"I had a spiritual life, I just didn't know it."

That was one of the lines that stood out for me on Saturday, during the ISP conference about their retreats for the homeless. A woman was telling about her struggles with addiction and homelessness and about how her former life looks different to her now. She was struggling with God all along, but didn't recognize it.

That reminded me of an experience I had at the Catholic Worker about a year ago. I'll quote from some journal entries then (during the difficult month of November):

...a woman showed up on the porch late, very drunk and crying. Her boyfriend had spend her money on drugs, money she had been saving to pay a fine that would keep her out of jail. When she got angry, he called the police and had her removed. Since she had no where else to go, they left her on our front porch.

She cried and talked for a long time. About her losses, her life of pain. And God. She said she believed in God, she believed there was a God, and she believed he hated her. She said she now understood how some women turned to prostitution, how others became criminals. Mostly I listened. And gave her some sliced turkey (she was ravenous for meat, since she had been living on noodles for quite a while). She thanked me for being a friend and eventually was able to sleep.

[For days after that] I remembered one thing that the woman kept repeating in her despairing cries that night. "...And no one cares. No one cares."

What made such a lasting impression on me was that the desire for someone to care is not an immediate physical urge or need. It's ultimately a spiritual desire. The deepest desire— to be noticed, to be cared about, by God.

A couple months later, I wrote:

One thing I have learned here is that it's not true that people can't face spiritual struggles until they have their more immediate needs met. Often it's precisely during the deepest experiences of physical need and suffering that people begin to open up spiritually.

Another man at the conference described a day in his life when his addiction and suffering drove him to the brink of suicide. It was right then, in that moment of greatest desperation, that he heard God speaking to him. "Get up and leave this place. I have something for you to do."

This is part of what makes spiritual work with the poor so attractive to me. I wonder if it's also what caused Jesus to direct his good news to the poor...

fall finery

I picked up these leaves to send to Heather, as a memento of fall. She won't see fall this year (in Nigeria). I think she has five more weeks in Africa, then a month in France for Christmas with her parents, then a very happy reunion.

In the meantime, I'll have to be satisfied with the pictures she sent me, including these of the dress she had made there, and the two kittens someone gave her. (No, they won't be coming home with her—at least that's what she tells me now...)

"like a spring whose waters never fail"

I came across this passage again this morning and thought it would fit well with my retreat concept ("living water"), so I want to remember it:

"If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.

"The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail." (Is 58.9-11)

Speaking of retreats, the Jesuits at Loyola invited me to their presentation tomorrow on retreats for the homeless. I'm looking forward to that, both to see what they've come up with and to get to know them better.

beati voi poveri

This was a comfort yesterday. It's a Taizé chant I found while exploring their website. Beautiful. Click here to hear it sung (in Latin).

Taizé music would be good for use in retreats. I found a nearby church that has a taizé service this coming Sunday night; I think I'll go.

for election day

Do you indeed decree what is right, you mighty lords?
Do you judge people fairly?
No, in your hearts you devise wrongs;
your hands deal out violence on earth. (Ps 58.1-2)

"voting is... collective coercion"

As the mudslinging gets ever nastier and people start scratching their heads trying to figure out which evil is lesser so they can vote for it, I'm struggling with my usual election season bad mood. Maybe it will help to bring this out again, from my journal six years ago...

I found several interesting passages about government and voting in G.K. Chesterton's book, What's Wrong with the World. For example:

This is the first essential element in government, coercion; a necessary but not a noble element.

What's especially interesting is that Chesterton believes in government; he believes it's unavoidable. He may call political institutions ugly, or consider them the result of evil, but he takes them to be necessary evils. That makes his evaluation seem more fair and honest to me. And I think many people who understand politics and history would agree with him. Even I agree with him, in his critique of "ugly" government (it's the necessity I don't accept—if we could only get rid of the malicious fallacy of "necessary evil" maybe we would stop forcing that evil on others!).

