Meaning and the ordinary.

I guess where all this has led me, is to ponder whether one can 'believe in' the power of the ordinary if it isn't possible to perceive that life and, therefore the ordinary, has meaning.

It is hard for me to put myself in the shoes of someone for whom the journey of life has no particular meaning so I can only guess. But how do people manage if each day is just another day and life has no particular purpose except to live from one day to the next. Why, under those circumstances, is it worth being good or moral or law-abiding or being faithful to anything? And yet, I see all around me, people who live good lives at great personal cost and who sometimes suffer great hardship or pain and who are full of courage and don't despair, or  don't stop being good. My only thought is that for such people (and I think that by far the majority of people try to do that) life does have meaning but it is just not articulated in terms that are religious. It is here, perhaps, that many people would speak about the spiritual, but not the religious, meaning of their lives.

I am rambling here but I know that for myself, I see the meaning of my life in terms of my faith in a loving God. My faith leads me to see that it is God in all of life, in all the good. But I find it hard to know how to overcome the hostility and/or the often justified, skepticism of the 21st century and speak in religious terms. Again, at least for me, I want to share the Beauty I have seen that I would not have seen without a community of faith to show me and I don't know how to do that.

I see that maybe that is part of the struggle of the journey. How do we share with one another that which is most important to us without arguing or persuading or shouting or insulting or any of the feelings we tend to get into because we think in terms like: I am right and 'they' are wrong. Something to ponder further I reckon.

 

More About the Ordinary.

I think that what I discovered in the monastery about the essence of what we call the  'ordinary' is that I see in everyday life for each and every one of us, a power which makes a difference to our world: for good or for ill.

I find myself kind of appalled by the whole issue of 'celebrity' because it seems to me to be a way of avoiding the ordinary and therefore, ending up being unhappy with our own lives. I feel most sadness for the many young men and women who feel as if they have no identity worth anything unless they can look or dress like a celebrity. It seems such an awful rejection of ones own beauty of being.

But maybe we aren't good at valuing one another? and letting others know how beautiful they are? (in the deepest sense, I mean).

When you look at most celebrities in reality, they tend to be people whose lives are valued because of how they look or how they make their living and not much because they are good or honorable people. I guess it is the superficiality of it all that troubles me.

So, why do I think the ordinary is better? In large part it is because that is where most of us live most of the time and therefore, that is where we are going to find ourselves; our identity and the meaning of our lives. It is in fact, in my opinion, the most profound place that any of us can be if only we keep our eyes on what and who meet each day. That for me, is a real road to transformation. I'm working on it!

A question: do you ever think about what gives your life meaning?

The Journey and the ordinary

When I first entered the monastery we were given classes on many topics, most especially: theology, the history of monasticism, spirituality, and scripture. I hadn't thought much about what made this life 'work'. I knew it was what I wanted, I knew that for me prayer mattered and I believed I could grow and thrive in our communal search to serve God. 

One of the first things that was talked about was the very ordinariness of the life. It was described in terms of  the day-after-day sense and indeed reality, of apparent sameness. It was a highly structured life repeated day after day; very ordered and yet... I found I was never bored, the days were never long and empty. The day-long silence at first very difficult became healing.  I can only describe each day as an odd sort of adventure in which each of us was  seeking to serve our God in one particular way out of the  thousands of possibilities in our world.

One of the most important parts of this 'ordinary' routine life was, to my mind, the 24/7 daily living together with a group of women many of whom I might not have chosen to live with. I have never in my life experienced such a real and committed effort on the part of a group of people to live in loving care for one another. Because of the continual daily close proximity there was no escape from the normal (or otherwise) human differences and conflicts that happen to everyone: no TV to turn to, no pub to drown in, no shopping spree to distract with. So, however fraught some relationships might have been, however contrary the personalities, however different, even, the ideas each had of her faith and her vocation, each really tried to be-friend and love the other. When there was failure to do so, efforts were almost always made to find a way to reconciliation. It might take days, weeks to find a way through, it might take a third party to help but everyone tried. It seemed to me that no one just let another fall by the wayside.  To the best of my knowledge, there were no real enemies. You might not be best friends but you were sisters in a community seeking to be a tiny spark of loving light in an often dark world. This, it seemed to me, is what makes the ordinary everywhere, 'work': the daily lighting of a tiny spark of love in whatever it is we do.  More about this another day.

The journey and time: where did it go?!

