is precisely that sense of wonder that nourishes contemplatives and that awe in the presence of the ordinary that is the very touchstone of a living faith. St. Thomas, master of contemplatives, continues: "Notice how aptly contemplating is compared with playing.., play is delightful and the cor~- templation of wisdom brings the greatest joy.., playing is not a means to an end, but is sought for its own sake; so also are the delights of wisdom. ¯.. Divine Wisdom compares its joy with play: ’I was delighted every day, playing before him at all times.’"8 Obviously, somewhere we have missed the mark, if what St. Thomas says is true. In the late Forties, after the devastation of World War II, Josef Pieper, a German philosopher, startled the world of scholarship with his Leisure: the Basis of Cullure,9 and by "leisure" he meant precisely the ability to play in the sense that contemplation is play, and it is from such "play" or contemplative "leisure," he said, that all true human progress proceeds. He proved his case in two remarkable essays, showing that contemplation is natural to human beings and that all true human activity, insofar as it is human, is the fruit of contemplation. He talked about "festivity," which is a certain kind of play, and "celebration," the finding of joy in God which is the very essence of worship. And in a remarkable passage, Pieper lays down the basic principle of the "leisure" or "play" that is the contemplative life and hints at the reason for its eminent fruitfulness: Leisure is possible only on the premise that man consents to his own true nature and abides in accord with the meaning of the universe .... Leisure draws its vitality from affirmation. It is not the same as non-activity, nor is it identical with tranquillity; it is not even the same as inward tranquillity. Rather, it is like the tranquil silence of lovers, which draws its strength from concord. ~0 It is not surprising that the Song of Songs has always been the favorite biblical book of contemplatives. Contemplatives are at play with God as lovers are at play in their lovemaking. Contemplative life, then, is not insensitivity to or a denial of the weighty problems of contemporary history, still less a denial of the joy of living or the normal joys of life. It is not a shirking of responsibility in the face of 742 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 massive human need: it is the affirmation of the final answer to all human need and a tapping of the springs that make human life worth living at all. This could be seen by so sensitive a critic of Christianity as Albert Camus, who had this to say about "deserts": There are no more deserts. There are no more islands. Yet one still feels the need of them. To understand this world, one must sometimes turn away from it; to serve men better, one must hold them at a distance. But where can the necessary solitude be found, the long breathing space in which the mind gathers its strength, and takes stock of its courage?’’~l It is the work of the contemplative life to provide these deserts, to create these islands, where the necessary breathing space can be found: This does not mean creating retreat centers, houses of affirmation, or communes of prayer, necessary as these may be. It means creating oases of solitude and silence, where contemplative leisure is the only activity and where a community is intent on finding joy in God. And that is why Clifton Fadiman is a better guide to what contemplative life is all about than many others writing today. He sees the very activity of the mind as something resembling play, and he sees books as great worlds to play in, words as marvelous inventions to surprise and delight us and preoccupation with words as something distinctively human and almost angelic. Since the contemplative is one who is constantly preoccupied with "the word," he can have no better guide to what words are all about than Clifton Fadiman. And the contemplative does not become preoccupied with words "to prepare for a... career.., or... to make a living." He does not carry on his contemplative life to become a doctor of theology or to sell books, even though he may become an excellent theologian and write a lot of books. He is preoccupied with words "for the same reason we all like to open Christmas gifts. Each book was a surprise package stuffed with things I had no idea existed." If we who are contemplatives are going to go about the serious business of rebuilding contemplative life, we have to take our cue from someone like Clifton Fadiman who has never lost that sense of wonder in the face of the complexities of living and who understands that there is a strange wonderful secret behind the universe and that we are called upon to discover it, to discover it constantly, to discover it again and again, and to rediscover it at every stage of our existence.12 In a recent book, Harvey Egan has shown that mystical writers today are more concerned with the "mysticism of the commonplace, of everyday life, of the mysticism of God’s love permeating all aspects of human life." There is little or no concern about exalted states of prayer, the psychological states Contemplative Life Today / 743 of holy people or the "active" and "passive nights" with which an older genre of spiritual writing was concerned. Such things are outside the experience and the perception of most people. The contemplative life is being seen, not as an arena for the cultivation of mystics, but an arena for the cultivation of wisdom, using the gift of human intelligence and the tools of study and research that are open to every human being. Contemplation is seen, not so much as a subjective passive purgation, as a way of life, a life of solitude and silence where the lover seeks the Beloved in a cultivated aloneness. With this view of the matter, the whole nature of contemplative life has changed. Contemplative life becomes impossible when it is turned into something else: into some form of the pastoral ministry, into a tool of education, into some form of the social ministry, into a center for spiritual renewal or ongoing spiritual formation. All these have their place in the work of the Church, but they are not the work of contemplatives. They become important to contemplatives only when the contemplative life itself has begun to die or has already disappeared. The contemplative life exists for the contemplative life alone: that is its service to the Church, to human civilization and to its bleeding brothers and sisters of the worldwide community. There has to be in the human community those who fly kites and those who climb mountain peaks just because they are there and those who notice the beauty of birds and listen to the music of the universe. What would we do without a Leonard Bernstein giving us beautiful music or without the poetry of T.S. Eliot or without the paintings of Andrew Wyeth and Georgia O’Keeffe? Things have a value beyond their utilitarian interest and those things that give support to the human spirit cannot be measured in terms of practicality.

NOTES t The World Treasury of Children’s Literature by Clifton Fadiman, 3 volumes. Little, Brown & Co., 1984. 21bid, vol. 3, 19. 604. 31bid, vol. i, p. xiv. 41bid, vol. 1, p. xiv. 5See Merton by Monica Furlong. Letters between Thomas Merton and Rosemary Radford Ruether, pp. 278-279, 297-306. 6Summa Theol., 11-11, Q. 182, art. 1. 71bid, 1-11, q. 38, art. 5. 8Exposition de Hebdomadibus of Boethius, Prologue. 9Leisure: the Basis of Culture by Josef Pieper, Pantheon Books, 1952. ~°Ibid, p. 29. ~tAlbert Camus, Lyrical and Critical Essays, Vintage Books, 1970, p. 109. t2Harvey Egan, S.J., Christian Mysticism, Pueblo Publishing Co., 1984. A Scriptural Approach to the Ministry of Justice and Peace

Max Ofiva, S.J.

Father Oliva is engaged in a "free-lance" ministry aimed at serving the needs of justice and peace: His base is Christ the King Catholic Church; 29-32nd Street; San Diego, California 92102. His previous article, "Developing a Christian Social Conscience," appeared in the issue of July/August, 1983.

]have been engaged in giving retreats and workshops on the integregation of faith with justice and peace for the past six years. Wherever I go, I find people searching for a deeper understanding of this call to renewal in church life. Whether they be lay adults or religious, clergy or youth, more and more people are seeing the connection between their faith life and events of injustice and violence in the world. Activists seek a renewed sense of mission while those for whom this integration of faith and justice is new want especially to see the scriptural basis for such a commitment. In this article, I want to share with you, the reader, a scriptural foundation for the ministry of justice and peace. The Basis of Our Commitment Let us begin our reflection with the following words from the U.S. bishops’ pastoral letter on war and peace,. The Challenge of Peace: God’s Promise and Our Response: At the center of the Church’s teaching on peace and at the center of all Catholic social teaching are the transcendence of God and the dignity of the human person. The human person is the clearest reflection of God’s presence in the world; all of the Church’s work in pursuit of both justice and peace is designed to protect and promote the dignity of every person. For 744 A Scriptural Approach / 745

each person not only reflects God, but is the expression of God’s creative work and the meaning of Christ’s redemptive ministry (No. 15). "The human person is the clearest reflection of God’s presence in the world." The dignity of the human person is clearly spelled out in the very first chapter of Genesis: "God created human beings in his image; in the divine image he created them; male and female he created them" (verse 27). And, in Wisdom 2:23: "God formed men and women to be imperishable; the image of his own nature he made them." The majesty of God and the dignity of people is further clarified in Psalm 8. Glorious and exalted is our God and we have been made "little less than the angels." Psalm 139 expands the theme of our dignity even more, especially in verse 14: "I give you thanks that I am fearfully, wonderfully made." It is in the book of Sirach, however, that the wonder of our dignity is most clearly extolled. In quoting this section of Sirach, the pronouns have been changed to make the passage more personal: The Lord from the earth created me, and in his own image he made me. Limited days of life he gives me and makes me return to earth again. ~ He endows me with a strength of his own, and with power over all things else on earth. He puts the fear of him in all flesh, and gives me rule over beasts and birds. He forms my tongue and eyes and ears, and imparts to me an understanding heart. With wisdom and knowledge he fills me; good and evil he shows me. He looks with favor upon my heart, and shows me his glorious works. That I may describe the wonders of his deeds and praise his holy name (Si 17:1-8). In the modern world of high technology and computer science, our dignity sometimes gets lost. We become a number in a printout sheet or on a credit card. If one lives in a national security state, and they are on the increase, one’s dignity can easily take a back seat to the welfare of the system. Pope John Paul II recognized this latter threat and forthrightly addressed it in his speech before the United Nations in 1979: Each one of you, distinguished ladies and gentlemen, represents a particular state, system and political structure, but what you represent above all are individual human beings; you are all representatives of men and women, of practically all the people of:the world, individual men and women, corn- 746 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

munities and peoples who are living the present phase of their own history and who are also part of the history of humanity as a whole, each of them a subject endowed with dignity as a human person, with his or her own culture, experiences and aspirations, tensions and sufferings, and legitimate expectations. This relationship is what provides the reason for all political activity, whether national or international... The Old Testament tells the story of our creation and our fall from grace. The Incarnation brings us to a renewed and redeemed sense of self-worth. As Pope John Paul II states it so well in his encyclical, Redeemer of Human- ity: "Jesus is the foundation of the unsurpassable dignity of the human person. In him we discover the truth about ourselves." In Christ and through Christ we acquire full awareness of our dignity.

The Love of God Central to the dignity of the human person is God’s love, for it is from this love that we were created, redeemed and given a noble destiny. It is important to begin one’s consideration of the integration of faith and justice on this very personal level of our relationship with God. In justice to oneself, one needs periodically to review, or examine, in whom or what do I place my self-worth. Is it ultimately in God’s love for me or has some idol surreptitiously established itself at the center of my heart? There are many such idols urging me to put my worth in them. I may put my worth in the amount of work I do, the number of justice and peace causes to which I am committed. Or, perhaps my status in life is what gives me a sense of self-esteem. Seduced by the media, I may see my worthiness in the number and quality of material possessions I have. Some people identify their importance by the color of their skin or by their sex. Others get so caught up in the dynamic of competition that being Number One becomes an all- consuming goal. Finally, I may put my self-worth in what other people think of me. What is important to remember here is that all these criteria are descriptions of who I am. Insofar as they define who I am, they are quite simply, idols. God is my final definition. God’s love is what makes me worthwhile. God .loves me and that is what matters. Two passages from Scripture that highlight God’s love are Isaiah 43:1-4 and l John 4:7-16. Isaiah speaks the message of Yahweh with eloquence: But now, thus says the Lord, who created you, O Jacob, and formed you, O Israel: Fear not, for I have redeemed you; l have called you by name: you are mine. When you pass through the water, l will be A Scriptural Approach / "/47

with you; in the rivers you shall not drown. When you walk through fire, you shall not be burned; the flames shall not consume you. For 1 am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your savior. You are precious in my eyes and glorious, and 1 love you. It can be helpful to pray slowly and meditatively this passage describing God’s unconditional love, to ask for the courage to accept such love without conditions. And, to ask the Spirit to be freed from any descriptions that have become definitions in one’s life. St. John reminds us, in his First Epistle, that God’s love is revealed to us in the sending of his Son. He writes: "Love, then, consists in this: not that we have loved God, but that he has loved us and has sent his Son as an offering for our sins ....We have come to know and to believe in the love God has for us." One might wish, also, to spend some quiet time with the lyrical Song of Songs to deepen one’s appreciation of God’s everlasting love. As I define my own worth so do I define the worth of others. If I place my self-esteem in the amount of work I do, for example, piling up hour upon hour of toil to prove that I am worthwhile, I will judge others accord- ingly. I will have little time and less compassion for those who are unemployed. If I rate myself as superior to others because of the color of my skin, I have made a judgment against those whose pigmentation is different from mine. If I place my self-worth in the amount of work I do, I am on a collision course with burnout. Balance is needed here, between work and play. Free- dom is needed. The basis of human freedom is the love of God. It is God’s love that makes us free. As Gerard Fourez writes, in his excellent book, The Good News That Makes People Free (Catechetical Communications, 1976): "Liberation is the experience by which a person realizes in a personal way that he/she is loved and is enabled to act out of this realization. The liberation, the realization of the Good News, is the awareness that one is loved independently of whatever one does" (pp. 17,18). St. Paul gives us a lesson in this balance of work and rest. In Second Corinthians 8:10-13, he writes about liberal giving: 1 am about to give you some advice on this matter of rich and poor. it will help you who began this good work last year, 748 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

not only to carry it through, but to do so willingly. Carry it through now to a successful completion, so that your ready resolve may be matched by giving according to your means. The willingness to give should accord with one’s means, not go beyond them. The relief of others ought not to impoverish you. (emphasis added) "The relief of others ought not to impoverish you": helping to restore the dignity of others should not result in our becoming dehumanized. This can happen through overwork and overinvolvement. A steady belief in God’s personal love is the key to being a person of integrity. Consistently to live out one’s beliefs in justice and peace takes courage and a freedom from the fear of rejection. The fear of rejection-- the fear that I will somehow be unacceptable to those I like, admire, respect or love--is the greatest threat to integrity. The more I put my worth in what other people think of me, the less often will I say or do anything that could be construed as controversial. I will play it safe, not rock the boat, keep my mouth shut, avoid challenging others’ actions or values. It is God’s love, an ever deepening acceptance and realization of it, that empowers me beyond my fear to actions that are guided by truth. The Love of Neighbor In order to have an integrated approach to our commitment to social justice and peace, it is essential to begin our consideration of the love of neighbor on the level of our interpersonal relationships. This is true because what is happening "out there" in the world exists within each one of us: misunderstanding, inability to communicate, resentment and anger, prejudice and avoidance, and so forth. We find these dynamics within our families, among colleagues, and even in our friendships. Yet we are called by the gospel to be "ministers of reconciliation." St. Paul explains it this way: Christ died for all so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who for their sakes died and was raised up. Because of this we no longer look on anyone in terms of mere human judgment. If at one time we so regarded Christ, we no longer know him by this standard. This means that if anyone is in Christ, that person is a new creation. The old order has passed away; now all is new! A Scriptural Approach / 749