As Chesterton continues to describe the ugliness of government, he also considers the unique ugliness of democracy (though he is a strong supporter of democracy, as the lesser evil):

All government then is coercive; we happen to have created a government which is not only coercive; but collective. ...in self-governing countries the coercion of criminals is a collective coercion. The abnormal person is theoretically thumped by a million fists and kicked by a million feet. If a man is flogged we all flogged him; if a man is hanged, we all hanged him. That is the only possible meaning of democracy.... In a republic all punishment is as sacred and solemn as lynching.

I've thought about the coercive aspect of democracy before. We usually see democracy as non-coercive, since it is "rule by the people." But "the people" are not all of one mind. The usual result is rule by the majority, with their decisions being forced upon all others. As Chesterton pointed out, the "abnormal person" is subdued or silenced by the mob—by collective coercion. We take that to be a good thing in the case of wrong-doers; but the same treatment is also given to saints and prophets, who are abnormal in the opposite way.

Another great line:

Voting is not only coercion, but collective coercion.

Through the process of voting, people in a democracy take responsibility for their own government. This is considered a "right." But is government something we want to take responsibility for? Are coercion and lynching what we want to take responsibility for? We allow people to govern themselves rather than having to obey the will of a despot, but then all the people gather together to become despotic.





Especially during this election time, I hear and read about "getting involved," "changing the system for the better." We're supposed to improve things by exercising our voting rights and using the power we've been granted. We're told we can make government better by being a part of it. But I don't see that happening. What I do see is people supporting political candidates they don't really believe in because that candidate is the "lesser of two evils" or the only one who has a chance to win. I see people manipulated by the media to support someone that those in power have selected (either of the mainstream candidates). I see people being dragged (or enticed) into a very ugly political institution. And they're told it's a right, a privilege, a sacred duty. Ugh. If people want to subject themselves to the coercion of government, fine. If people decide to take part in the governmental coercion of others, that's bad, but worse for themselves. But to try to convince other people to join the mob is the worst.

Joining government is not the way to make things better. Being better ourselves, and being a good example for others is the best way. And part of that is to stop pushing other people around. Stop trying to MAKE THEM be good. Jesus' life was a continual practice of non-coercion—turning the other cheek, not resisting the evil person, enduring death rather than calling down a legion of angels—so that people's hearts might be converted. That's love, that's goodness—not government.

"we can no longer say..."

I came across this yesterday...

When Thomas Aquinas first visited Rome, and expressed his amazement at all the wealth he saw [as many non-western Christians might be amazed at the wealth of our churches], the Pope said, "We can no longer say, 'Silver and gold have I none."

"No, indeed," was the answer, "nor can we say, 'What I have I give you: In the name of Jesus of Nazareth rise up and walk.'"

the commitment to love

"The commitment to God is the commitment to love." But what is love?

I've written about love before. But I'd like to specifically focus on "If you love me you'll do what I want." Most people recognize something wrong in this crude, manipulative demand, and would never say such a thing. But several times I've been told that love means doing what someone else wants, simply because they want it, no matter what what I think about that desire.

This is a very common understanding of love. The idea is that we are to set aside our own will and take on the will of the loved one, making their desires and intentions our own. This is promoted as loving selflessness. And it may be selfless, in a way.



But is it truly loving? When the desires of the loved one are self-destructive, it soon becomes obvious that it's not loving to help them pursue those desires. Then we become aware that love is not just an interaction between two people.

Real love necessarily involves God. There cannot be any true love without God, because God is love. As we come to experience this, we discover that love is not setting aside our own will to take on the will of another person, but setting aside our will to obey God's will for the loved one, and for ourself. We take on God's desire (which may or may not coincide with the desire of either of the people involved), and God's desire is always good. For everyone involved.

This is the love we commit ourselves to, when we commit ourselves to God. If we try to "love" by taking on another person's will, we will soon find ourselves torn between pleasing that person and pleasing God. But if we commit ourselves only to the God who is love, then we can remain single-mindedly, whole-heartedly God's, and also be most available for, and dedicated to the greatest good of, those we love.


So how do I work this into my wedding vows...

"undivided devotion"

Having multiple commitments necessarily leads to division and conflicts of interest. This is especially problematic in our relationship to God. Paul warns of this in his advice about marriage:

The unmarried man is anxious about the affairs of the Lord, how to please the Lord; but the married man is anxious about worldly affairs, how to please his wife, and his interests are divided.

