MONASTIC TOPICS IN GENERAL
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Identity with Christ Modeling
Our Lives on RB 72[1] Chapter 72 of the Rule
ends with this beautiful sentence : « Let them prefer
nothing whatever to Christ, and may he bring us all together to
everlasting life ». Those
are most probably the last words of the Rule written by Benedict,
since, as you know, chapter 73, which is the last chapter in the
present form of the Rule was written before, and concluded the
Rule, after chapter 66, Later
on Benedict added the chapters 67 to 72, (We will return to those chapters on Monday) I quote this short verse
of the Rule now, because it expresses the centeredness of Christ
in the life of the Benedictine brother or sister, and, at the
same time, it stresses the fact that preferring nothing to Christ
means following Him on a journey that will lead us to everlasting
life – and all together
(which seems to be the best translation of pariter) since we are cenobites. Therefore, when we speak
of our « identity with Christ », that identity should
not be understood in a static manner, simply in the sense of becoming
more and more « christ-like » by imitating Him in everything
we do. In should not be understood either simply because He is
the First born, and we are all called to partake in His divine
nature -- which, of course
is true and important. It should be understood first of all in
a dynamic way as following
him on his own journey, leading us to the goal where he is going. Christ is not Himself
our goal. He is the Way.
He is our guide on our journey to eternal Life, that is, to the
Father. Without wanting to be provocative I would dare
to say that sometimes Christ has taken too great a place in our
Christology. In the Gospel,
He is not Himself at the heart of his teaching.
The Father is ! Especially in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus does not teach
about himself; He does not proclaim himself. He proclaims the Reign of God and he speaks
about God. He speaks about his Father.
The core of Jesus’ teaching
is to be found in the parables ; and most of the parables
are about the Father. Jesus
wants to teach us what type of a father God is.
Of course, the great paradox – or rather the great irony
– is that we most of the time read the parables as if they spoke
about us (which is a manifestation of how self-centered we can
be). We read the parables
in order to find in them some moral teaching telling us how we
should act. The parable of the prodigal son, for example, is not,
in the first place about returning to God after our sins –
although that message in implied as a consequence; the parable is about God’s love and mercy towards
us. We could say the same thing of most of the other parables. In the New Testament Jesus
is always on a journey. The
first and most basic aspect of that journey is that He came from
the Father and returned to the Father. That paradigmatic journey
is described in a very majestic manner in the Christological hymn
of Philippians II : “Though He was in the form of God, he did
not regard (His) equality with God something to be grasped (something
to cling to). Rather, he
emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness...
He humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on
a cross”... That was the descending movement... Then comes the
ascending one : “Because of this (and those words are very important),
God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above
every name – that is the name by excellence, the name of Lord
or Yahweh – so that every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is
Lord...” Christ’s identity is inseparable from his mission. In Him
the identity and the mission are the one and same thing. That
Christological hymn of Philippians II, as well as Ephesians 1-2
give us a grandiose theological view of that Mystery.
Nevertheless Jesus, in his human psyche, only gradually
discovered his identity, and he faced great temptations at every
step of that discovery. Already at the age of 12, he “ran away” from his mother
and his father to attend his Father’s business;
but his Hour had not come.
He returned to The question of His identity was as important for Christ
as it is for any other human being. When he asks his disciples
: “Who do people say that I am? and, then, “who do you say that
I am – for you, who am I ?” – this was not a rhetorical question
used as a pedagogical means. It was an important question for him, a vital
one. At that time he already
knew that he was going to die soon.
From a human perspective his mission could be seen as a
failure. He wanted – and needed – to know whether he
would remain alive in the memory of his disciples and whether
they would be able to continue his mission ( = his identity).
Through the Incarnation, God did not simply became a man
in Jesus. He became human;
he assumed our humanity. In
Him it is the whole humankind that is returning to the Father.
So much so that he is our deepest own identity. He is the plenitude of the “self”. We become
ourselves in the proportion in which we assumed our own christ-identity
– that is in the proportion in which we bypass all our false identities
or our superficial identifications so as to reach the deepest
level of our being where our own being grows out of Being (with
a capital B). I mentioned, at the beginning, that Christ did not proclaim
himself; he proclaimed the Father.