All this has been done by God, who has reconciled us to himself through Christ and has given us the ministry of reconciliation. I mean that God, in Christ, was reconciling the world to himself, not counting our transgressions against us, and that he has entrusted the message of reconciliation to us. This makes us ambassadors for Christ, God as it were appealing through us (2 Co 5:15-20). Thus, we are called to be "ambassadors of reconciliation" in our families, with our coworkers, in our friendships. Peacemakers stress unity rather than division, trust instead of suspicion, forgiveness in place of a closed heart. Yet, how difficult it is to achieve this at times. Our fears and insecurities get in the way, cloud our vision, hinder our efforts. St. Paul suggests a way out of this confusion in his letter to the Galatians. In Chapter 5, he exhorts us not to give free rein to the flesh but to live in freedom. By "flesh" he means not only sexuality but also anything that inhibits a person from loving another: "jealousy, outbursts of rage, envy, impatience." What proceeds from the flesh is, "bickering, selfish rivalries, dissensions, factions and hostili- ties." He writes: "My point is that you should live in accord with the spirit and you will not yield to the cravings of the flesh .... The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patient endurance, kindness" (vv. 16, 22). The message here is clear. When we find within ourselves the seeds of injustice and violence towards others, we are to take these experiences of weakness to the Spirit and ask to be healed of them. We need also to be aware of the justice-peace dimension in the way in which we proclaim the social mission of the Church to others. Two passages from Isaiah--Chapter 50:4-7 and Chapter 42:l-4--throw light on this dynamic. In Chapter 50, Isaiah speaks clearly of integrity and consistency in living out God’s message: The Lord God has given me a well-trained tongue, That I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them. Morning after morning he opens my ear that I may hear; and 1 have not rebelled, have not turned back. I gave my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who plucked my beard; My face I did not shield from buffets and spitting. The Lord God is my help, 750 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

therefore I am not disgraced; I have set my face like flint, (emphasis added) knowing that I shall not be put to shame (50:4-7). "I have set my face like flint" is a strong image of single-heartedness. In Chapter 42:1-4, Isaiah suggests what we need to balance our integrity: compassion. Here is my servant whom I uphold, my chosen one with whom I am pleased, Upon whom 1 have put my spirit; he shall bring forth justice to the nations, Not crying out, not shouting, not making his voice heard in the street. A bruised reed he shah not break, and a smoldering wick he shah not quench, (emphasis added) Until he establishes justice on the earth; the coastlands will wait for his teaching. "Bruised reeds" and "smoldering wicks" are images of people. As Thomas Merton once said, it is important to speak one’s truth but we’ve got to be aware of the awful sharpness of the truth if the other is not ready to hear it or if the way in which we present the truth is not done out of love. When considering the love of neighbor today, one must expand one’s notion to include social structures, for they are the framework in which all human relationships take place. In addition, structures and systems employ and influence large numbers of people, for good or for ill. Social justice is, in fact, that aspect of Church teaching which seeks to apply the Gospel command of love to the institutions of society. It seeks to assess the worth of social systems according to how they impact the dignity of people and it calls for personal responsibility and effective action to change those which are unjust or whose policies are detrimental to people’s welfare. As Christians, our call goes especially to the aid of the weakest, the voiceless, those who are excluded from meaningful participation in modern social structures. However, just as our heart can be blocked in the interpersonal dimension, so there can be resistances within us to a preferential love of the materially poor and politically oppressed. The Book of Sirach presents the challenge of this kind of love in Chapter 4:1-9: My child, rob not the poor man of his livelihood; force not the eyes of the needy to turn away. A hungry person grieve not, a needy one anger not; Do not exasperate the downtrodden; delay not to give to the needy. A Scriptural Approach / 751

A beggar in distress do not reject; avert not your face from the poor. From the needy turn not your eyes, give no one reason to curse you (4:1-5). Give a hearing to the poor man and return his greeting with courtesy; Deliver the oppressed from the hand of the oppressor; let not justice be repugnant to you (4:8,9). If we are, indeed, to remain open to the one in distress, not avert our eyes from the poor or turn away from the cries of the downtrodden, we will need to undergo continual conversion. Misinformation and prejudiced attitudes regarding reasons why people are poor, unemployed or on welfare are real blocks to our heart and, thus, to our ability to be open and compassionate. The words of St. Paul to the Galatians, quoted above, again give us hope. We may need to go to the Spirit as a blind person would and ask for the grace to see the truth, ask for healing of our fears and miscon- ceptions. Often our prejudices surface when we are in the midst of a particular ethnic or racial group that is different from our own. Personal contact is necessary for this to happen, for conversion to take place. Some sort of personal contact with the materially poor is also necessary if we are to be a voice for the voiceless among those who have the economic and political power. Conversion is necessary here as well, to have a heart for the oppressor (whether the oppressive acts are deliberately carried out or done in ignorance). Jesus had such a heart. Here he is in Luke (19:41-44): Coming within sight of the city (Jerusalem), he wept over it and said: "If only you had known the path to peace this day; but you have completely lost it from view! Days will come upon you when your enemies encircle you with a rampart, hem you in, and press you hard from every side. They will wipe you out, you and your children within your walls, and leave not a stone on a stone within you, because you failed to recognize the time of your visitation. Who/where is Jerusalem today? Is it not anyone or any place that denies the dignity of others? So completely has Jesus identified with us that to exploit another human being in any way is to exploit Jesus Christ. Two Scripture passages bring this truth fully to light, Mt 25:31-46 and 9:3-5. In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is explaining what will take place at the Last Judgment. Those who will inherit the kingdom of God are they who gave comfort to the poor and the alien. Then the just will ask him: "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you or see you thirsty and give you drink? 752 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

When did we welcome you away from home or clothe you in your nakedness? When did we visit you when you were ill or in prision? The king will answer them: ’I assure you, as often as you did it for one of my least brothers or sisters, you did it for me. In Acts, Chapter 9, is the story of Paul’s conversion. Paul, as we know, was one of the chief persecutors of those who followed the teachings of Jesus. Here he is on the way to Damascus eager to arrest those living according to the new way: As he traveled along and was approaching Damascus, a light from the sky suddenly flashed about him. He fell to the ground and at the same time heard a voice saying, "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? .... Who are you, sir?" he asked. The voice answered, ~’lam Jesus, the oneyou areper- secuting. "’ (emphasis added) So completely has Jesus identified with us that to persecute another human being in any way is to persecute Jesus himself! Following the example of Jesus as he wept over Jerusalem, are we able to weep for the Jerusalems of today? Are we able to reach out and pray for the one who sins against justice and peace? It is well to remember, in this regard, the words of Pope John XXIII in his encyclical Peace on Earth: One must never confuse error and the person who errs, not even when there is question of error or inadequate knowledge of truth in the moral or religious field. The person who errs is always and above all a human being, and he/she retains in every case their dignity as a human person; and must be always regarded and treated in accordance with that lofty dignity (No. 158). It is our responsibility as Christians to speak and act for social justice and peace, for it is the dignity of the human person that makes some economic and political issues moral ones: the arms race which threatens the dignity and very life of all people; racism and sexism which place some groups above others and result in oppression; hunger at home and elsewhere which leads to malnutrition and the consequent limiting of a person’s potential; the economy when profit and private property are amassed by some leading to great inequality in the distribution of goods; political tyranny of the national-security states that place the system before the people; the United States Government’s policies in Latin America which are hindering the self- determination of whole countries; and so forth. The Christian political tradition is "humanistic" and "personalistic" because it focuses on the value of each person. A Scriptural Approach / 753

When we speak out for the rights of others, be they the born or the unborn, we will sometimes encounter resistance, not only to our hearers but in ourselves as well. We may be tempted to turn away from the message, stop reading the newspaper and the social analysis, or water down the truth because of our fear. When this happens, let us remember to turn to the Scriptures. In the Old Testament, Yahweh often tells his followers not to give in to fear. To Gideon who was overcome because he had seen the angel of the Lord, Yahweh says: "Be calm, do not fear. You shall not die" (Jg 6:23). Isaiah reminds the Israelites to have faith in the midst of trouble: "Fear not, I am with you; be not dismayed: I am your God. I will strengthen you, and help you, and uphold you with my right hand of justice" (Is 41:10). When Jeremiah objects to Yahweh’s call because of his age, the Lord con- soles him: Say not, "I am too young." To whomever I send you, you shall go; whatever 1 command you, you shall speak. Have no fear before them, because I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord (l: 7,8). Jeremiah’s objection finds an echo in the following protestations: "I haven’t studied the issue enough," "I am not sufficiently articulate," "I am too old!" In the New Testament, we see, right from the beginning of the Gospel according to St. Luke, that no one is immune from the emotion of fear. The angel Gabriel speaks these words to Mary, who was "deeply troubled" by his message: "Do not fear, Mary. You have found favor with God" (1:30). When the shepherds see and hear the angelic messenger of God they are very much afraid, but the angel says to them: "You have nothing to fear! I come to proclaim good news to you--tidings of great joy to be shared by the whole people." The shepherds take courage and hasten to the stable. Later in Jesus’ life, he startles the apostles by walking on the water: When the disciples saw him walking on the water, they were terrified. "It is a ghost!" they said, and in their fear they began to cry out. Jesus hastened to reassure them: "Get hold of yourselves! It is I. Do not be afraid!" (Mt 14:26,27). Jesus’ words are an invitation to cease being afraid by trusting in him. When Jesus sends his disciples out on their mission as "sheep among wolves," °he warns them of the dangers ahead: Be on your guard with respect to others. They will hale you into court, they will flog you in their synagogues. ’You will be brought to trial before rulers 754 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

and kings, to give witness before them and before the Gentiles on my account (Mt 10:17, 18). However, this is not the end of his instruction. He counsels them not to worry (fear) about what to say or how to say it, for the Spirit will speak through them. And, if the people call them names in order to discourage their continued preaching, he explains to them: No pupil outranks his teacher, no slave his master. The pupil should be glad to become like his teacher, the slave like his master. If they call the head of the house Beelzebul, how much more the members of his house- hold! Do not let them intimidate you. Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed and nothing hidden that will not become known. What I tell you in darkness, speak in the light. What you hear in private, proclaim from the housetops (Mt 10:24-27). Certainly the accusation "Communist!" qualifies as a modern term for Jesus being called "Beelzebul." Neither should we be intimidated. St. Peter, who was no stranger to suffering for the sake of the Gospel, encourages us in our own commitment to build a more just and peaceful world: Who indeed can harm you if you are committed deeply to doing what is right? Even if you should have to suffer for justice’ sake, happy will you be. Fear not and do not stand in awe of what this people fears. Venerate the Lord, that is, Christ, in your hearts. Should anyone ask you the reason for this hope of yours, be ever ready to reply, but speak gently and respect- fully. Keep your conscience clear, so that whenever you are defamed, those who libel your way of life in Christ may be shamed. If ~it should be God’s will that you suffer, it is better to do so for good deeds than for evil ones (l P 3:13-17). St. John reminds us that "perfect love casts out all fear" (1 Jn 4:18). One way to understand this is that God, Who is Love, can remove the kind of fears that paralyze us. Let us never hesitate to ask for this freedom and to ask with the kind of confidence that John writes of in his First Epistle, Chapter 5:14, 15: "We have this confidence in God, that he hears us whenever we ask for anything according to his will. And since we know that he hears us whenever we ask, we know that what we have asked him for is ours."

Conclusion At the beginning of this article we considered the basis of our commitment to justice and peace: the transcendence of God and the dignity of the human person. In 1953, the National Catholic Welfare Conference, in the name of the bishops of the United States, issued a statement on human A Scriptural Approach / 755 dignity. It is well worth reading their words again, in light of today’s problems. The Catholic Church has always taught and defended the natural dignity of every human being. She has preached the burden of individual responsibility and has insisted upon the importance of personal conscience. She has reminded humankind that there is a great division between "things" and "people." She has never forgotten that "things were made for people" and that "people were made for God." In thus holding up a mirror to men and women that they may see their own greatness and realize their personal dignity, the Catholic Church has taught that our true honor is from God, has been enhanced spiritually by Divine Grace, and is preserved without degradation only when the honor and dignity of God himself are first maintained (Nos. 2 and 3). Injustice is, in fact, a denial of God in practice, for it denies the dignity of people who are made in the image of God. Injustice is, then, a form of atheism. It is, as Fr. Bryan Hehir says, "the image of God under attack." Because injustice is often institutionalized, the eradication of it demands careful analysis as well as great courage. Yet let us always keep in mind, as we strive to build a more just and peaceful world, that we are people of the Resurrection. Jesus is risen and he has given the Holy Spirit to us to help us live out the Gospel in our day. Let us take heart from the Book of Daniel: As the visions during the night continued, I saw One like a son of man coming, on the clouds of heaven; When he reached the Ancient One and was presented before him, He received dominion, glory, and kingship; nations and peoples of every language serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not be taken away, his kingship shrill not be destroyed (Dn 7:13-14, emphasis added). Speaking the Truth to One Another

James Kell, C.S.C., and Joel Giallanza, C.S.C.

Brother Kell is Assistant Provincial and Personnel Director for the South-West Province of the Brothers of the Holy Cross. Brother Giallanza, already known to our readers, is also in the same provincial administration. His latest article in these pages was "A Letter to a Director of Novices from His Assistant" (November/December, 1983). Either may be addressed at: Provincial Office; c/o St. Edward’s University; Austin, Texas 78704.

Let everyone speak the truth to his neighbor, for we are members of one another." With these words to the Ephesians (4:25), St. Paul highlights two fundamental aspects of living as community. First, he notes the responsibility each of us has to "speak the truth to his neighbor." Second, he indicates the principle underlying that responsibility: "we are members of one another." We may place a high value on living together as community, and still it is difficult at times to be "members of one another." Sometimes, we may not even feel like being with one another! To be members of one another entails our personal involvement with and attentiveness to the community. We may nod our head in agreement with the importance of this involvement and attentiveness. But, the practical side of all this is that we are asked to be in certain places, to perform certain services, and to be present to others when we might prefer to be elsewhere, to do other tasks, and to be with different people or to be alone. There is an inherent asceticism in being "members of one another," the selflessness which constitutes that asceticism is foundational to Christian community. St. Paul offers us yet another challenge: "speak the truth to one another." Communication--it has become the word of the 80s. But, the challenge of communication has been confronting religious communities for at least the 756 Speaking the Truth to One Another / 757

last two decades. Religious have sought to enhance the value, practice, and quality of their communication, both within our communities and within our ministries. None of this is to say that our communication skills have been perfected; but it is to say that religious can now see even more clearly than in the past that we do not become "members of one another" unless we communicate, unless we "speak the truth" to one another. Communication is not easy; the asceticism inherent to it seems, at times, to surpass that of the selflessness necessary to be "members of one another." Communication is one of the cornerstones of community life; it brings with it the whole array of joys, sorrows, frustrations, failures, and triumphs that accompany human interaction. Communication, speaking the truth to one another, is simple because it seeks to express the truth within us. Simple, but not easy; communication involves discipline, practice, and above all, willingness to "speak the truth." There are a multitude of resources--articles, workshops, tapes--which focus on the practical skills of speaking and listening as means of communication, not to mention the contributions which the social sciences have made to our understanding of body language and those other forms of communication which go beyond our vocal and aural abilities. This present article will explore yet another resource: the Gospels. Throughout history, Jesus of Nazareth has been considered one of the greatest of teachers; even his own contemporaries were "spellbound by his teaching, for his words had authority" (Lk 4:32). And yet, there are some examples in the Gospels where Jesus was not fully understood. Sometimes this misunderstanding centered around a word, sometimes a sentence, at other times a concept or an action. This article will examine one example from each of those categories and then pose some questions for individual and communal reflection.