When I first arrived in Toronto in 1963 I saw it as the beginning of my life as an adult. I was 25ish, full of energy and hope and excitement. Everything was ahead; everything was possible. I was part of the generation of the future and it was the 60's. Life in the city, life in culture, in relationships, in what you could do and how you could dress was being transformed. And I was part of it! It was exciting and it felt like the beginning of the journey of my life. All that had gone before was just preparation for this moment. 

When I arrived back in Toronto in 2008 after 30 years in a monastery, living a life of silence and profound listening and contemplation it was a bit like dropping into the old/new life from Mars. All was both different and the same. But just one of the things that struck me most was to see around me the new 20's generation, the people I was part of just a blink ago. They seem to be doing, and perhaps feeling, pretty much as we did- life is ahead, all is possible, we will be different, we are invulnerable. Has every generation experienced this?

The point of all this as I see it from my new vantage point is that I have become so much more aware of Time. Whatever Time is. Because what I know and experience is that I am old now and will soon die; my nieces and nephews who were the 'young beginners' when I left are now middle-aged, and even they face a new youth. Time is doing its thing. And the only way I can describe this experience of Time is by using the word inexorable.  

So I find myself wondering: how often do I,  do we, actually examine our journey? Do we actually ever take hold of the journey which is our life or do we just let things roll on and happen to us? It seems to me that the answers make a huge difference to how we will feel about our lives at the end - and there is, indeed, an end.

A Thought for today

A question keeps returning to my thoughts of late. In part I think it arose because of all the turmoil around us: in the United States, in Europe, the middle east and indeed, almost everywhere . My question needs an answer: Do we need to have enemies? Do we need to dislike or even hate, those who think differently or those who look differently or those who are, in some way, not like us? Must there always be and 'us' and a 'them'? Is it not possible to be able to say: I don't agree with you but let's get to know one another and explore all the other riches there are in each? How boring our world would be if we all looked, or thought, or spoke or worshiped the same way.

The New beginning after the life of the Monastery

After almost 30 years of living as a Roman Catholic, enclosed, contemplative Carmelite nun in the United Kingdom, I returned 2 ½ years ago at the age of 71 to ‘the world’. After a long period of discernment our small monastery in rural England had closed. I had been the Prioress of the community throughout the process and I was exhausted, drained - so though I should have gone immediately to another community of the same Order, I asked for time to rest and to ponder my future. For some reason which I could not then articulate, I was not ready simply to move to another monastery. I needed some emotional and even physical distance, so I returned for this time to my home country of Canada where I had friends and family and a place to stay.

For a few months I found myself to be too tired to do more than just survive. I slept, I walked by the lake, I visited with friends. I was certainly not able to examine my questions in any kind of depth. I know, however, that they were just below the surface, rising to almost-consciousness especially in the early morning and late evening hours when one's mind seems to hover between two worlds. Right from the beginning though, I realized that what I was facing was the possibility that I could not or would not go back to my religious life. And yet, this seemed like such an impossible choice to make.

The questions were serious: why would I make such a huge change at such an advanced and vulnerable age? How was I going to assess what precisely had changed so much that I was now asking whether I could any longer live a vocation I believed for years that I had been called to ? Was I doing the 'right' thing? Was there a 'right' thing? I had made solemn vows to remain a nun for my whole life; wouldn't it be a bit like breaking up a marriage by seeking a divorce? Was I betraying God? Was I betraying my sisters who remained deeply committed to this way of life and to whom I was committed in community?

In time I was able to begin to articulate and understand what it was that I was facing. The essence of my dilemma had nothing to do with how I felt about my vocation and everything to do with how I was feeling about my church. What then had I experienced in those 30 years that had begun to make it seem impossible to return to my monastic life?

I had been born into the United Church of Canada, a large, moderate Protestant denomination, and had remained a fairly faithful member of that church until in my thirties I became attracted to the excitement and renewal that was happening to the Roman Catholic church as a result of Vatican Council II. I had always had a drawing to the richness of the Catholic church and to its structure – which I needed. I chose to become a Catholic at the end of the '60's and found myself in a life-giving and spiritually alive revival. Anything seemed possible and there was, in my circles at least, a ferment of social justice activities and spiritual enrichment. I was particularly caught by the tremendous power of the retreats given by Jean Vanier, the founder of l'Arche. L'Arche is a movement which is built upon small communities of men and women, some of whom are mentally disabled, who lived together as a witness to the amazing gifts and value of every human person. Jean spoke of Jesus and his love for each of us in a way that I had never heard before and I was profoundly touched.