At times, however, he did reveal some aspects of his own
identity; for example when he said :
“I am the Way, the Truth and the Life”, or again when he
said to Martha : “ I am the resurrection and the life”.
But it is only at the very end of his life that he said
once or twice : “I am” (without any qualification) – for example
when he said “Before Abraham, Isaac and Jacob existed I am” or,
most significantly, when, asked very explicitly by the Great Priest,
at the time of his Passion : “Are you the Messiah, the Son of
God”, he answered: “I am”. By
then, he was abandoned by all and was going to die.
Everything that was not his deepest identity of Son of
God had been taken away from Him.
That was His Journey. So,
every time, in the Gospel, he says to someone : “Come and follow
me”, he is calling him to follow Him on that Journey. This is very clear especially in the call to
the Young Rich Man. At
that time Jesus is walking towards Now, when we follow someone, we don’t see his face. We see him from behind. Like Moses who could
not see the Glory of God, if not from behind.
Those who are called to follow Christ are not simply called
to sit in front of him, admire his face and drink his words. When
we follow Christ, we see his shoulders, not his face (we don’t see him
face to face yet). The
shoulders we see are the shoulders that carried the lost sheep,
and also the shoulders that carried the Cross. This is also the meaning of our monastic journey, and especially
of our monastic conversion. First
of all, conversion means discovering our own true identity. In that sense, Jesus’ journey
can be considered the paradigm of true conversion (which is not
primarily a passage from sin to virtue but a passage trough various
phases of growth). The conversion demanded of his disciples
by Jesus is not simply a superficial modification of their moral
behavior. It implies much more than replacing a personal "ego"
by another one, more respectable or more in conformity to the
dictates or the expectations of society. It requires a global
and radical transformation touching all the dimensions of the
human being, "spirit, soul, and body," to use the categories
of Of course, such conversion must be, first of all, a conversion
of the heart, the source of everything that is either good or
bad in human existence. Ezekiel described in beautiful and poetic
terms the conversion that would be characteristic of the new Kingdom:
"I will give them, a new heart and put a new spirit within
them; I will remove the stony heart from their bodies, and replace
it with a heart of flesh" (Ez 11:19). The journey to conversion
is first of all an interior journey into the recesses of the heart,
towards the discovery of our true self, that is, the person we
are called to be by God, the unique image or word of God which
we are, the name he has given us. In that deepest part of ourselves, we may have to touch
places that were unknown to us, unfamiliar and haunting lands
where we are strangers. We may have to become nomads within our
own world. The first reality we will encounter there will be our
ego with all its limitations. When we venture to journey to our
own interior world we must be ready to be confronted with fear
and confusion, with temptation. There is such an experience of the desert at the beginning
of every great spiritual journey. After his baptism Jesus began
a new period of his life by a journey into solitude – as I mentioned
before. It was the experience of the prophet Elijah, going through
the awareness of his own poverty, his fears and his weakness,
in the desert before his encounter with the glory of God on That transforming journey may start with a very deep
or even shattering experience, like that of Jesus at the time
of his baptism, or that of Paul on the road to When the Desert Fathers described their struggles with
yawning beasts and slimy snakes and grimacing devils (or with
seductive women), they were simply describing the various aspects
of their own hearts that the experience of the desert had made
them discover. These are what Jung call our shadow self, the unacceptable
part of our personality with which we are now brought face to
face. Such an experience of our sinfulness is not a discovery
to be made only at the beginning of our novitiate! It can be the
sudden or lagging discovery, after many years of prayer and faithful
service of God, that strong and persistent doubts arise in our
hearts about God and our vocation; that intense passions flare,
that meaning and truths grow stale, that questions abound and
no answers appear. New kinds of darkness and sterility may then
touch us deeply. These are not the charming little darkness and
dryness of the first years, that reassured us because they somewhat
convinced us that we were progressing towards the higher stages
of spiritual life described by John of the Cross. We were a little
proud of that darkness and dryness. The new ones are terrible.