Word The sixteenth chapter of Matthew’s gospel gives us an example of a word having one meaning for the speaker and another for the listeners. Jesus is misunderstood when he warns his disciples about the Pharisees and Saducees even though he uses familiar language and images from everyday life. The disciples discovered when they arrived at the other side of the lake that they had forgotten to bring any bread along. When Jesus said to them, "Be on the lookout against the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees," they could think only, "This is because we have brought no bread." Jesus knew their thoughts and said, "Why do you suppose it is because you have no bread? How weak your faith is! Do you still not understand? Do you not remember the five loaves among five thousand and how many baskets-full you picked up? Or the seven loaves among four thousand and how many hampers-full 758 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

you retrieved? Why is it you do not see that 1 was not speaking about bread at all but warning you against the yeast of the Pharisees?" They finally realized he was not issuing a warning against yeast (used for making bread) but against the Pharisees’ and Sadducees’ teaching." (Mt 16:5-12) Given the context in which this warning appears, it is not surprising that the disciples misunderstood the meaning which Jesus gave to the word yeast. For their part, the disciples were aware of the fact that they had forgotten to bring bread for their meal after crossing the lake to the Magadan district (16:5). In addition, they had just experienced the second multiplication of the loaves, the feeding of the four thousand (15:32-38). They were still pondering this event when Jesus asked them to "be on the lookout against the yeast of the Pharisees and the Sadducees." They miss the symbolism intended by Jesus. For his part, Jesus had just completed a discussion with the Pharisees in which they had asked him, as a test, "to show them some sign in the sky" (16:1). The Pharisees~ request follows immediately upon the multiplication of the loaves; Jesus is frustrated with the faithlessness of these sign- seekers and gives a cursory response. "With that he left them abruptly" (16:4). The yeast of the inflated teachings of these Pharisees and Sadducees is Jesus’ primary concern in warning his disciples. The symbolism is a natural one for Jesus given his experience. Words are one of the basic tools we have for communication; whether they are spoken and heard, written and read, or signed and seen, they enable us to express ourselves to others, m word may seem to have a meaning uniquely its own; but, as is evident in this encounter between Jesus and his disciples, the context in which the word is placed and the intention of the speaker give it flexibility in meaning. Clarity, then, becomes elusive. The following questions ask us to review the flexibility in our own vocabulary, not by way of narrowing the scope of our everyday language, but by way of clarifying and refining the words through which we express ourselves.

Reflection Questions Recall an incident in your life when a word or a few words led to your misunde~standing what another person meant or actually said. Recall an incident when you were misunderstood. How were these misunderstandings rectified? In religious life today there are some words which are used as if they have universally accepted meanings. But do they? Simplicity, Simple Life, Poverty, the Poor, Needs, Sharing, Social Justice, Community, Prayer, Renewal--what is your understanding of these words? What other words do you have in your "personal" dictionary, that is, words to which you have given particular meanings? Speaking the Truth to One Another / 759

Sentence The meaning of the words we use can be modified by the context in which we place them. If the context is not clear, then phrases, sentences, and paragraphs are easily misunderstood. The only things that are communicated through an unclear context are confusion and frustration. In the sixth chapter of John’s gospel, the encounter between Jesus and Philip makes an interesting study in communication. The Jewish feast of Passover was near; when Jesus looked up and caught sight of a vast crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, "where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?" (He knew well what he intended to do but he asked this to test Philip’s response.) Philip replied, "Not even with two hundred days’ wages could we buy loaves enough to give each of them a mouthful!" (Jn 6:4-7) Jesus appears to be asking two questions. First, he is asking Philip where food will be found for the crowd that is gathering. A simple and practical question. But there is more at stake here than catering. Jesus has just remon- strated with the Jews who wanted to kill him because he spoke of God so intimately, as Father (5:18). He was frustrated by their lack of faith and asked them, "how can you believe what I say?" (5:47). This seems to shape the second and deeper question which Jesus is asking Philip: Do you trust that I can.address the needs of these people? Do you trust that I can feed them? Jesus was inviting Philip to go beyond the physical evidence which provided no bread. Philip, however, hears Jesus’ question from an economic point of view which precludes the possibility of supplying such a large crowd with even a little bread. Implicitly, for Philip, Jesus’ question should be "How" not "Where"! Thus, Philip hears neither of Jesus’ two questions; his response is to a question that was not even asked! His concern for the financial ramifica- tions of such an undertaking prevents him from hearing the practical dimension of Jesus’ question. And, that same concern prevents Philip from even recognizing that Jesus is calling him to respond in faith, to trust, to believe that all things are possible. The flexibility of meaning in the words we use is compounded when they are placed in the larger contexts of phrases and sentences. Like the words themselves, phrases and sentences can have meanings other than those immediately explicit, or meanings in addition to and underlying what is explicit. The latter seems to describe the encounter between Jesus and Philip. Once again, clarity is the key to understanding. Before offering his concerned response, Philip could have asked Jesus exactly what was meant by the question; instead, he misses the mark and responds to something that is 760 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 not there. The questions which follow focus on the importance of understanding what is said or asked before we respond. Reflection Questions Have you ever responded to a question using the answer to the question you thought was asked? What was the point of misinterpretation? In local communities, any one of us can be concerned with our own ideas, values, and expectations. That concern, while healthy, does color how we hear and interpret what others say. Are there any questions or sentences or phrases to which you have a ready-made response? What do you do when you misunderstand someone? When you are misunderstood? Reflect on your local community meetings--how would you characterize the quality of communication? How are misinterpretations and misunderstandings addressed and corrected?

When words and sentences are misunderstood, we can find some clarity by going to a dictionary or accepting some predetermined definitions for particular words and phrases. But we also communicate with concepts and ideas and images; and even though we use words and sentences to express those dimensions of our personality, they are not so easily and neatly pack- aged that we can find a reference book to define them. In the tenth chapter of Mark’s gospel, Jesus addresses the two ambitious brothers who are asking for more than they are really aware. Zebedee’s sons, James and John, approached him. "Teacher," they said, "we want you to grant our request." "What is it?" he asked. They replied, "See to it that we sit, one at your right and the other at your left, when you come into your glory." Jesus told them, "You do not know what you are asking. Can you drink the cup I shall drink or be baptized in the same bath of pain as 1? .... We can," they told him. Jesus said in response, "From the cup I drink you shall drink; the bath I am immersed in you shall share. But as for sitting at my right or my left, that is not mine to give; it is for those to whom it has been reserved." (Mk 10:35-40) At this point in Mark’s gospel, Jesus has already spoken of his approaching passion and resurrection three times. Nevertheless, James and John do not understand that Jesus is speaking of a physical passion and resurrection by which he would triumph over death. Drawing on the popular understanding of the Messiah, James and John expected a military ruler who would establish a kingdom, overthrowing Roman domination. So deeply rooted in their heritage is this understanding that they cannot even conceive a concept of Messiah as radically different as that taught by Jesus. After three years Speaking the Truth to One Another / 761

of being with Jesus and after three specific teachings concerning the events that would take place in Jerusalem, still, they do not understand. Regardless of how clearly and accurately the words and sentences may be expressed, the concepts they seek to communicate can be misunderstood or unaccepted. Those words and sentences may be in our native language, still, the concepts can sound completely foreign. Not only in the exchange above, but whenever Jesus speaks of his passion and death, the disciples miss the point, or they wonder among themselves, or they try to convince Jesus that such things will never happen to him. James and John miss the point of Jesus’ "glory." Understanding the concepts by which we communicate with one another demands more than a dictionary; it demands an open mind, a willingness to listen, and a willingness to be challenged. There are many questions which could be added to the following ones; these are a beginning, an invitation to explore other concepts by which we speak of contemporary religious life.

Reflection Questions Recall an incident when you did not understand a concept presented to you because of concepts you held for many years. Did you discuss the misunderstood concept to the point of resolution or did you terminate the discussion? Like the words which are much used in religious life today, there are also concepts which generally need some pre-discussion clarification lest they be abused. What is your understanding of celibacy, poverty, obedience? How has that understanding been shaped by your life prior to professing vows? by your initial formation? by Vatican II? by your apostolic and community and prayer life? Obviously, similar questions could be hsked of our apostolic, community and prayer life as well. What images or concepts emerge when you hear or read "pre-Vatican II," "post-Vatican II," "radical," and "conservative" used as descriptive adjectives? Do you believe you can listen to concepts which challenge your own? Are you willing to explore them further before making a final decision? Listening with an open mind and heart is foundational to the development of a healthy community. It is a discipline, a necessary part of remaining "members of one another."

Action The cliche that "actions speak louder than words" represents an arena of communication which is distinct from our words, sentences, and concepts. Our actions do not exist in a vacuum apart from all that has been said thus far, but neither do our actions draw their meaning exclusively from our verbal articulations or our conceptual frames of reference. And therein is the challenge of understanding actions: what we see (or think we see) may 762 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 not be what is intended. The seventh chapter of Luke’s gospel provides us with a clear example of misunderstood actions. There was a certain Pharisee who invited Jesus to dine with him. Jesus went to the Pharisee’s home and reclined to eat. A woman known in the town to be a sinner learned that he was dining in the Pharisee’s home. She brought in a vase of perfumed oil and stood behind him at his feet weeping so that her tears fell upon his feet. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissing them and perfuming them with oil. When his host, the Pharisee, saw this, he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would know who and what sort of woman this is that touches him--that she is a sinner." (Lk 7:36-39) The Pharisee sees a sinner. Jesus sees a loving penitent. The woman has said nothing, and yet her actions have indeed spoken louder than words. What the Pharisee interprets in her actions is almost automatic because she is "known in the town to be a sinner." For him, she can be no more than a sinner, and so a scandal to his guests; in fact, he is surprised that Jesus does not know "who and what sort of woman this is." Jesus, however, sees the meaning of her actions. Undoubtedly, he too knew of her reputation in the town, but the love he sees in those actions displaces and transforms her past. Jesus notes that it is this woman, not his host, who accorded him the customary washing, greeting, and anointing. Thus, Jesus responds to his host, "I tell you, that is why her many sins are forgiven--because of her great love. Little is forgiven the one whose love is small" (7:47). Actions are easily misunderstood because they are so closely related to our motivation in performing them, our understanding of what they mean, and our experience of what results. Also, they are shaped and interpreted by our personal and collective moral code of good-bad, proper-improper, acceptable-unacceptable. And, since actions do not exist apart from the person who is acting, our perceptions and images of that person can significantly influence our interpretation of his/her actions. This interpretation colored by personal character is the basis on which the Pharisee judges the woman. Jesus looks to her motivation. The questions which follow ask us to reflect on our interpretations of others’ actions; they are only a sketch and so must be supplemented with those which emerge from the particularities of our own living situation in community and from the personalities involved. Reflection Questions How do you respond when confronted by actions you do not understand? Do you intend to make a judgment based on appearances or do you make an effort to discover the person’s intention? How would you respond if a community member: -took a car which you had already reserved? Speaking the Truth to One Another / 763

-neglected to prepare the community meal? -frequently missed common prayer? -rarely spent time with the community in recreational and non-work settings? Why would you respond as you have indicated in each of those instances? How do you respond when others misread your actions? Do you believe that you strive to live by Jesus’ recommendation to "Stop judging by appearances and make an honest judgment" (Jn 7:24)?

An Open Heart Making an "honest judgment" is at the core of effective communication: it reflects our efforts to "speak the truth" to one another and it flows from the personal conversion of which we are always in need. Without those efforts and that conversion, our communication deteriorates into the hardness of heart with which St. John described those who do not believe even though Jesus "had done many signs for them" (12:37). He writes that "the Lord has blinded their eyes, and numbed their hearts, lest they see or comprehend, or have a change of heart--and I should heal them" (Jn 12:40). An "honest judgment," as well as effective communication and personal conversion, demand open eyes and ears, a listening heart, and a discerning mind, all of which seek to understand. Even with all of the efforts we make and the sensitivities we develop, communication can be difficult. Words and sentences have meanings beyond that which is explicit; concepts can challenge and even contradict perceptions of reality; and actions may not all be what they appear to be! How can we as community arrive at a level of mutual understanding and clarity of action which will enable us to go beyond "appearances" and thus make an "honest judgment"? Jesus invites us to "learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart" (Mt 12:29). Gentleness and humility are two fundamental and necessary characteristics of effective communication within a religious community. Gentleness in communication enables us to "speak the truth" without overwhelming our listeners, without robbing them of their dignity through embar- rassment or pressure tactics, and without neglecting to recognize that we have--always only a part of the truth. Gentleness is not compromise; quite the contrary; it seeks to communicate without blocking the human interaction essential to communication. Humility in communication enables us to "listen to the word, take it to heart, and yield thirty-, sixty- and a hundredfold" (Mk 4:20). Humility is not passivity; it actively listens for the truth and accepts it without prejudice. The gentleness and humility to which Jesus calls us have a distinctive impact on communication; they enable us to reach beyond 764 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 the words and sentences we hear, beyond the concepts we perceive, and even beyond the actions we see. Gentleness and humility demand more than a judgment based on "appea.rances," they work together to form an "honest judgment," one grounded firmly in the truth. Gentleness and humility are marks of an open heart. Underlying everything that has been said in these reflections is the personal conversion which rests upon our openness to the Lord. With that openness we know the truth to speak to one another, for the Lord alone is the "truth" (see Jn 14:6). From that openness flows our understanding of others, our receptivity to them, our gro.wth in love of them, for we are all one in him (see Jn 17:23). Through that openness we understand that God’s love is the cornerstone upon which mutual understanding and clarity of action are built. In that openness, we communicate effectively, we "speak the truth" to one another in love and so become ever more deeply "members of one another."

Sculpting I feel suddenly old... worn away like the sculpted rocks, worn by wind and water, as the ocean of pain lashes me over and over... roughing then smoothing, destroying to sculpt sculpting to destroy the part of me that has to be worn away, that has to "die" before i "live" and am beautiful like the weathered cliffs. Claire Mahaney, R.S.C.J. 140 Valparaiso Avenue Menlo Park, California 94025 The Evolution of Governance as Ministry

Mary Kathryn Grant

Doctor Grant is Director of Sponsorship Activities, Catholic Health Association. Her responsibilities include research of data as well as facilitation and programming for group- ings of religious and laity concerned with institutional ministry and health services. She may be addressed at her office: 4455 Woodson Road; St. Louis, Missouri 63134.