In 1972 I went with a friend to India to visit Mother Teresa and several of the l'Arche communities there. That trip changed my life and helped to lead me to give up my work and in 1973 to go to live at Daybreak, the first Canadian l'Arche community just north of Toronto. After a year there I was offered the chance to open a new community in Burnaby, British Columbia and remained there until I entered Carmel. All during that time we were experiencing what I now see as the best of Vatican II.

In 1979 I left my l'Arche community in Vancouver and went to England to begin life as an enclosed, contemplative sister having been drawn slowly and quietly by the desire to live a simpler, more contemplative life; somehow to dive more deeply into the heart of the world and stay there praying and growing, I hoped, in love. As I was moving in that direction however, though I didn't see it for some years, my church was slowly taking back the gains of Vatican II and retrenching, becoming a church I had never experienced. So I see now that as I grew in one direction, my church was turning in another. I found myself wanting to become more vocal in my unhappiness but I was living in a community that I loved and in a vocation that I loved and I did not wish to speak too much or too loudly. Because it was a community that knew me so well, I felt no desire or need to leave. I know even now that, had our monastery not closed I would not have left. It was being faced with the reality of closure and the need to choose another community that confronted me with my questions in a new and much more challenging way.

The closure of communities is, sadly, not all that uncommon these days, because there are few new vocations and the sisters who are already there, are aging. This is true in almost all of the European and North American communities. There are some that are thriving but they are very much the exception.

Once back in Canada where it seemed more possible to weigh the options before me I began to see that if I returned to my new monastery I could, in my deep unhappiness with a church I had once chosen and loved, become an unhappy influence. For the 8 years before our monastery's closure, I had been on the Council of British Carmels and I knew and had visited almost every monastery in the U.K. I could not see any community, however loving, that would be able to live with my questions and, sometimes, with my anger. I was feeling too strongly and I knew I did not want to be silent. What I was feeling seemed like a systemic betrayal of the Gospel message of Jesus and of the 'fresh air' of Vatican II by the institutional church . In my view, that betrayal could deprive us all of much of the compassion, love and simplicity that I believed were God's desire for us. Over the years of pondering and praying, I had myself, experienced the loving gospel message of Jesus, I knew something of what a gift it is.

I know it is not enough just to be negative about something . So I also did my best to ponder what it was that I wanted from my church. I could picture at the very simplest level of what I want, some kind of sign of at least a will to struggle to be an inclusive, compassionate, listening church, free to keep growing according to the mind of Christ that we see in the gospels and in so many ways at Vatican II. Something more life-giving than condemnation and fear is needed. This more open spirit would I believe, make any church the healing and loving presence of Christ in our world.

I know that any institution will have the tendency over time to grow rigid and fearful. The fear, it seems, produces a tendency towards control and a use of power which can be inimical to life. I know that we humans do continually struggle with our fears and our need for control, so I am not speaking about a church that is perfect. What I hope for however, is a church that tries to live the pattern of life and relationships to others that Jesus lived. I believe too that the vital gift that Jesus gives us to do this is the power of the Spirit which helps us to be him, to be his very presence in our world. We can try to be people who listen, who are free, who respect the questions and concerns of the men and women we meet and who change as we listen. Jesus' life, his choice of friendship rather than power provides, it seems to me, a life-giving model for our lives and the life of the church. This is what I am not able to see at the moment, in the institutional Roman Catholic church.

It may seem naive to be expecting this large, complex and centuries old institution to be so simple. After all through those centuries many wise and well educated men

(no women so far as I know) have articulated doctrines and dogmas and liturgical rubrics which they believed to be in accord with Jesus' intentions . In the early church men met in councils and defined beliefs in the face of perceived heresies and challenges. Somehow these councils and the men who became known as the 'Fathers of the church' became the defining voices in the evolution of our faith. Since then, it seems that those definitions and understandings have become in some sense, carved in stone. In my experience, new insights, changing cultural patterns and growth in human knowledge of our world have not been allowed in any serious way to influence what or how we are asked to believe and live in this 21^st century.

There are needless to say, many wonderful, wise and good men and women in the church. These include scholars, pastors, spiritual leaders and guides and men and women living out their ordinary daily lives who struggle to be heard through the wall of fear that is currently in place at the institutional level. These men and women struggle still to nourish and empower the people of God and to keep the Gospel alive. But these days, such good people are not offered much room to speak, either spiritually or intellectually and are far too often silenced or criticized.