The love of God that once sustained us and motivated us seems
now elusive and illusory. When Jesus tried to describe the reality of conversion,
he used images that were not images of smooth and gradual transformation,
but images that reflected the two most traumatic events of human
life: birth and death. He knew, more than anyone else, that the
fullness of life cannot be reached without passing through the
river of death. To Nicodemus (Jn 3:5-6) he said: "I tell you most
solemnly, unless a man is born through water and the Spirit, he
cannot enter the If in the darkness of our night, wanting to understand
what is happening, we go to the Master for advice or solace, his
response will probably be as enigmatic to us as to the poor Nicodemus. Very often entrance into the monastic life is considered
as "the conversion" (or "the second one,"
following the first one of baptism). The rest of our life is supposed
to be a smooth, if not always easy, growth, development and faithful
perseverance. Our vow of "conversatio morum" is understood
as the commitment not to stop on our straight, smooth journey
to perfection. Likewise, we tend nowadays to privilege "instant
conversions," sudden transforming mystical experiences. The
danger is that such conversions can be simply changes of behavior,
the trading of an "ego" for another "ego." In any case, even the most extraordinary experience of
God is usually only the first step on a long journey toward conversion,
and it does not exempt a person from entering into the desert
of his or her own heart and wandering there, often for years,
like the people of All the riches, the painful riches, of such human experiences
of conversion can be lost when undue emphasis is placed on extraordinary
mystical experiences, on unrealistic charismatic enthusiasm, or
when ascetical practices substitute for the fullness of life to
which we are called. Asceticism is necessary and indispensable,
but it can also be a convenient excuse for escaping from the pain
of growth. It can be a convenient way to exempt ourselves from
the painful process of learning to care, to listen, to live, to
love - in other words, to come "gradually" to the fullness
of perfection. Paradoxically, to try to look outside of ourselves and
to attempt to live up to external ideals and expectations can
prevent the authentic conversion we are talking about. And I am
afraid that very often our monastic formation does just that.
Instead of leading people to a painful conversion, we invite them
to put on a nice new ego over their old one. When persons attempt
to find the ground of their identity solely in doing things and
living up to society's roles or community's expectations, they
unwittingly promote a false self. Ideals very good in themselves,
such as being a good novice, a good abbot, a good prioress, a
good teacher, or a good pastor, can become obstacles to a deeper
conversion. We are often too fearful to let go of our own creations
and to allow God to touch us and to give birth to our true self. If we courageously continue our journey through the desert
of our hearts, we will eventually reach somehow the ground of
our being, where it grows out of Being, where our own self is
one with the One who is the plenitude of the Self, so that we
can say with Paul: I do not live; He lives in me. Conversion leads
us to a renewed image of ourselves, of God and of our neighbors.
Or rather, it allows us to go beyond the images and to transcend
in that blessed simplicity, which is the ultimate end of monastic
life, all that keeps us away from ourselves, from God and from
our brothers. Monastic conversion therefore involves gradually renouncing
all our false identities or identifications by growing out of
them. Identification is the process of identifying to something or somebody
outside of us; identity is the essence of who we are.
A form of “imitation of Christ”, simply trying to do what we think he would
do in our situation, remains at the level of identification. We know how a child normally identifies with his father
or mother, how a teenager identifies with a sport star or a movie
star, or simply with an adult whom he admires – who could be a
teacher. Later on the young man will identify with what
he does and achieves or what he acquires and owns; the young woman
likewise or with her affective conquests.
But when someone really becomes an adult – which is not
simply a question of number of years – that person will discover
and realize her identity : who she is – or who he is – independently
of all the superficial egos and of all the images that she has
or other have of her. She is the person who has some talents and
does not have other talents; who has things and can lose them,
who has successes and failures, and who always remains the same
person through all the upheavals of life, while becoming more
and more herself, That process of becoming an adult and an autonomous person,
both humanly speaking and spiritually is very well expressed in
a number of parables of the Old Testament as well as of the New
Testament. In the Old Testament, we have the story of Job. Job has everything in which people normally
find their psychological, social and spiritual identity. He is
a good man, he has a good reputation in the people of God, he
has a wife and many children (seven sons and three daughters),
numerous possessions – fields, camels, sheep, oxen, and also male
and female servants to take care of all those possessions. He
has a good health and good friends. He loses all of this, including the understanding of his
wife and of his friends and his health.