Trustees as servants face one of the most exciting challenges of our time: to lead our.., institutions into a future of greatness. Providing education, healthcare, and social services today in the spirit of ministry, at the same time attending to the demands of industry, requires courage, vision and fidelity to the mission and philosophy of the organization and its sponsors. Corporate ministries embrace the opportunity to serve the uneducated, the ill, the elderly, the needy, as well as to address the causes of poverty, misery and injustice. These challenges demand the collaboration of women and men, religious and lay--governance and management. This paper will discuss three forces which have shaped religiously sponsored corporate ministries: forces inherent in the evolution of management and governance; societal and legal forces; and forces in religious life and ministry. Evolution of Management and Governance Historically, persons were attracted to religious life by the desire to serve others, to carry out the works of mercy. Originally, it was a time of hands-on ministry: hands were needed to alleviate suffering and distress to educate and train, to bring solace and hope to the dying. The ministry had its own rewards: children and adults learned, pain was eased, the homeless were sheltered, comfort was offered. 765 766 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

For some, that simple ministry was but the first step, organization and management details needed attention: day-to-day operations, staffing, budget- ing, evaluation. Some of th~ "hands-on ministers" were led to become managers, not sacrificing their basic commitment to service but redirecting their energies more toward the operational aspects of ministry. Gradually, however, even more was needed; some of these ministers were required eventually to paint the broader picture, to take the longer look, to plan and to shape the direction of that ministry. Someone was needed to ensure that there were beds and desks, books and bandages; that there were long-range plans and capital development; that there was quality of service, of staff, and of workplace. These ministers became trustees. At each evolution from hands-on ministry, there was less direct involvement with the poor, more distance from direct service. New skills were required; there were greater risks and higher ambiguity with fewer tangible rewards. There were, however, the rewards of insuring and preserving the ministry of that particular institution, of shaping, influencing, guiding, and directing its future in a partnership with management. Consequently, governance as ministry has become critical--in part because major societal, economic, and political changes have demanded greater legal responsibility for institutions; in part because sponsorship and all that it entails--its enormousness as well as its ambiguity--demands greater participation governance; and in part, because the environment in which ministry is offered is changing so rapidly that institutional responsiveness is essential to maintaining the integrity of mission and purpose. The changes in governance and management necessitated a new definition of sponsorship. There was a time when sponsorship wa~ indistinguishable from presence and ownership. Subtly, the understanding of sponsorship deepened and began to shift focus from the numbers of sisters and the ownership role. By the early 1980s, religious congregations were grappling with the meaning of "sponsorship without ownership," "sponsorship without sisters." :Increasingly sponsorship was beginning to be defined as influence and the locus of energy and concern on operationalizing the philosophy and values of the religious sponsors. These new emphases led to a search for the most effective role for members of the religious congregation--in management or in governance.

Societal and Legal Forces While these changes were occurring in religious life, other changes were tr~nspiring in the role and responsibilities of institutional trustees. Trusteeship had evolved to greater and greater significance and responsibility. While this was true of education and healthcare in general, it was especially true Governance as Ministry / 767 of religiously sponsored ministries. This evolution was influenced by two significant forces: the strengthened role of governance in institutions and organizations and the increased involvement of the laity in Catholic ministries. Trusteeship originally was an honorary and prestigious appointment; individuals were chosen for their professional acumen (work), their social position (wealth), or their experience (wisdom), giving rise to the adage that the criteria for trustee selection were: work, wealth, and wisdom. (Figure 1.) Figure I Early "Criteria" for Trusteeship

Experience and expertise in any of these three attributes could almost assure a person of a position on the local college or community hospital board. One finds this evidence in historical records: for example, the Reading Pennsylvania Hospital placed on its governing ooard persons representing "bench and bar, banking, the iron, lumber, publishing and brewing industries, as well as railroad and navigation, and, of course, the political representatives of city, state and federal government." Many significant changes have occurred since then. The areas of responsibility of hospital trustees have dramatically changed. It is ironic to note that the original role of the hospital trustee was to approve hospital admis- sions! As hospitals developed in American society, admitting privileges were assigned the physicians and the trustees’ role was then defined as raising money and promoting the ho.spital within the community. It was not long, however, before the role of trustees began to be changed by the shaping forces of accreditation standards and the definition of fidu- ciary responsibilities by the courts. At the same time, there were major changes in religious congregations, changes in attitudes toward institutional ministry, toward placement of members of the congregation, and toward sponsorship and stewardship of corporate ministries.

Changes in Governance, Management, Sponsorship In addition to the significant developments in religious life since the 1960s, another factor affected changes in the development of governance in religiously sponsored institutions: the increased involvement of the laity. This increase had several causes ranging from the effect of Vatican 11 on lay involvement in all church ministries to the decline of the number of religious 768 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

women and men which had begun prior to Vatican II and which accelerated during the 1970s.

Figure 2 The Evolution of Critical Components

Time Governance Management Sponsorship Local Superior Local Superior Not clearly defined; and Council as CEO not infrequently Pre-1960 identified with number of sisters All sister Predominantly Beginning of boards; lay sisters, few definition; 1960s advisory boards lay persons; appointment of appointment by CEO and board; congregational synonymous with leadership ownership Boards of Trustees: Approximately Searching con- 1970s religious and lay half of all tinues for serving together CEO’s lay definition; influence role emerging Boards fully Equal numbers of Searching for integrated: lay religious and lay the most 1980s and religious in executive effective locus: leadership management or governance Integrated boards; Predominance of lay Some religiously 1990s paid trustees executives sponsored works; many lay-sponsored ministries

Historically, five time periods or paradigms may be identified in the development and evolution of governance among religious congregations. (Figure 2.) During the first, prior to 1960, sponsored institutions were governed, in the most basic understanding of that term, by the local superior and her council. This group met regularly with two agendas: one for the local convent and one for the local institution, school, college, or hospital. Minutes of house council meetings and minutes of institutional decision- making meetings do not reveal sharp distinctions: lines differentiating accountability were blurred; personnel issues frequently overlapped; sponsorship more often than not was measured by the number of sisters serving at the Governance as Min&try / 769

institution. There was little lay involvement except for lay advisory boards which were active in only a few places. The period of the 60s saw rapid changes in governance and management. A decline in the number of sisters prepared for or accepting management leadership provided for the appointment of lay administrators who were appointed by congregational leadership. This, coupled with the changes occa- sioned by the Second Vatican Council, encouraged greater involvement of the laity in all aspects of ministry. For the most part, however, the trustees of religiously sponsored institutions were sisters appointed by the provincial or congregational leadership. At the same time, lay advisory boards increased in both numbers and influence. It would be a serious misperception to attribute these changes solely to the decline in the actual number of sisters and in the number of sisters who were choosing or not choosing institutional ministry, particularly in management areas. Many of these changes were the effect of Vatican II and a deeper and increased understanding of the integral role of the laity in the life and mission of the Church. Recognizing a call to service as part of one’s baptismal commitment, many generous and dedicated lay persons have elected to work in religiously sponsored institutions--schools, colleges, and healthcare institutions--and to assume management leadership and governance roles. This has been a universal phenomenon in Catholic ministry causing religious congregations to grapple with new issues and to come to terms with sponsoring large and complex corporate ministries in the face of a rapidly changing and turbulent environment, changing needs in governance and management, increased involvement of the laity in all ministries, and the increased need to define sponsorship and stewardship commitments and ¯ responsibilities of this ministry. Since the mid-70s on, lay appointments increased until in many corporate ministries more than half the administrators were not members of the sponsoring congregation. The 80s saw additional changes along the direction set in the 70s: greater lay involvement; greater emphasis on the need to inte- grate all co-labor in a particular ministry. The 1990s will see a continuation of these trends and the emergence and acceptance of totally lay-sponsored ministries together with those sponsored by religious congregations and dioceses. In view of the changes, governance is an invitation, a challenge, a privilege-and ultimately a ministry. It is the opportunity--not to instruct the uneducated, nor to minister to the homeless, the disenfranchised and margi- nated, the sick--but to insure that there are classrooms and cups and shelters and soup kitchens and ministers. Today many religious congregations are taking this evolution seriously, discerning the significance of governance 770 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 as ministry within the mission and tradition of the congregation: in many ways the future of religiously sponsored corporate ministries lies in the out- come of that discernment.

One Night Stands 7hey have their "one-night-stands" From street corner or bar --the cheap motel Where they traffick their ti-ade Not far away. Night after night They chase away the fright of the empty rooms They go home to in the day. I have my "one-year-stands~ Here in a pink stucco school Where more than just a "Golden Rule" or two "Wise up" the young day-dreaming "fools," Dying to travel on their own The highways of a world That might be blown up Someday. I have "prostituted" my heart By opening its door To countless girls Who become my "one-year-stands" Until they, too, must go away. Life won’t let them stay-- That’s true of any "trick,~ you know! 1 have opened the door of my tiny heart And led them, one by one, To Your awaiting hand-- Where, for a brief moment, They are ravished by a love they’ll grow to understand. Claire Mahaney, R.S~C.J. Valparaiso Community 140 Valparaiso Ave. Menlo Park, CA 94025 A Woman in Love: Catherine de Hueck Doherty

Robert WiM

Father Wild has long been associated with Catherine de Hueck Doherty, especially through Combermere’s Madonna House, where he may be addressed: Madonna House Apostolate; Combermere, Ontario; Canada KOJ1LO. This brief article is intended as a simple tribute to a very significant woman.

Catherine de Hueck Doherty, foundress of Friendship House in Harlem in the early 1940s and of the present-day Madonna House in Combermere, died December 14, 1985, surrounded by her spiritual children. Her life and teaching have influenced millions of people. Surely she was one of the great women of our time. But who was this woman? She herself would ’have answered: "I am a woman in love with God and with the poor." And, in a way, this would say it all. For myself, I believe that she was a prophet, raised up by the Lord to show Us in this century how to live the ancient faith of the Gospel in our confused contemporary world. Using some of her life experiences, teachings and works of love, I would like to illustrate how her life reflected the clear light of the Gospel for our times. The Revolution of Love Born in Russia before the turn of the century, Catherine was witness to momentous events in those times so tumultuous for Russia. In October, 1917, she stood amid the crowd in front of the Smolensky Institute as Lenin presented his ominous plan for a new earthly paradise. She said later on that, if she had not been a Christian, she would have followed him. 771 772 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

The Russians are a passionate people. In many Communists Catherine saw so many of her people given over absolutely, body and soul, to the "revolution." She, too, was a passionate person. And she was a Christian. She was not going to let the children of darkness be more enthusiastic for their cause than are the children of light. In her book The Gospel Without Compromise she wrote: "Christ’s call is revolutionary. There is no denying it. If we Christians implemented it, it would change the world." Anyone who had ever met or worked with Catherine has been affected by her real and dynamic faith that Christ’s love could change the world--if we lived it without compromise. She was thrilled by the Gospel! "God has become a man out of love for us!" she used to say, "Doesn’t that excite you?" Working with her, you felt that you were involved in the greatest enterprise on earth--and in a sense you were. Preaching, and especially living the Gospel was, for her, the radical solution to the boredom, the meaninglessness, the hopelessness of the world.

By Poverty Possessed Married in Russia, Catherine and her then husband escaped into Fin- land with only the clothes .on their backs. There they almost starved to death at the hands of the Communists. She promised God that if she survived, she would give him her whole life. In North America, using her many gifts and talents, Catherine again became relatively wealthy. But Christ would not leave her alone. He kept reminding her of her promise. Every time she opened the Scriptures, she turned to the passage, "Go and sell all you possess." There came the time when Catherine was to be henceforth "by poverty possessed" (a phrase she once said should be used for her biography). She had seen what material injustice had caused in her own country. She vowed to become a beggar for God--as God had become a "beggar" for the love of his children. From that time she lived totally dependent on God’s providence, thus witnessing to the need of people to radically rethink their use of and relationship to material things. It was in this period of her life that she met and later married Eddie Doherty who also had a profound influence on the development of her spirituality. Catherine did not try to call everyone to live as she lived. She did try, however, to create a "new economics of love" by which people would share with those less fortunate than themselves. "If we don’t share, we shall die," she said. I was in Catherine’s room six months before she died. A sixty-five-year- old woman came with her married daughter. When this family had lived near Combermere in the early days, Catherine had often helped them with Catherine de Hueck Doherty / 773 clothes and other necessities. Now they came to say thank you. Before they left, Catherine asked, "Do you need anything?" Almost tearfully the woman replied, "No, not any more."

The Pain of Christ There is one aspect of Catherine’s spirituality which is not too notice- able in her existing publications with the exception of the two volumes of her poetry: Inward and Lubov. This is her truly mystical perception of the ongoing passion of Christ experienced in his members. She said that Pas- cal’s sentence, "Christ is in pain until the end of time," were the truest words ever spoken. The traumatic circumstances of her own life, plus her Russian awe in the contemplation of Christ’s kenosis combined to give her an extraordinary experience of Christ’s continuing sufferings in his Mystical Body. From one of her poems: I wonder as 1 wander Where shall I find oils and balms to heal his pain. I know that I must pierce my heart and die of love Drop by drop my blood will mingle with his The mingling will be the only balm He will take to heal his pain. Hundreds of similar statements are found in her writings. Catherine was not simply engaged in "social work." She understood, with passionate literalness, the words of the Gospel: "Whatever you do to one of these .... , Christ her Beloved was still suffering in all the sufferers of the world. She, the restless pilgrim, would go to him and pour oil in his wounds, console him in his loneliness, slake his thirst for love. This faith vision of the suffering can save the modern world from treating persons as mere numbers and "clients." It can rescue us from a one-dimensional humanism or from social work. seen merely as a job. It could save us from the growing factionalism we experience: the dividing of people into economic, religious, political and ideological camps, only loving and associating with "our kind." Catherine saw Christ suffering in everyone. Perhaps Rilke was right: "Whatever we call evil is somebody crying out for help." Catherine saw her Beloved suffering in the oppressor as well as in the oppressed. We are all poor. Catherine saw her journey to Christ in everyone.

"A Good Catholic Woman" A bishop once described Catherine thus to her face--and she liked it! She really did see herself simply as a good Catholic woman trying to live her faith. Confidante of bishops and priests, fighting against racial injustice 774 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 also in the Church, she was not naive about the humanness of the Church. "But it was in England," she wrote once, "suddenly, like a flash, I realized that She [the Church] was the Spotless Bride of Christ. I saw her clad in the King’s robes, beautiful and glorious." In an age when the humanness of the Church is being emphasized often to the practical exclusion of her divine beauty and reality, Catherine wanted to kneel for priests’ blessings, kiss the hands of bishops, and pros- trate herself before the Blessed Sacrament. She called people to live the ancient faith of the Creed, and not tamper with it. She called upon bishops, priests and laity to be who they are and not desire to be somebody else. Like Chesterton, she believed that nothing is more exciting than ortho- doxy. And in an age when we have lost our sense of spiritual realities, Catherine called us back to the sacred. Catherine’s actual spiritual family is small--about one hundred and fifty, with twenty small missions scattered--mostly in North America, with a mission also in Barbados, England and France. But the extent of her influence, through her teaching (especially through her near classic Poustinia) and her life, is incalculable. Nicholas Zernov said that one of the essential tendencies of the Russian mind is "the complete incarnation of the spiritual in the material." At a time when the word "Russian" means for so many the incarnation of an "evil empire," God gave us a woman of the true, Holy Russia who, as well as anyone in our century, incarnated the Gospel’s "empire of love.,

Romans 8:28 Fancying myself a free spirit, 1 always loved.., change, newness! But now, it looms threateningly tearing my just-beginning roots, shaking my just-perceptibly worn path, upsetting my just-settling-in comfort... "All things work together for the good of those who love." Will there be new roots, new paths, new comfort? Dare I trust--anew, changed? Sister Mary Therese Macys, S.S.C. 2601 W. Marquette Road Chicago, Illinois 60629 "Perfect Love (Through Prayer) Casts Out Fear"

Nicholas Farina, S.C.J.

Experienced in parish ministry and in Newman chaplaincies, Father Farina is presently co-director of his community’s prenovitiate program. He may be addressed at the residence of the Sacred Heart Fathers and Brothers; 263 Felisa Street; San Antonio, Texas 78210.