And the unmarried woman or girl is anxious about the affairs of the Lord, how to be holy in body and spirit; but the married woman is anxious about worldly affairs, how to please her husband. (1 Cor 7.32-34)

Paul's concern, though, is not just about marriage. A few verses earlier, he recommends that "those who buy [be] as though they had no goods, and those who deal with the world [be] as though they had no dealings with it." Paul is warning about divided loyalties, warning us to avoid conflicting commitments, "to secure your undivided devotion to the Lord."

Yet commitments are frequently demanded of us (by friends, institutions, marriage, nation, etc), so what are we to do? If we make these commitments, we end up with divided interests, trying to obey a number of different authorities, each with their own agenda. But if we refuse to these commitments, we seem to be individualists, without a deep concern for or connection to others.

For followers of Jesus there is only one answer, the answer he gave: "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength." Our single, whole-hearted commitment must be to God. There can be no other loyalty or authority for us.

Yet this undivided, exclusive commitment to God does not cut us off from others. Because the commitment to God is the commitment to love.

conflicting commitments

Many commitments can interfere with our single-minded, whole-hearted following of Jesus. (Two years ago, I titled a journal entry "commitment and compromise.") Yet there is often social pressure to make such commitments, and sometimes they are even promoted as virtues.

One such commitment that I've been pondering lately is the commitment of "stability." The commitment to a specific place or (often more precisely) a specific institution. Current popular writers like Wendell Berry preach the virtue of commitment to a specific locality, to the land especially, but also to the local community, the people there. (This is also a theme emphasized here at Reba Place.) Usually it's presented as an answer to the rootless, lonely drifting so common in our society. And these writers do offer a compelling critique of our times. But I don't think a commitment to stability is the solution—at least that doesn't seem to be what Jesus showed us.

Committed stability is not a new idea, either. St. Benedict introduced a vow of stability in the early days of monasticism (modern writers often refer to his teaching on stability). He had good reasons for wanting his monks to commit to their monastery, many of which are seen as just as important now. From an article on the Rule of St. Benedict:

St. Benedict perceived the necessity for a permanent and uniform rule of government in place of the arbitrary and variable choice of models furnished by the lives and maxims of the Fathers of the Desert. And so we have the characteristic of collectivism, exhibited in his insistence on the common life, as opposed to the individualism of the Egyptian monks.

...To further this aim he introduced the vow of Stability, which becomes the guarantee of success and permanence. It is only another example of the family idea that pervaded the entire Rule, by means of which the members of the community are bound together by a family tie, and each takes upon himself the obligation of persevering in his monastery until death, unless sent elsewhere by his superiors. It secures to the community as a whole, and to every member of it individually, a share in all the fruits that may arise from the labours of each monk, and it gives to each of them that strength and vitality which necessarily result from being one of a united family, all bound in a similar way and all pursuing the same end. Thus, whatever the monk does, he does it not as an independent individual but as part of a larger organization, and the community itself thus becomes one united whole rather than a mere agglomeration of independent members.

The creation of "family ties" seems like a good thing, and does produce more stable, enduring organizations. Which was the reason Benedict invented the vow of stability. But is this what Jesus preached?

Of course family ties already existed in Jesus' time, natural family ties. Yet even these he challenged:

[Jesus'] mother and his brothers came; and standing outside they sent to him and called him. And a crowd was sitting about him; and they said to him, "Your mother and your brothers are outside, asking for you."

And he replied, "Who are my mother and my brothers?" And looking around on those who sat about him, he said, "Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother, and sister, and mother." (Mk 3.31-35)

Did Jesus say this because he wanted new (religious?) families to replace the old? Or is the new family Jesus sees original because it is a single family, not various divided (and competing) clans but one united family under God as Father? With no conflicting commitments or questions of which authority to obey, because there is only one Father, one Master.

Commitments of stability are necessarily commitments to separate, localized "families." They also limit our availability to go wherever, and to whomever, God calls us. Jesus' life (and Paul's, and Abraham's, and most of the prophets') demonstrate the value of this availability and freedom. But I think the bigger problem is the way commitments to place and (limited, localized) community cut us off from the wider community, the one family. And the one Father.