Then he makes the wonderful discovery that, even after
losing everything, he is. He exists. He
is the same Job who had all those things and has lost them. The Job who now has nothing is the same person
who was a rich, powerful and influent man.
Having nothing to lose any more, he is free. Therefore, he can stand before God and speak
very strongly to God. Nobody
in the Bible speaks like that to God. This is not arrogance; it
is parrhesia – confidence and freedom – the
freedom of those who have nothing to lose.
At the end he will be able
not to recover what he has lost, but to acquire again similar
riches (what is lost is lost).
That will not change who he is.
He is free. In the New Testament, the same growth process is described
in one of Jesus’ parables : that of the prodigal son (better called
the parable of the prodigal Father).
We have there a family whose life seems to be happy and
without story. It is a well to do family, since there is a
fortune to divide among the children : there are fields, flocks
and servants. There is
evidently a mother and probably sisters (although they are not
mentioned), and at least a brother.
What the parable wants to show is the different attitude
of three of the characters. One of the sons has enough of that quiet family life, although
it seems to have been harmonious, easy and pleasant. He wants to live his own life. The life he shares with his father, his brother,
and the rest of the family does not fulfill him any longer. He needs personal achievement. He wants to be
somebody and enjoy life. He
wants to exist as an independent and isolated individual and not
as a member of a whole. (Something
we hear in our communities, at times). What does the father do?
He does not express any objection.
He has certainly done his own mistakes during his youth,
and he acknowledges his son’s right to make his own.
What is important to him is that his son have life. The conditions in which he will realize his
life are important but secondary.
The prodigal son then tastes all the pleasures of life. They are real pleasures, but at the superficial
level of existence. Gradually
he squanders everything he has and, as a matter of fact, he experience
the same losing of everything that Job did.
The only difference is that he inflicts it upon himself
while it was imposed on Job by the Tempter. Then, he comes to
himself – he has therefore reached his identity in that way –
He has found himself in his own way. There was someone who lived in the past with
his father, and who left his father, who had a fortune that he
has squandered, who has enjoyed the pleasures of life that he
cannot afford any more. This person is capable of conversion and of
returning to his Father. He
is free enough to return. He
does not fear to be disinherited, since he has already had his
inheritance and wasted it. He does not fear to be rejected as a son, since
he does not claim the right to be considered a son. He simply wants to be a servant (this word is
perhaps the most important of the parable),
And when the father sees him coming, he runs to him and
embraces him, because his son is alive.
The father does not see the ungrateful son, he does not
see the fugitive, he does not see the debauched person.
He sees his son who is alive
and he wants to celebrate life with his family and servants.
Not everyone is able to celebrate life, especially life
in others. The second son
is the most pathetic figure of that parable.
He is like the good Christian, or the good religious, always
faithful to all his obligations, but who has not understood the
meaning of life, and mostly has not understood anything about
love and mercy. He is unable to celebrate. In fact he has nothing to celebrate. When he returns from the fields and he hears
the music and the dance, he asks what is the meaning of that music
and those dances. That
poor man, with all his virtue and his faithful observance, has
not made the journey to maturity and adulthood that his brother
has made. Let us now return to the story of the Young rich man .
He asks Jesus what to do in order to have eternal life.
His goal is certainly good – eternal life.
He is very concerned about the “doing”. He asks what he
should do; and when Jesus quotes some of the commandments of the
Decalogue to him, he says that he has done all of that
since his youth. Then Jesus invites him to get rid of everything
and come and follow him. In
reality Jesus invites him to do voluntarily and freely exactly
the same letting go of everything that was imposed on Job by circumstances
and that the prodigal son imposed upon himself.
He is unable to do it.