My first assignment after ordination was to an inner-city parish in Detroit where I had the opportunity to engage in many different aspects of ministry. It was there that I became acquainted with the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults (RCIA) used in the process of bringing interested people into the catechumenate and, eventually, to full membership in the Church. Since my only experience with the RCIA had been a theoretical introduction to it while in the seminary, I did little more than watch as the sister on the team led the catechumens on the journey of faith that brought them to Easter Sunday and baptism. As the months went by, I was fascinated by what I saw happening to these men and women. I was awed at the transformation that took place in them as they went through the joy and pain of conversion and grew in their relationship to Christ and in their decision to follow him. Although their external situations, filled with all the trauma and anguish of inner-city life did not change much, they did. As they matured spiritually, a new calm settled into their lives. 1 realized more deeply than ever before how the power of God can transform us. One thing in particular struck me. As these men and women grew in faith and prayer, they began to see the world in a new way. They saw more 775 776 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 clearly both the beauty and the ugliness that was around them. But instead of being frightened by this new perspective, instead of being repulsed, or feeling helpless or despairing in the face of the suffering and need that they saw in varying degrees, their reaction was rather to want to do something about it. Some of these people became the most active members of our parish. It was as though the power of the Spirit had gripped them and ignited them and pushed them into action. Their growing faith, fueled by prayer and the sharing of life experiences in classes and prayer meetings, took off into an exercise of apostolic zeal that amazed me. A similar experience occurred with those people in the parish who participated in a program designed around the 19th Annotation retreat based on the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius. Over a period of nine months, a group of from ten to fifteen parishioners participated in weekly prayer/shared reflection sessions. In addition to these sessions, there was at least one two-day retreat experience. The participants were asked to spend time daily in prayer centered around the weeks of the Exercises. During the nine months, they "moved" through the four weeks. Similar to those in the RCIA, these people experienced, a deepening relationship with the Lord, a lessening of fear and despair and, above all, a new zeal to involve themselves actively in ministry. As a result of these experiences, I realized that the way to get people involved is not to badger them or beg them or bribe them. That may work to a limited degree, but unless they really feel called to be involved, unless they are moved from within by the Spirit of God to see with their own hearts the need around them, and feel the love and compassion that prompt them to serve, their involvement would be an external action only. It would lack all the inner dynamics and emotions and motivations that are essential to real Christian apostolic work. What is the root cause of this conversion? As I looked more closely at this question, I began to examine my own life. I never went through the RCIA or the 19th Annotation retreat, yet somewhere along the way I began to see the need, to feel the call, and I was given the courage to respond. What prompted me into an apostolic life? The answer that came to me was simple: prayer. Real prayer is the key. I saw that prayer led me into a love relationship with Christ that was enabling me to become one with him. As this happens, I begin to see myself and the world around me through his eyes. I begin to experience what he must have felt, his call from the Father to give himself in love. I, too, experience that call, and am prompted to action. Prayer allows Christ to work through me. Though this process is never completely accomplished, to the degree that it is, my sinfulness falls away, the fear and doubt and pain that block the action of "’Perfect Love Casts Out Fear" / 777

God start to melt, and I begin to experience a metanoia, a conversion, and a call to serve. True .prayer requires a response. True prayer leads to action. When we truly pray we must do something to put our new insights and experiences of Christ into action. Prayer enables us to see needs more clearly and to care enough to do something about what we see. If we are not doing something to further the kingdom after we pray, then, quite simply, we are not praying. We may feel nice and have deeper insights into ourselves and a deeper compassion for other people, but if no action follows, the prayer is incomplete. True prayer is not simply something set aside from "real life." It is meant to transform life. If we do not put into action what we know and believe we should do, then something is wrong. The question is, what keeps us from responding to the call to apostolic involvement? How can we allow God to transform our lives through prayer? How do we actually practice it? First of all, what needs to be done is to discern what God asks us to do. This in and of itself requires prayer, both alone and with those who are sharing your faith life at the time. You cannot arrive at a decision to do something without prayerfully looking at your life and talents and gifts as well as the needs around you. Choosing to be involved apostolically must be done with patience and trust in God. If the motives for involvement are primarily to satisfy your own insecurities or to be a single-handed messiah or to receive a great deal of gratification, you will not stay committed for long to that particular work, especially if results are not immediately forth- coming or you do not feel as useful as you would like. If, however, you are involved because you feel it is what God is asking of you and you want to do his will, then you will be more likely to persevere even when the going gets rough because you would be responding to an inner prompting regardless of the tangible rewards. To be so inclined, so indifferent, requires a prayer life, an openness to the Spirit and a desire for his will. Once we discern through prayer what we are called to do, what could keep us from responding? I believe there is no more crippling emotion than fear. I do not mean a healthy fear which we would experience while trapped in a burning building or being chased by an unknown person. In these instances of healthy fear we are motivated to do something, to run from the burning building or escape from our pursuer. We know what we are afraid of and we do something about it. The thing we are afraid of is also something that can harm us and we should respond in order to avoid the danger. The fear I am referring to is the kind that leaves us paralyzed, the fear that keeps us locked up within ourselves, afraid to move or act. It is a crippling fear that prevents us from exploring, risking and acting. And 778 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 thus it prevents us from growing. It is a fear that can make us overly cautious and unwilling to ruffle any feathers, even our own. There are countless sources of this type of fear which psychologists and other interested people can explain in many ways. My point is that to the degree this fear is a part of us, to that degree are we unable to put into action the apostolic consequences of our prayer. There are many illustrations of this fear. Take for example a person in the inner-city parish in which I worked. In the process of her catechumenate, she had seen more clearly the great need many area residents have for basic life necessities: food, clothing, housing referrals. This troubled her deeply and moved her to compassion. She felt a genuine love for these people and was moved to want to do something about it. A St. Vincent de Paul Society exists in the parish but is woefully understaffed; there is a need for workers. A perfect situation for this woman to do something about the need she saw! She even had some free time during the week, and there were several people willing to train her. Yet, she did not volunteer because she was afraid: afraid she will not be able to handle the sometimes rough and aggressive behavior of the clients, afraid she will make a mis- take, afraid of committing herself---even to try it for a few weeks. She was afraid of things that she may not have had any reason to fear. The prayer experience of this woman which had brought her to a state of real compassion and awareness of need was somehow thwarted, aborted before it was allowed to move into actual expression. Remember, I am speaking about a person who has discerned in her heart that this action was what she wanted to do and needed to do, what was, in fact, God’s will for her. But she failed to follow through. Fear was the only thing stopping her. I am not referring to the person who doesn’t feel called to a particular expression of zeal, or who doesn’t sincerely believe it is God’s will for her, but only to the person who wants to act, knows she should act and knows she needs to act if she is to be true to herself, but does not,,because of fear. How often have we met young people who similarly feel a calling to religious life? They experience a persistent nagging in their hearts; they are attracted by one or other community and. the work they do, they have intelligence and health and a real desire to serve Christ as religious, but they freeze. "What if I can’t live celibacy? .... What if I change my mind in twenty years? .... I am afraid to leave home, to leave my friends." "I have a good job and things are going well in my life and l.am afraid to venture out into the unknown." The "what ifs" and the challenges of the life itself become so overwhelming that these individuals stop what appears to be a genuine movement of the Spirit prompting them to take some action. They know they have the ability; they discern it is the right thing at least to try; "Perfect Love Casts Out Fear" / 7"/9 but unless they actually follow through and do something to achieve what they feel called to do even if they fail, the discernment is pointless. If you spend months training for a race, buy the right clothes and stand at the starting line, but don’t move when the gun goes off because you are afraid you may come in last or collapse along the way, what have you accomplished? Not running at all is the true defeat. Jesus’ death on the cross was not a defeat. If, however, he had never left Joseph’s carpentry shop, as he knew he should, that would really have been a defeat. How do we deal with this kind of fear? l John 4:18 tells us that perfect love casts out fear. Do we choose to continue to let it intimidate, manipulate and control us or do we seek to look at and deal with it, and allow the "perfect love" of Christ to cast it out? Do we act even though we are afraid, or can we move through the fear, trusting that God will be with us no matter what happens? Can we be like the early martyrs who believed even in the face of personal suffering? For them the fear was a life or death reality, but it did not stop them from acting. The will and desire to act, coupled with the trust that Christ was with them broke through the barrier of crippling fear and freed them to follow the path they knew they had to walk. It is not enough to act despite our fear without seeking to weaken its hold and eventually root it out. If that is all we do, we are still drained by the fear, and see our apostolate as a series of hurdles that we must jump over, breathing a sigh of relief after each jump. We start to brace ourselves against the fear and panic that begin to well up. We may do an excellent job, but we are drained and exhausted after it is over. While we certainly should act on something we know to be right even when we are afraid, it is important and extremely helpful to replace the fear within us so that the action will flow more spontaneously and naturally. We are more likely to do well and be happier if the fear is reduced. Obviously we need to get at the root of the fear. Psychology, counseling and spiritual direction can aid in this, but as Christians and believers in the power of Christ and in our total need for him, each of us needs to acknowledge that prayer stands at the center of the process of conversion from fear to trust. It is in loving dialogue with God that we begin to see and understand ourselves, and are gently affirmed and led into the darkest regions of our hearts to be reconciled with the brokenness and pain that produces crippling fear. It is in prayer that we are led to make use of psychology, counseling, spiritual direction, friendship and the other means available to aid us. In prayer all those means are given the added and necessary dimension of Christ as the instrument of healing--through the counselor, the friend or spiritual director. In other words, without prayer the movement 780 / ,Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 from fear to trust is never able to be carried to its fullest completion, for without prayer we never involve the One who occupies the center of our heart and the core of our being where radical change occurs. In prayer we touch into our deepest reality where the only true change can occur. It is in prayer that we are able to say, "Enough! I will no longer be held a prisoner by my past. I will do what is necessary to move from darkness into light. I will allow the One who overcame darkness and death to walk with me as I journey out of my own hell into new life in him." Once we begin to walk the walls crumble. The first break is the tough- est to achieve. As the movement begins a magnetic force draws us onward. We taste what it means to live without fear and our appetite is whetted. We want more: we are hooked. Fear becomes repugnant and we desperately need to drink more deeply of the water of freedom, for the taste is sweet and satisfying. Our confidence builds. We are on our way. There will be many steps backward and many times of darkness and trial. There will even be times when the old fear will grip us more strongly than before and anxiety will rise as we think we are sinking back into our old ways, but we are not. There is no turning back now. It is easier each time to choose trust over fear. A process has been set in motion and the end result is a life of greater happiness and peace. It is the life we were intended to live, and which Jesus was willing to die for. Only in trust can we move out to others with confidence. Only in prayer will this new life become a reality.

Fifty Years A-Fishing Love breathes where it will In young hearts, eager to pull Leaving the all of their little To follow, fast-forward, uphill! Love can fire and sear Hearts at the midstream, wearied When pulling’s against, and leavings limp On the fiat course, in fear-- Love consumes Seasoned hearts waiting Oars locked in mystery- (eye hath not seen, ear heard) And love is sating! Alice Meehan, C.S.J. St. Anne’s Convent Second Avenue Brentwood, N.Y. 11731 CANONICAL COUNSEL

General Chapters Richard A. Hill, S.J.

This department of canonical information and reflection is written by Rev. Richard A. Hill, S.J., Professor of Canon Law at the Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley, where he may be addressed: 1735 LeRoy Ave.; Berkeley, CA 94709.

Some religious communities seem to be encountering difficulties with the distinction between a chapter of elections and a chapter of affairs. This distinction within one and the same general chapter is no longer useful and should, in my opinion, be eliminated in the interest of having more flexibility in addressing the agenda of a chapter. It is completely legitimate for a chapter to decide for itself, once it has been convened and opened, the order of its own agenda, even when a preparatory committee has prepared an agenda for it. The members are free to defer the elections of the superior general and the councilors, if this seems appropriate, until certain matters of business and procedure have been decided. Indeed, these elections could be among the last items of the general chapter’s agenda, although this can prove to be very unsatisfactory when the members are preoccupied with bringing closure to the meeting. The worst time to introduce new matters of substance is just before the close of any kind of meeting. In diocesan institutes, of course, and in autonomous (sui iuris) monasteries the day and hour of the election of the superior general must be deter- mined well in advance because the bishop or his delegate has to preside at this election, although not at the election of the general council. It is a common practice to have one or more pre-chapter meetings of the 781 782 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 delegates to discuss issues which may come to the chapter itself and thus to give guidance to preparatory committees and this seems generally quite useful if it is reasonably easily arid economically feasible. Large, international institutes will ordinarily not be able to have such general meetings unless a pre- chapter gathering immediately precedes-the opening of the chapter itself. One very important thing, however, has to be kept in mind. Any meeting of capitulars prior to the official opening of the chapter has no authority whatsoever, and any conclusions, even about procedures to be observed, are not legislation and do not bind the chapter once it is in session. Such a meeting is only what is called in parliamentary procedure a meeting of a committee of the whole. Votes about matters of business or procedures are only straw votes and would have to be repeated once the chapter convenes, sometimes with very different results. While a general chapter is described as having the highest authority in a religious institute, its authority or power is limited to what a general chapter is. It is essentially a legislative and policy-making body, which isalso an electoral college for the purpose of electing the general superior and the general councilors and sometimes other officials. The chapter cannot usurp the’executive role of the superior general in matters of ordinary or day-to-day administration on behalf of the community. While it is in session the chapter has only those powers attributed to it by the approved consiitutions and other legislation. The superior, however, may choose to ask the chapter for advice or even direction with respect to matters of major importance in the administration of the congregation, but in this case the chapter is acting as an enlarged council. Neither can a chapter modify its own composition. It is the responsibility of a general chapter to decide, but only for the future, who will be the ex- officio members of the~ next chapter and the procedure to be followed in electing its other members. Once the election of delegates has been completed, the composition of the general chapter is fixed and cannot be changed. In determining how the election of delegates for a future chapter is to be carried out, the chapter should carefully choose a method which assures, to the extent that this is ever possible, that the entire institute is represented and that the resulting configuration will be "a true sign of the community’s unity in love" (can. 631.1). If in fact a chapter does not proffer such a sign, this is regrettable, but it cannot be remedied either by the general council or by the assem- bled chapter. What is the position of alternate members of a chapter? It is probably a universal practice to elect alternates to replace members of a chapter who are impeded from participating in it. The institute’s own law should provide for this, whether the alternates be those religious who received the next-highest Canonical Counsel / 783 number of votes after the members of the chapter have been elected or they be chosen by means ofa separate election. This legislation should also determine for what reasons a delegate may be excused and by whom and how he or she.is replaced. I recommend that the detailed legislation regarding the election of capitulars and alternates, the procedures to be followed in the election of the superior general, the councilors and other officers of the congregation, the procedures for carrying on the business of the chapter, and the like, be placed in a manual for the general chapter, which may be an appendix of the directory (or whatever the institute’s non-constitutional legislation is called) or may be a separate booklet. The reason for this is that this legislation is necessarily quite detailed and even complicated and is not intended for use in the ordinary life of the community. Sometimes the question arises about replacing capitulars who have to be excused from the chapter after it has convened and has begun its work. This can be done if the institute’s own law requires it or at least permits it. I advise against such a provision in the proper law because it almost certainly requires that a pool of alternates be present at the chapter- from its beginning and at least observe the proceedings if not participate in them without vote. It is my opinion that, since this is not necessary, the alternates should cease being potential members of a chapter once it has been formally opened, because it is a great waste of the time of these religious. Even in the cases where the exact number of capitulars is specified by the institute’s law, the ordinary rules of procedure of deliberative bodies and indeed common sense never require that every member of a chapter be actually present in order to transact its business. The necessary quorum for action should never be more than two-thirds of the total number of members, and a simple majority is usually sufficient. The absence of a few members-- provided all have been allowed adequate opportunity to be present--should never be permitted to prevent any collegial body from fulfilling its purposes. Campaigning for office for oneself or for someone else is forbidden by can. 626, but not, interestingly enough, by the general canons in Book I about elections as such. This prohibition was found in the 1917 Code with respect to elections in religious communities and has always been found in constitutions or other proper legislation. Partisanship in religious communities is unfortunately a reality, but it is also uniquely divisive, and easily erodes the spiritual dimension of religious obedience. The same canon admonishes electors to choose "those whom they know to be worthy in the Lord." Depending, of course, on the size of the religious community as a whole, the capitulars may not know some members well enough to conclude that they are or are not suitable for the offices in question. In this case they have the obligation and therefore the right to inquire about 784 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 them from persons who do know them well. The line separating campaigning and seeking needed information can be thin indeed. I believe that a good practical rule in this matter is to be aware of who is taking the initiative. If someone is approaching capitulars to suggest that they vote for a particular person, even if this is being couched in the form of calling attention to that person’s qualifications, campaigning is going on and should be resisted. If, however, a capitular approaches someone for information about a third person and if the conversation is confined to offering an opinion about that individual, campaigning should not be an issue. It is common that constitutions or other legislation state that a person cannot licitly or even validly vote for himself or herself for an office. This legislation was found in the 1917 Code of Canon Law as applicable to all ecclesiastical elections, but has been abrogated by the revised Code. The reason for dropping this rule from the revised Code, I believe, was the impos- sibility of determining whether any of the electors had voted for themselves or whether the person actually elected had done so. Such a scrutiny would be possible only if there were some way in which an individual ballot could be identified as the ballot of a specific capitular. In all ecclesiastical elections the ballots must be secret and destroyed after the election has been effected. Since a rule barring voting for oneself is unenforceable, it is my opinion that it should not appear in our legislation, at least as anything more than an exhortation. Finally, it is very common and a truly necessary provision that the number of ballotings to result in an election be limited; there has to be a predetermined point at which only the two candidates having the highest number of votes in the previous t.ally of votes remain as eligible to be elected. It appears to be usual to provide that in this balloting these two candidates cannot vote at all. While I cannot say that this is forbidden in canon law, I have very serious misgivings about it. The right to vote is, as we know, referred to in canonical language as active voice and pri~,ation of any right is an expiatory penalty and presumes that a criminal act has occurred. In the case we are considering, the finalists are not compelled to vote for each other, because it is legitimate in any election to submit a blank ballot if an elector is convinced that none of the available candidates is qualified. If voting for oneself is not prohibited, as I have suggested, each of the finalists could honestly judge that he or she is better qualified for the office. Suspending their active voice, moreover, does not guarantee that a tie-vote will not result, in which case some other method must.be available to break a tie. There are several other matters concerning general chapters, such as early election of a superior general and general councilors and recesses, which I will discuss in a future issue of "Canonical Counsel." .~.,~CASSETTE o~ ooo