There are many examples of the specific kinds of things I find to be distressing. Several of the more egregious ones include: the refusal of the hierarchy to discuss the ordination of women to the priesthood, the activity (or lack of it) of the Bishops with regard to the sexual abuse scandals, the absolute rigidity of understanding the definition of what is a life especially as it relates to abortion and the refusal to recognize the God-given nature and humanity of various sexual orientations. Perhaps I find most distressing the seemingly deeply rooted and ugly misogyny that is at the heart of the male - dominated church. To have an institution which is perhaps more than one - half female totally governed by male celibates must surely be among the most offensive scandals in the history of Christianity. There seems no room to see Jesus' total respect for and inclusion of, women in his active ministry.

I know that people are criticizing or even leaving, the other Christian denominations as well and that reflects trends in our society which we don't yet perhaps understand. Maybe we need to think less about institutions and more about practical love; less about rules and wrath and control and more about inclusive compassion. I don't know; I can only sense from my own experience; but I do know that it is worth going on looking for the way, the truth and the life which we are called to proclaim.

These then, are some of the issues that I feel so strongly about. I understand that many people do not feel at all as I do, or if they do, they see another way forward for themselves. For myself, insofar as I have light to see, I must move on as I can and hope and pray that the path I follow and the life I live will be one that brings life.

By the time that I had been 'out' for 6 or 7 months, I knew what my decision must be. A few months later after further prayer and pondering and discussion with my superior in England, I asked to be dispensed from my vows. That was a terrible decision to make and yet I knew it had to be. I was now to be on my own in a sense, no longer a member of a loving and supportive community, beginning life again in my early 70's. An adventure certainly, but also a profound and unsettling upheaval.

Now my new life was to begin in earnest. I was moving from a highly structured life to a life where I could pretty much make any choice I wanted. Let me say a bit about that change.

In the Roman Catholic church the monastic life (it is called 'monastic' for both women and men contemplatives) is a centuries old tradition of prayer and contemplation; of study and work. The Discalced Carmelite Order to which I belonged was deeply committed to a life lived in silence and solitude, away from the busyness of 'the world' in order to focus entirely on prayer for the world and for the church. It is an amazingly well- balanced life for such an odd way of living: there is work, study, there is the life of a community of individuals in which one quickly learns the difficulties and wonders of Gospel love, living together all day every day. This is a highly structured life, geared to one specific purpose: prayer. For those who are truly called to this way of living it is life -giving and I believe, an important gift to our world. For those who are not called it probably makes little sense and would not be livable if it was tried.

And now, returning to the more chaotic practicalities of city living consumed much of my immediate attention and energy. At the fairly basic level of modern city living there were certain immediate things that needed to be faced. And had I not been mature when I went to England ( I was 42) with a good deal of independent living experience, it would have been extremely daunting. For instance, I no longer had a credit rating and yet modern life is built on credit so it was immediately clear that I would need to address that. I needed a credit card. Just about everything seems to get purchased with a credit card but how was I to do that without a credit rating? In the end my bank issued me a card but with the minimum spending level: just $500! I couldn't do them too much damage! My driver's license had of course, long since expired and somewhere between 1979 and 2008 the Motor Vehicle people had destroyed records from the 60's when I had received my first license. So, there was no record of my ever having had a license; a problem that was solved, finally, with the help of the computer – another skill to be honed in the new world! The usual things such as grocery shopping, negotiating the bus system and shopping for a whole new wardrobe were all on the list of things to be experienced again.

At another more difficult level, I had lived a life of great silence for 30 years and was now in the middle of a noisy, bustling city. How not to let that distress me? At least I had the privilege of a place of my own for the time being so that I could continue to have some solitude and time for prayer. But of course I was also called upon to socialize in ways I hadn't for many years and found the ordinary 'small talk' of conversation demanding. But one learns, one moves on. And altogether, these and many of the daily tasks we all take for granted kept me occupied and I was thankful for that.

And now, after 2 ½ years of my new life I am filled with gratitude for all that I have been given for this part of my journey. I have some volunteer work to do that helps me to be 'useful' and I have family and friends to share time with. I continue to take as much time as I can for prayer and spiritual reading. Finally, I also want to say, after all that I have written, that I would not for one moment, take back one second of my life over the thirty years I spent in the monastery. Those years have enriched me; they enabled me to be exposed intensively to the huge spiritual tradition of Christianity and have given me the wonderful gift of friendships that will, I trust, last always. I believe I am a better person for those years and I am grateful beyond words. If it then seems perverse or contradictory that I should leave a life that gave me so much, I can only say that I do not see any other way forward now. Life moves on, I am still a contemplative at heart and  I hope and pray that I will continue in that path for the rest of my life.