He is not free. He has not achieved adulthood. This is the process that is described through the whole Rule
of Benedict and that finds its achievement, when it is lived in
a coenobitic community, in what Benedict describes in his chapter
72, about which we will speak more explicitly on Monday. We also find there an important teaching concerning spiritual
motherhood or fatherhood and formation. Formation consists in helping someone to acquire
very soon in his/her monastic life a clear personal identity,
that will be then gradually transformed or converted during the
rest of his/her life. When someone has acquired that identity,
he knows who he is before God, and does not depend on the appreciation
of people on the image others have of him, on the appreciation
of his superiors or of other members of the community. In order well to understand that chapter 72, in the light
of our identity with Christ, we have to consider another aspect
of Christ’s identity.
We want to identify with
Christ. It is certainly
a noble desire ! But
perhaps it would be more important to ask ourselves, « with
whom does Christ want to identify ». The answer is quite
obvious in Matthew 25. Christ identifies with the little ones,
the needy, the downtrodden. « I was sick, I was hungry, I was in jail,
I was persecuted... What you did to the little ones, you did it
to me. It is when we belong in one way or another,
to one of those categories, that we can be sure that Christ identifies
with us. Ephesians 1-2 must also
be read in that context. Identity with Christ is not something
static simply to admire and be grateful for.
It is something to achieve by following Christ in his Paschal
Mystery, Paul, who wrote this to the Ephesians, knew
very well what he was talking about, since this Christ’s identity
with the little ones was revealed to him on the road to Damascus :
« Lord, who are you ? » And the answer was « I
am the one whom you persecute ».
That revelation that Christ identified with the persecuted
ones changed Paul’s life – and quite radically.
Up to that time, Paul was a privileged person. He had studied
with the best masters, had a good standing in the Jewish people.
he had what seemed a clear identity. After he meeting with Jesus on the road to I would like to reflect
on yet another aspect of Jesus’ journey – from his Father and
to his Father. It is his
passage through hell. In one of the earliest Symbols of faith, it
is said that Christ, after his death, and before his resurrection,
went down to the abyss of hell.
The most common understanding, in the Latin tradition,
is that he went to visit all the just who were in the bosom of
Abraham and who were waiting for Jesus to come and bring them
to heaven with him. Many
of the early Eastern Fathers had a rather different interpretation. For them this going down to hell was a part
of Jesus’ emptying himself and assuming all the aspects of our
humanity. It was the most radical kenosis. In the popular understanding,
we can imagine that Christ had three days to fill or to occupy
after his death and before his resurrection.
So, he went down to visit and console those who had been
waiting for a long time to be introduced to heaven.
Then he rose from the dead – resurrection being understood
as coming back to the life here on earth.
He spent here another forty days in order to form his disciples
before going up to heaven definitively.
This, of course, is a form of caricature, but is not too
far from the popular understanding. This understanding takes the earth as point
of reference. After living
some 33 years on earth, Christ, after his death, went down to
hell, then came back to earth in a different form and hen left
earth for heaven. For the Greek Fathers, Christ, through his obedience
unto death, went to depth of evil – which what evil is -- as a
victim of that evil, and from there was risen by the Father to
the heights of heaven. Resurrection
is not a coming back to earth but a going straight to the Father
from the depths of suffering and humiliation. (Cf. Philippians
2). The apparitions after
the Resurrection are then something peripheral that happens really
in the disciples rather than in Christ, who is with the Father. The reason I mention this
is that it may be of some help to understand what Benedict means
when he speaks, at the beginning of RB 72 of the two forms of
zeal, the one that leads to hell and the one that leads to eternal
life. That will be my next talk. [1] This is the first of two talks
given at the Conference
of Benedictine Abbots and Prioresses at the Mercy Center, [2] In the next few paragraphs
I repeat something I said in
a lecture given at the American
Benedictine Academy in 1984 and published in The
American Benedictine Review (37:1, March 1986, 34-45).
The full text of that conference can be found on the Web at
the following address : http://users.skynet.be/bs775533/Armand/wri/conversion.html |
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