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Being Sexual... And Celibate. By Keith Clark, Capuchin. Notre Dame: Ave Maria Press, 1986. Pp. 182. Paper. $4.95. Modern psychology has had an enormous impact on spirituality today. Concepts such as intimacy, sexuality and human relationships have become important in current spiritualities seeking personal growth. Keith Clark continues to use such concepts in his new work: Being Sexual...And Celibate. He struggles to understand how a person can live a fully intimate and sexual life within a celibate context. He approaches the subject by reflecting on his own personal experiences both as a celibate priest and as director of spiritual formation in his religious community. Clark notes that we "lack models for nonromantic relationships," which is a problem for modern celibates who try to have intimate relationships which are not romantic. What do such relationships look and feel like? Clark’s continuing contribution is his pioneering development of these new models. His own life has been a courageous struggle to live this new approach to celibacy and his writings share this with us. He begins with the basic assumption that "everyone needs intimacy." He then says that celibates need to develop intimate relationships but they cannot have genital or romantic activity. The rest of the book is a working out of this problem: intimacy without romance, sexuality without genital expression. He walks a tightrope, one that is fraught with dangers, but one that must be traveled to find healing and health. The chapter on loneliness is itself worth the price of the book. He outlines constructive and destructive ways that people deal with loneliness. Feelings of dissatisfaction, sadness, avoidance, resentment, dependence and independence--all form a constella- tion of emotions that can destroy one’s humanity. Clark speaks of facing loneliness, accepting the incompleteness and neediness which are the roots of this feeling, and allowing it to propel the person into a healthy interdependence with others--true intimacy. 1 found this section important in understanding my own dynamic of loneliness and I instantly wanted to share this chapter with others whose loneliness is slowly eating 785 786 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 them up. When Clark stays at the level of personal experience, he is at his best. However, at times he generalizes from his experience and the work takes on the tone of being a psychological study of human sexuality--which it is not. For example, he is clear about the necessity of choosing appropriate behavior in acting out one’s sexuality. But what he does not address is that many are unable to choose due to various psychological impairments that restrict their freedom. In fact, most of us suffer from such impairments. I would question the completeness of a few of his insights. He says that the intimacy experienced by celibates and married people is the same; the only difference is in the external behavior they should choose. Clark is emphatic on the point. However, one’s external behavior, despite what one may consciously attempt to do, communicates inner feelings. For example, Clark says that his intimacy with Jan, a woman that he admits he loves, is the same as his relationship with another friend, Dennis. Clark says that with Jan he simply has not chosen to act out any romantic or genital impulses he might have. However, one’s inner response to two people is different and it is a difference in kind when romantic/genital feelings are subtly present in one and not the other. These different responses are communicated even in a mere look or touch. Both may receive a glance but one will convey meanings that the other will not because of one’s inner emotional state. To say that the relationships are the same seems to me to ignore the presence of deeper feelings that are communicated on a subtle level. Despite such criticisms, Clark comes out on top in the last chapter. He intuits that celibates have a "relational void" of "not belonging to another person." The celibate is obliged to foster a belonging to God. Without frequent nourishment of this relationship to God, the celibate is apt to fill in the relational void with a romantic relationship with another person. While his book at times is repetitive and heavy, his insights on sexuality and human intimacy for the celibate are excellent and balanced. This work is a must for anyone who is on the same road as Keith Clark: trying to find healthy human relationships and still be faithful to the celibate life. Likewise, this book is important for formation programs better to address the issue of sexuality and celibate relationships in an honest and straightforward manner in the beginning. I can only say to Ft. Clark that I applaud the courage he has to face his sexuality and celibacy and to share the fruits of his struggle with us. I urge him to continue; I look forward to his next work.--Fr. Stephen J. Rossetti; St. Patrick’s Parish; 9 Leroy Street; Binghamton, New York 13905.

An Unlikely Catechism: Some Challenges for the Creedless Catholic. By William Reiser, S.J. New York: Pdulist Press, 1985. Pp. 173. Paper. $6.95. The significant words in the title of this interesting paperback are like a string of fire crackers setting off incendiary ideas--catechism, challenges, creedless, catholic--unlikely allies. Yet, William Reiser, professor of theology at Holy Cross College ties these unsettling ideas together in a creative and provocative way. Three questions posed by Immanuel Kant structure the presentation: What can I know? What should I do? What may I hope? The author is on target when he views these as questions which people "feel," religious questions, pertaining to the meaning of life and hope for the future. Religious educators will feel at home with this volume Reviews / 787 because the approach emerges from the soil of listening rather than offering religious answers in a way that does not bite into human experience, Reiser focuses on Jesus, the soul and resurrection as the Christian beliefs which respond to Kant’s timeless questions. "...these doctrines are so relevant to our experience that the Christian community will always be reflecting on them. These doctrines shape and govern our reli- giousness. They provide the guidelines within which we explain who we are." The author’s enthusiasm, as well as the purpose of this book, is evident w~hen he refers to the satisfaction religion teachers enjoy when people realize the connection between their faith and their experience. The book achieves its purpose in a clear, refresh- ing style, with adequate examples to illustrate the content. The effort to retain depth and substance without succumbing to obscure language and a ponderous style is an asset in this unassuming book. There are extensive end notes which indicate a wide acquaintance with contemporary theological literature. "The Holy Spirit whom the Father will send...will instruct you...and remind you of all that 1 told you" (Jn 14:26). This book is a gentle invitation to hear that voice today--Rev. John M. Ballweg; Religious Studies Department; Seton Hall Uni- versity; South Orange, New Jersey 07079.

Sent Free: Mission and Unity in the Perspective of the Kingdom. By Emilio Castro. Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1985. Pp. 102. Paper. $4.75. Deceptive in its brevity, this short book contains both a wealth of spiritual reading and biblical exegesis, as well as chronicling contemporary events in the life of the Church. It will be of interest for the general reader, especially for those committed to the mission of the Church at home or abroad, and also to those interested in current debates about mission. In typical Latin American fashion, Castro begins with outlining the contemporary situation in the world, the reality with which the Church is called to deal. Like many other authors, he begins with the "signs of the times." However, as General Secretary of the World Council of Churches, a scholar who has been directing the missionary efforts o of this great ecumenical body over the last several years, and as a Latin American, he brings a particularly comprehensive perspective to these issues within the Church. The situation and the debate (the first two chapters) describe and synthesize the developments in the conservative evangelical Protestant world, the mainline Protestant and Orthodox world of the World Council of Churches and the ~Roman Catholic Church in their approach to the mission of the Churches today. His analytical skills are supplemented by his deep spiritual commitments to both the unity of the gospel of Jesus Christ and its impact on the world in service of the kingdom. For this reason, even his analysis betrays a level of commitment which brings forth the spiritual dimensions of the debate. One can hardly read the discussions of the tensions within all of these three Christian communities without recognizing the common gifts they have and the rich spirit of reconciliation their author brings to the discussion. In all three of these communities, the tension between enculturation and authentic fidelity to the one gospel of Jesus Christ are felt. While different routes are taken, the commitment to a social dimension of the gospel of Jesus Christ, an authentic witness of who Christ is to the modern world, and a sensitivity to the struggles of the poor are to be found. His analysis of the situation and the debate itself contributes to the reconciliation of different points of view. The last section of the book, which is more directly related to the kingdom themes 788 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 in Scripture and theology and their relationship to mission, are the most spiritual. However, given his own context and theological stance, the separation of freedom, kingdom and the signs of the times is impossible. For this reason, the comprehensive approach to the biblical and theological th~mes enriches the vision of mission in the modern world. This book is a shorter version of the dissertation on missiology available elsewhere from the author. Its style and brevity make it more accessible to the average concerned reader. However, the profundity of the theme and its urgency in the modern world make the book a very important asset in the current spiritual climate. The centrality of Jesus Christ, the transcendence of God, and the urgency of the Churches’ engagement in the world are inescapable marks of the Church in its ecumenical quest.--Brother Jeffrey Gros, ES.C.; Director, Commission on Faith and Order; National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A.; Room 872;475 Riverside Drive; New York, New York 10115-0050.

Affirmative ,Aging: A Resource for Ministry: A Symposium. Edited by The Episcopal Society for Ministry on Aging. Minneapolis: Winston Press, 1985. Pp. viii ÷ 178. Paper. $9.50. (Study guide is available from E.S.M.A. R.D. 4. Box 146A. Milford, New Jersey 08848.) The first publication by E.S.M.A. is a work of a very distinguished ecumenical group of experts who deal sensitively and positively with most aspects of this important subject. T. Herbert O’Driscoll, the distinguished former Warden of the College of Preachers in Washington, D.C., sets the tone for the whole in his introductory chapter, "Aging, A Spiritual Journey," insisting that the thing that makes this book different from most in the field is its aim to stake out "a territory within [the] process [of aging], the territory we havecalled spirituality" (p.2). While there are qualities peculiar in some measure to the "aged," O’Driscoll’s wise contention is that the spirituality under discussion is for all ages since we are all in the process of aging from the moment of birth to the moment of death. Other spiritual dimensions are discussed by Charles J. Fahey from Fordham Uni- versity, (Towards an Ethic for the Third Age), Nancy Roth of Trinity Church, New York City, (Meditation and Prayer), and Robert W. Carlson of Seabury Western Theological Seminary, (The Gift of Wisdom). In these chapters there is much that is for all of us, and the book as a whole does not set apart the aging as a separate class even when dealing with their needs and their gifts for the rest of us. This is one of the aspects of the symposium which helps to make it a breakthrough in thinking about this particular ministry. This means that the book, with the assistance of the excellent study guide, is a good resource for parish and community study. Emma Lou Benignus, whose focus is on the spiritual growth of the aging, has a splendid chapter on the special opportunities of the Church when it claims the gifts and talents of its older members. The practical circumstances of the aged are dealt with in terms of the relationships of adult children with their aging parents (Helen Kandel Hyman, free-lance writer in this field), the place of religious organizations in providing informal support for older persons (Leighton E. Ciuff and Claudia B.-Cluff, who are both professionals in the field), the spiritual aspects of learning and leisure (Nancy J. Osgood, Assistant Profes- sor of Gerontology and Sociology at Virginia Commonwealth University, who has written widely in the field), and the provision of living environments which fosters a Reviews / 789

creative approach to aging (Charles W. Pruitt, Jr., the President of the Presbyterian Association on Aging). These chapters inform, challenge, and unfold a picture of hopeful, active, creative, older folk who can learn how to live full; interesting and productive lives. In the final chapter, "Death, Preparation as Life Enhancement," Eugene C. Bianchi, professor of Religion at Emory University, has wise insights on how to ensure that "the downward physical slope of life can become an upward spiritual ascent for self and others" (p. 167). Every pastor ought to study this chapter well so as to proclaim its message, a gospel, to all. It is here that we return to the beginning--we are all going to die. We can all prepare for it as we journey on. There are ways of doing so and they are discussed here. ~’ ’ Those who wish to affirm and celebrate their own longevity, or to rejoice in their own journey, will find much encouragement in this book. Those who live with, care for, or are related to the aged and the aging will find here sound pastoral insights coupled with proven practical wisdom and Christian concern. There is a shared theological emphasis which enlightens all the contributions. The professional level of the contributors is high and their suggestions are, therefore, worth serious attention by all who have a caring ministry and are leaders in churches, parishes, and religious communities. I recommend this book highly.--Brother John-Charles, S.S. E; Episcopal Franciscan and Bishop; Little Portion Friary; Mount SinaL New York 11766.

The Psychological Dynamics of Religious Experience (Originally published as Psychologie des expbriences religieuses: La dbsir et la rbalite). By Andre Godin. Birmingham: Religious Education Press, 1985. Pp. 279. Paper. $13.95. This is an analytical and penetrating probe into the psychological dynamics involved in a religious experience. The author (a Freudian psychologist who is a committed Chris- tian) first highlights how organized religion plays a functional role in abetting and at times distorting the human longing for transcendent experiences. He then proceeds to expose how the suddenness and intensity of an experience do not justify a claim that one has truly experienced God. He enlarges on this by subjecting the structured practices of charismatic and "base" communities to an indepth psychological scrutiny. He raises fundamental questions about the experiences encountered there that need to be carefully pondered and heeded by those belonging to and directing such groups. Godin then focuses on what Freud has rightly perceived to be the critical and central issue concerning a religious experience: is it an illusion or an experience of a reality beyond the ego? Godin is firmly convinced that there is only one adequate response, at least for a Christian, to Freud’s critique. For an experience to be authentically religious there has to be an active "synthesis between the wishes originating in [a person] . . . and those derived from the God revealed in the Gospels" (p.209). This interplay of distinct wishes will provoke resistance and conflict within a person until it is resolved through a loving identification with God in terms of his wishes. Godin’s remarks on how this applies to prayer is profound and insightful. I found this to be an illuminating and stimulating work, especially in its psychological critique of charismatic and "base" communities as well as in its treatment of how wishes are to be confronted within a faith relationship. 1 question, however, Godin’s insistence upon an "active synthesis" of wishes as the only adequate criterion for ascertaining a religious experience. 1 grant that it is certainly a favorable sign and that 790 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 even when not present there will be a dynamic thrust towards doing this. But there can be other criteria. For instance, in his Rules for Discernment (I, #2), St. Ignatius enumerates, among others, courage and active energy as well as ease in doing good as indicative of an authentic experience. In applying Godin’s criterion, one needs therefore to be cautious. First, in general, a religious experience does not always have to be corroborated by Godin’s psychological criterion in order to be authentic. Granted that charismatic and "base" community experiences are clearly conditioned by their structured settings and methods and that some of these experiences can be explained as purely psychological, it does not follow that they all are--including those lacking a mutual sharing of wishes. Then, too, in those experiences where there occurs an interplay of wishes, one needs to discern whether one is truly encountering God’s wishes. For the "evil one" can come under the guise of an angel of light and can quote Scripture to his advantage. In other words, how does-one sort out the feelings of conflict and peace within this interplay to determine who is the other being encountered and what truly is God’s wish for a person at this moment? Godin does not sufficiently consider how illusion can enter in here. In ~rief, this is a carefully written and respectful work on religious experience. I recommend it for those interested in how psychological factors can influence contemporary religious experiences and in what ought to be the criterion for discerning an authentic experience of God.-- Frederick G. Mc Leod, S.J.; Department of Theological Studies; St. Louis University; St. Louis, Missouri 63108.

Pray All Ways. By Edward Hays. Easton, Kansas: Forest of Peace Books, 1981. Pp. 164. Paper. $6.95. Twelve and One-Half Keys. By Edward Hays. Easton, Kansas: Forest of Peace Books, 1981. Pp. 147. Paper. $6.95. Diocesan priest Edward Hays is director of Shantivanam House of Prayer in Kansas. Pray All Ways is a fine contribution to holistic spirituality. Hays helps us get in touch with our creaturehood and with natural processes that God has designed for our spiritual maturation. These reflections on ordinary daily experiences help us "get into the center of life instead of living only on the edges of it, on the surfaces of what we see, taste, touch and hear." Hays teaches how to pray with the whole body: with tears that spring from the fullness of the heart, and also with laughter as if playing, not working, at prayer. He is eloquent about living more leisurely, in patience and freedom, at a slowed- down pace. Self-discipline is required, but not in the form of an asceticism that regards material things as evil. When the mystery of suffering touches our life, we are told not to fight it but to flow with it creatively and prayerfully. There is even a chapter devoted to "siesta spirituality" for those who have renounced the "hurry-hurry .heresy." The author’s good humor shines in every chapter, with puns and clever comments such as, "We need fewer committees and more clowns." Along with the good humor there is a theologically sound outlook on the spiritual life based on ’the mystery of the Incarnation. This book is worth having and pondering. More limited in its appeal is the book Twelve and One-Half Keys. Perhaps ,high school students would be attracted to this collection of original and imaginative stories. The stories are didactic, in the tradition of New ~estament parables or Sufi mystical tales. It is true that stories are often able to communicate important truths and lead us into Reviews / 791

the deeper mysteries of life, but some of these selections seem a little too contrived. Hays has storytelling talent but it needs perfecting. He is somewhat more successful as an illuminator who decorates the pages of his books with ink drawings that are intricate and often charming.--Charles Cummings, 0 C.S. O; Holy T~’inity Abbey; Huntsville, Utah 84317.

A Pilgrim’s Journey: The Autobiography of Ignatius of Loyola. Introduction, Translation and Commentary. By Joseph N. Tylenda, S.J. Wilmington, Dela- ware: Michael Glazier, 1985. Pp. 156. Paper. $7.95. Ignatius of Loyola, Founder of the Jesuits: His Life and Work. By Candido de Dalmases, S.J. Translated by Jerome Aixala, S.J. St. Louis, Missouri: ~he Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1985. Pp. 362. Cloth. $16. Sewn Paper. $14.50. "The cold calculating man, the severe superior and the rigorous ascetic has now come to be seen as the contemplative capable of the most tender sentiments and as the mystic endowed with the highest degree of union with God." This, says Dalmases, comes as a result of the publication of Ignatius’ "Spiritual Diary." It may be that some of us have lived or even are still living with the first image here much more than the second. If so, either of the two books here reviewed could help us meet the real Ignatius. Each of them contains the results of the researches of this century--Dalamases, indeed, being one of those who has given a lifetime to lgnatian studies. In the year before he died, Ignatius had acceded tothe request of his companions in Rome and dictated a short account of his life to Father Luis Goncaives da Camara. In this account he refers to himself in the third person, and often as the pilgrim. Father Tylenda has used this fact to give a title to his presentation of Ignatius’ intimate story of his life. Today it seems strange to us that this work has been so neglected--not published in any form until the eighteenth century, and not in its original form until the critical edition of the Monumental Historica Societatis Jesu in 1904. (The "neglect" apparently began when Francis Borgia withheld its publication so as not to detract from the authority of Ribandeneira’s "official" biography. Here we have from Ignatius’ lips his life and his gradual searching out God’s will from Pamplona until the founding of the Society of Jesus. Father Tylenda has filled in the earlier and later parts of his life in his introduction so that the book constitutes a short life of Ignatius. There have been several English translations of the autobiography in recent years. Father Tylenda’s has the convenience of a continuous commentary at the bottom of each page rather than the stop-and-go reading of footnotes. Anyone who recognizes Dalmases’ name might expect that we have in the life he has written an attempt at the definitive biography of Ignatius (which until this day does not exist). Not so. Dalmases had been asked to do a short popular life for the Spanish Blblioteca de autores crisitanos. The Spanish edition was without footnotes, biblio- graphy and index. These have been added to the English translation. Up till now I suspect the ignatian biography we would recommend would be Dudon’s. Yet Dudon finished writing his text in 1921 and since then much has happened in Ignatian studies. When articles on lgnatian mysticism began to appear in the 1930’s, they were probably regarded with suspicion (mysticism does not occur in Dudon’s index--the "Spiritual Diary" did not see the full light of day until 1934). Dalmases’ biography then, short as it is, is a book much needed. It is a marvel that one so full of his subject could sort out the essentials and limit himself to the bound- 792 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 aries proposed by the Spanish editors. We can read him with confidence.--Robert 0 Brennan, S.J.; Murray-Weigel Hall at Fordham University; Bronx, New York 10458. The Christian Vision: The Truth That Sets Us Free. By John Powell, S.J. Allen, Texas: Argus Communications, 1984. Pp. 155. Paper. $5.95. John Powell is a very popular writer whose books have sold more than eleven million copies. His writing has been deeply influenced by Humanistic Psychology, or Selfism, a branch of psychology that is coming under increasing criticism from Christians and others. Here he gives the latest "milestone" of his development and the clearest view of the road along which he has led so many. In spite of its title this book really contains two "visions"--a selfist one and frag- ments of a Christian vision. It is the former which gives it its basic structure, so when an attempt is made to reconcile the two visions, it is usually the Christian one which is compromised or adjusted. This is an important key to understanding the book. The first two chapters set out the selfist principles underlying the rest of the essay. Briefly, these state it is our attitudes, rather than reality, that are important. Apparently we are free to choose our own set of attitudes, and we can change them as easily as we change our reading glasses. The third chapter claims such a change of attitudes is what is meant by "metanoia": thus the rich scriptural reality (including confession of sin, repentance, new direction in life, development of virtues, and more) is reduced to "a change in one’s outlook or way of thinking" (p.28). In the following chapters these principles are applied to different aspects of the Christian mystery--"Others," "The World," God, suffering and so forth, beginning with The Christian Vision of Self. This owes much more to selfist psychologists than to Christian spirituality. In each of the following chapters the Self remains central, the measure of everything. Low self-esteem has become the Original Sin, with salvation coming through an improved self-image. To illustrate the "need" for a good self-image, Father Powell tells a story about an eagle that lived like a prairie chicken because he thought he was one. But he misses the point of the story. The moral is that we should be in touch with reality, not that we should have a good self-image. A prairie chicken thinking he is an eagle .may have a good self-image, but he still cannot soar in the air. The Christian Vision of Others deals with "our families, friends, neighbors, acquain- tances, even our enemies," but there is little place for the destitute, the homeless, the disabled, victims of war, the poor of the Third World. There is much reassurance for the unconcerned affluent in this chapter. One of the most disturbing aspects of the book is the way sin is treated, or rather, neglected. It is not denied, but simply ignored. The great danger here is that the whole mystery of salvation from sin will be undermined. A very strong anti-intellectual prejudice runs through the book, with frequent appeals to emotions and "guts" rather than intelligence; the "need" for self-esteem replaces the call to repent and grow in virtue; the Christian elements, especially as set out in chapter nine, on the Church, are not allowed to challenge the selfist principles of the book. We have here a very diluted or a reductionist version of Christianity. It is a comfortable faith for a comfortable people, its very popularity must make us wonder about the state of contemporary spirituality.--Brian McKevitt, O.P; St. Dominic’s Retreat and Conference Centre; Ennismore, Montenotte; Cork, Ireland. THE BEST OF THE REVIEW BOOK 2

PATHS OF RENEWAL FOR RELIGIOUS

A new collection of articles from REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS by the editor of Notes on the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola, David L. Fleming, S.J.

For this second book of our series, The Best of the Review, Father Fleming has chosen articles which document the currents of renewal efforts of religious in the post-Conciliar era.

Together with a general introduction, the articles are grouped under five major headings:

¯ Religious Charism and Consecration ¯ Religious Vows ¯ Religious Community ¯ Religious Apostolate ¯ Postscript--A Look to the Future

Among the titles are "The Call to the Renewal of Religious Life," "Come- crated Celibacy: Gift and Challenge," "The Center of Religious Poverty," "Obedience to Mission" and "Ministry Rooted in the Vows."

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To order write: REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 3601 Lindell Blvd., Rm. 428 St. Louis, MO 63108. 794 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

Clinging~Th~ Experience of Prayer. By Emilie Griffin. New York: Harper and Row, 1984. Pp. xiii, 72. Cloth. $10.95. "Clinging" is the metaphor chosen by Emilie Griffin to communicate the nature of our attachment to God. It describes an embrace that is "completely and unreservedly mutual," an intimacy in whose dependency we are given freedom from other dependencies. Prayer is the form and demonstration of this clinging relationship with God. This is not intended to be a book on how-to-pray. Method and technique may be useful, but we should not become too much preoccupied with them nor assume that right practice will assure success. Our way of praying can be our own invention: we can please ourselves in prayer. Nor is this an account of the author’s own life of prayer, although sheacknowledges that she is "speaking throughout for all the unprayerful persons I have been." Her purpose, rather, is to draw a sketch of prayer that is "Elusive and vivid, exotic and familiar," like a drawing of the facets of a gem. These are presented under the captions of Beginning, Yielding, Darkness, Transparency, Hoops of Steel, Fear of Heights, and Clinging. These are not to be taken as a series of steps in prayer. A sequence as a scheme for moving upward in prayer, the author believes, is a "notion we ought to let go of." In any event, the rhythm of prayer is God’s, not ours. Yet the reader may perceive something of a thrust forward, as one chapter follows another. The first two chapters respond to the premise that it is God who is asking us to pray: the first with our resistances, the second with our yielding to that initiative. Similarly, the third and fourth chapters might be paired: the third, Darkness, describes the experience of nothing happening when we pray---"a completely vacuous and even boring nothing," though not the traditional ~Dark Night." We emerge from darkness into Transparency with increasing clarity of sight and insight, a sense of being able to enter into things and into experiences more deeply. From the base points marked out by these four chapters, the concluding three chapters rise on a curve of an ever steeper emotional gradient. Hoops of Steel has to do with the interrelation of~the love of God and the love of another, or of other persons. Rather than being opposed, the two loves release and reenforce each other, to the point of becoming almost inseparable. In the sixth chapter, Fear of Heights, the path of prayer leads to new demands asking us to abandon everything except our commitment to God’s will for us, even to the acceptance of death. And the ascent is climaxed in the final chapter with a reprise of the metaphor, Clinging, in which "this barnacle dependency is the very clinging of which I set out to tell." Throughout the book, there is a poised" alternation between an ordinary, everyday manner of speaking, and an ecstatic, almost lyrical emotional tone. Citing the advice given Emily Gibbs, now dead in Wilder’s play, Our Town, that she should choose a day for revisiting the scenes of her life when "nothing in particular is going on," the author recommends that the beginner in prayer have, at the outset, an uneventful experience of prayer. On the other hand, the beginner is capable of, and entitled to, the experience of ecstacy. Ecstacy should not be "ruled out for ordinary people like ourselves." It may be called "[he ecstacy of the everyday, a union that continues while everything else is also happening," but in clinging it may become "the ecstacy that the saints have told about." Two words, which orbit around each other like binary stars, sound as keynotes throughout the book: Passion and Intensity. Passion reaches its fullest exposition in the chapter on friendship in prayer. Its erotic nature is acknowledged; but passion becomes Reviews / 795 transformed into tenderness, and "the eros we experience can be lived out in faithfulness to God.~ The peace that ensures from prayer will be "not so much tranquillity as intensity," a sentence which defines the emotional tone of the whole book. The reader may feel, on a first reading, that this book has little to say on points of importance in classical spirituality. But rereading can reveal that what is offered here are great fundamentals of the life of prayer presented in fresh language, in new syntax and imagery, and with an authenticity wrought out of a deeply yielded and transfiguring personal experience. This is a book, therefore, both for the beginner and the experienced; and especially for any who are mature persons but now wish to bring into that maturity a deep and gratifying experience of prayer. When Baron von Hugel sent a copy of his book, Eternal Life, to his niece, he wrote her, "I write the thing praying; read it as written." An accounting and a counsel fully appropriate to this moving and beautifully written book.--John L. Casteek 5601 Bethel Pike; Muncie, IN 47302.

Aquinas, Calvin and Contemporary Protestant Thought: A Critique of Protes- tant Views on the Thought of Thomas Aquinas. By Arvin [/oss. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1985. Pp. 175. Paper. $13.95. On the landscape of the second millennium of the Christian era, two theologians stand out like towers of confrontation: Thomas Aquinas of the thirteenth century, official theologian of the Roman Catholic Church and Jean Calvin of the sixteenth century, ultimate systematician of the Reformation. Since each of them produced extraordinary systematized theological works, it is no surprise that adherents to their respective theological traditions should look to each of them as the teacher par-excellence. Aquinas, of course, could have had no knowledge of the writings of Calvin, while Calvin, according to Professor Voss, had no real familiarity With the writings of Aquinas, because his writings had not yet risen to the prominence they would later enjoy. Hence, those following in the footsteps of each, without studying the works of the other, would naturally continue any misunderstandings that resulted from this historical state of affairs. In this book, Arvin Voss, professor of philosophy at Western Kentucky University, Bowling Green, and a specialist in medieval philosophy, attempts to bridge the gaps created by such misunderstanding. In doing so, he has provided a major contribution to ecumenism. However, since the book is apparently written primarily for a Protes- tant audience, its emphasis is on what he perceives to be Protestant misunderstandings of Aquinas, and makes no mention of Catholic misunderstanding of Calvin. This does not make the work less important for Catholic readers, however, since his presentation of Aquinas’ positions will undoubtedly enlighten all. .Focusing on Aquinas’ and Calvin’s concepts of the critical theological issues of the relation between reason and faith, on the one hand, and nature and grace on the other, Professor Voss claims that he finds no substantive difference in their positions. Rather, he maintains that the apparent differences are the result of differing terminology. Especially valuable is the author’s presentation of Aquinas’s position in these areas: a presentation that is succinct and accurate. He begins the work with a summary of "The Prevailing Protestant Perception of Aquinas’ Thought" and from this point the reader begins to understand some of the "/96 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986 basic misunderstandings which have created the unfortunate divisions between Roman Catholics and those of Reformed Protestant Traditions. Indeed, part of the fascination of the book lies in its revelations: not only revelations about what Protestants think Aquinas said but also revelations about how easy it is for the non-Aquinas scholar of any denomination, including Roman Catholic, to misunderstand Thomas’ positions. The fundamental factor in this misconception, he says, is a failure to attend to the historical differences between Thomas’ milieu and those of later ages. A reading of the Table of Contents might be misleading, since the titles of the cl~apters sound somewhat forbidding: "Faith as Knowledge, Faith as Belief: Calvin vs. Aquinas," "Implicit Faith and the Distinction between Formed and Unformed Faith," and so forth. However, Voss states in the Preface that the work is not meant to be a scholarly exposition of Aquinas (or Calvin, either), and he is true to that disclaimer. Obviously, one cannot delve into Calvin and Aquinas on faith and reason or nature and grace and avoid all deep thinking, but Voss does about as good a job as can be done in keeping such material on a fairly easily readable plane. The book reads well and in some parts has an exciting quality to it. This book is must reading for anyone seriously interested in ecumenical dialogue between Roman Catholics and other Christian denominations. In addition, it is a book that can profitably be read by anyone interested in fundamental questions about the nature of faith and reason, grace and nature as bases for understanding spiritual life and growth.--Benjamin J. Russell, O.P.; Aquinas Institute of Theology; 3642 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, Missouri 63108. Peter’s Kingdom: Inside the Papal City. By Jerrold M. Packard. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1985. Pp. 281. Cloth. $17.95. A carefully guided tour takes the reader of Peter’s Kingdom through almost two thousand years of the world’s oldest and most private institution, the Vatican. The research involved in this book, the scope and profusion of information Jerrold Packard presents in these pages is astounding. He has offered us an altogether exciting book in which he ranges from an interesting presentation of the geographical outline of the Vatican, to a visit to the tomb of St. Peter two stories beneath the basilica bearing his name, to a profile of John Paul 11 that provides an account of his background, leads to his election to the papacy and ends with the description of a full day of his activities. Then we are introduced to the Princes of the Church--the College of Cardi- nals-and given a fascinating account of the Curia, with its intricate departments. We are given a glimpse of the Vatican at work and are present at some of the splendid solemnities that take place there on occasion. We learn more about the patrimony of Peter--which includes the finances of the Vatican and are provided with a sensitive handling of some of the current problems and how they are being met. We listen to the story of how saints are made--the canonization process. And finally we end our tour with a fantastic account of the pontifical treasures--the art in the Vatican museums. Packard offers us four itineraries for visiting these museums with their almost forty thousand square yards of exhibits, extending almost four and a half miles. A final section has an informative chronology of each of the two-hundred sixty-two official popes (two-hundred sixty-four pontificates), a compilation both instructive and thought-provoking. The author hopes that these brief profiles will help the reader better understand not only the Vatican but also how it became the popes’ kingdom. Many outstanding facts concern the early pontiffs who died martyrs to the Church-- Reviews / 797 the twenty-sixth pope was the first to die a natural death. The headless body of one lay in the street for twenty-six days before being buried by a priest. Historian Packard reveals the development, power structure and inner-workings of the Vatican in this comprehensive, thoroughly researched work. Anecdote enlivens his subject; architectural detail and maps are included. Peter’s Kingdom reveals this most private and ancient institution. This book is highly recommended for anyone who has been a visitor to Rome, helping to refresh memories and be further informed. It is also recommended to the reader who would be inspired to make a pilgrimage to the Holy City. Current in its data while being in close touch with antiquity, this publication is meant to be read now and passed along to others, not mingled with research books on the library shelf. The student of Vatican history would find this a gem.--Jean Read, 5307 Pernod Avenue; St. Louis, Missouri 63139.

CASSETTE REVIEWS

Religious Life in the United States: A Fruitful Renewal in Christ’s Love. By Howard Gray, S.J. Canfield, Ohio: Alba House Cassettes, 1986. 2 cassettes. $16.95. In Archbishop John Quinn’s report to the bishops, November 13, 1984, on the progress of the dialogue between the bishops and religious, he singled out five points which were the object of greatest importance. Fr. Gray’s presentation on the vision which religious life holds for the future takes up each of those areas. The following resum~ because of limitations of space has to be brief. I hope, however, that it is faithful to his thought. 1. Community life. The model for community life is developmental, showing itself in growth in maturity in human relationships. Promotion of such maturity comes mainly from charity, reconciliation, adult responsibility. 2. Religious obedience. This is a call to be contemplative, affectively involved, practical, community orientated. It is the call to "own" one’s experience so that it becomes normative for the Church. 3. Structures of authority. Religious authority is the proved ability to lead a community to Christian discipleship. Obedience is the release of gifts for the common good. External structures should allow for consultation, collaboration, codeter- ruination. 4. Public witness and religious identity. These are shown mainly through mission and lifestyle, living out the call to holiness, within a healthy pluralism. 5. Consecration and mission. The vows are basically statements about life. Chastity is the profession of a love that can be trusted. Poverty is service that cannot be defined either by avarice or manipulation. Obedience is a search for God’s judgment on human choices. Law is reverence for a promise that is made. 798 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

Conclusion, We have to take our experience which is no longer experiment and in an organized way allow it to help the Church and mankind. I do not relish the next step. I feel 1 have to take issue on fundamental points with a fellow-Jesuit whom I admire and respect. There are two main sources of my malaise with Fr. Gray’s talks. The first comes from the way that he evaluates the dialogue of bishops and religious initiated through Pope John Paul ll’s letter of A~ril, 1983. He describes it as a process by which religious came to "own" their experience. I take this to mean that it was both genuine as religious experience, and unique as American. This being so, their mission was to "teach" the Church through this experience. I find this attitude simplistic. There is hardly anyone who would deny the ambiguity in religious life today. The basic problem of discernment is what to" "own," and what to reject. The second problem comes from the way that psychological categories have preempted the "otherness" of genuine Christian experience in his description. The subject perceiving has a priority over the reality perceived in all of his descriptions. Each of the five topics he takes up are described in terms of what they do for the person. In particular, those realities which in someway might be understood as being set over and against the person are transposed into categories which are nonthreatening; for example, law, obedience, authority, s(ructures are seen from the way they "free" and "vivify." But not the wildest stretch of language can ever turn the Paschal Mystery, especially as the kenosis, the emptying of Christ, into a psychological category. I find his description of the meaning of the vows particularly weak and strained. If there is any time when we have to take our eyes off ourselves, and fix them on Christ, it is in invitation to enter into his kenosis in the Paschal Mystery in response to the invitation, "Come follow me." 1 would see onb of the best uses of these tapes as serving as a learning process, especially for those in formation. 1 feel that surreptitiously the psychological mentality has preempted for many the distinctive religious category of our faith. It would be instructive to compare and contrast, then, two very different views of religious life. Perhaps no greater contrast can be found than in Pope John Paul ll’s Apostolic Exhorta- tion, Redemptionis Donum (The Gift of Redemption), March 25, 1984, on the nature of religious life. While respecting the psychological and sociological dimensions of our lives, his ~teaching is pervaded with the sense of the overarching reality of the Paschal Mystery that has brought into being the New Creation.--John R. Sheets, S.J.; Creighton University; 2500 California Street; Omaha, Nebraska 68178.

The Catechist as Catalyst. By Michael Cavanagh. Notre Dame, Indiana: Ave Maria Press, 1986. One cassette. $5.95. Just how a catechist and/or Catholic school teacher can be an ambassador of the Lord to.students is the subject of this cassette tape by Michael Cavanagh, clinical psychologist, university professor, public speaker and author. The tape is an explanation of the manner by which teachers can be agents of change. They take a substance from God, incorporate it into themselves, and then share that "God-and-themselves" combination with the students. They are never consumed in the encounter; they~are always ready for meeting with, being with, more students. The question of the difference a catalyst can make in the life of the student is considered from a number of points of view. The time a teacher spends with students is important. Cavanagh points out the fact that the Catholic elementary student spends Reviews / 799 eight thousand hours with teachers in eight years, a significant contrast to one hundred fifty hours with a psychologist over a three year period of therapy. The strength of the teacher’s influence is also discussed. Cavanagh gives practical suggestions for enriching the quality of life of teachers so that they and their students will grow personally, grow in their relationships with others and grow in their understanding and love of God. This tape almost dares the catechist to be or become an intense substance which when dropped into the life of the student can color it--influence it--even into eternity.--Rosemary Muckerman, S.S.N.D.; 325 E. Ripa Avenue; St.Louis, Missouri 63125.

BOOKS RECEIVED ABINGDON PREss: Systematic Theology: Ethics, by James Win. McClendon, Jr., pp. 384, cloth, no price. AMITY HOUSE: Perennial Wisdom, by Elda Hartley, pp. 72, paper, $6.95. Open Mind, Open Heart: The Contemplative Dimension of the Gospel, by Thomas Keating, pp. 136, paper, $8.95. Let There Be Peace on Earth and Let it Begin With Me, by Jill Jackson Miller, pp. 115, paper, no price. BALLANTINE BOOKS: Making the Best of it: How to Cope wilh Being Handicapped, by Gillian K. Holzhauser, pp. xv + 175, cloth, $10.95. BEAUCHESNE: Zola Et Le Pr~tre, by Pierre Ouvrard, pp. 218, paper, no price. Liturgie Foi Et Vie Des Premiers Chr~tiens, by Willy Rordorf, pp. 520, paper, no price. BRETHREN PRESS: Biblical Pacifism: A-Peace Church Perspective, by Dale W. Brown, . pp. xv ÷ 203, paper, no price. The Mystery of Peace, by Arthur C. Cochrane, pp. xx + 204, paper, no price. CARMELITE BOOK SERVICE: Saint from the Salt Mines, by Monk Matthew, pp. 176, paper, no price. CHRISTENDOM COLLEGE PRESS; Call of Heaven: Ft. Gino--Stigmatist, by Rev. Robert J. Fox, pp. 232, paper, no price. CISTERCIAN PRESS: The Legacy of Thomas Merton, edited by Bro. Patrick Hart, pp. 241, cloth, no price. COWLEY: in Search of Self: Life, Death and Walker Percy, by Jerome Taylor, pp. 174, paper, $7.95. CROSSROAD: The Catholic Experience, by Lawrence S. Cunningham, pp. 270, cloth, $16.95. Treasury of Irish Religious Verse, edited by Patrick Murray, pp. 295, cloth, $17.50. WILLIAM B. EERDMANS: Mother Teresa: The Early Years, by David Porter, pp. xii + 100, paper, $5.95. FORTRESS PRESS: Her Story: Women in Christian Tradilion, by Barbara J. MacHaffie, pp. 183, paper, no price. Christ in Sacred Speech: The Meaning of Liturgical Language, by Gail Ramshaw- Schmidt, pp. xi + 131, paper, no price. 800 / Review for Religious, September-October, 1986

THE FRANCISCAN HERALD PRESS: The Pastoral Companion: A Canon Law Handbook for Catholic Ministry, by John M. Huels, O.S.M., J.C.D., pp. xi + 355, paper, $15; cloth, $25. FRANCISCAN MARVTOWN PRESS: Elizabeth Ann Seton: A Self-Portrait (1774-1821), by Sister Marie. Celeste, S.C., pp. xxi + 305, paper, no price. IGNATIUS PRESS: Principles of Christian Morality, translated by Graham Harrison, pp. 104, paper, $6.95. On Hope, by Josef Pieper, pp. 99, paper, $6.95. Faith in Christ and Worship of Christ: New Approaches to the Devotion of Christ, edited by Leo Scheffczyk, pp. 216, paper, $9.95. JOHN KNOX PRESS: God and Science: The Death and Rebirth of Theism, by Charles P. Henderson, Jr., pp. 186, paper, $10.95. LIGUOR~; Harry, My Friend, by Stephen Grosso, pp. 79, paper, $2.95. MULTNOMAH PRESS: Toward a Perfect Love, by Walter Hilton, translated and introduction by Dr. David L. Jeffrey, pp. xxix + 182, paper, no price. NEW CITY PRESS: Stars and Tears: A Conversation with Chiara Lubich, by Michel Pochet, pp. 153, paper, $5.25. PAULIST PRESS: Women’s Spirituality: Resources for Christian Development, edited by Joann Wolski Conn, pp. viii + 327, paper, $11.95. Beyond Anger: On Being a Feminist in the Church, by Carolyn Osiek, R.S.C.J., pp. vii + 93, paper, $4.95. New Wineskins: Re-imagining Religious Life Today, by Sandra M. Schneiders, I.H.M., pp. 309, paper, $10.95. Women and the Word, by Sandra M. Schneiders, I.H.M., pp. 81, paper, $2.95. Angelus Silesius: The Cberubinic Wanderer, translated with foreword by Maria Shrady, pp. xxii + 145, paper, $8.95. Ordina.ry People as Monks and Mystics: Lifestyles for Self-discovery, by Marsha Sinetar, pp. vii + 183, paper, $7.95. PILGRIM PRESS: Mourning After Suicide, by Lois A. Bloom, pp. 24, paper, $1.25. OUR SUNDAY VISITOR: St. Paul: The Apostle and His Letters, by Norman Madsen, pp. 198, paper, $6.95. Catholic Home Devotions, compiled by Rev. James Seculoff, pp. 160, paper, $5.50. ST. BErnE’S PUaLICATIONS: The Truth of Christmas Beyond the Myths: The Gospels of the Infancy of Christ, by Father Ren~ Laurentin, translated by Msgr. Michael J. Wrenn and Associates, pp. xx + 569, paper, $29.95. ST. MARY’S PRESS: Psalms A New, by Nancy Schreck, O.S.F., and Maureen Leach, O.S.F., pp. 200, paper, $6.95. STATE UNIVERSITY OF NEW YORK PRESS: Powers of Imagining: Ignatius of Loyola, by Antonio de Nicolas, pp. xxv + 390, paper, $19.95; cloth, $39.50. THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS: Erasmus and the Jews, by Shimon Markish, translated by Anthony OIcott, pp. viii + 203, cloth, $25. INFORMATION FOR SUBSCRIBERS

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