M
Michael_Heinzen
Guest
Thank you for the many insightful comments which help me to understand and be reassured about my feelings and convictions.
From the time when the first Christian hermits left predominately pagan cities and villages that needed evangelization, in order to seek God in the wilderness, there has been soul-searching and controversy about reducing one’s active ministry for “flight” into the desert. Yet, the desert was not a place to find peace. It was a scary place in those days–the physical rigors and isolation as well as the danger to life and limb from bands of robbers and terrorists ready to prey on these Christian solitaries.
I think the key is “vocation” – what does God want; what is He calling me to do at this time and place in my life? How am I to be a good and faithful servant?
As with anything, “active” and “contemplative” can be abused, used as ways to escape personal responsibility–one through being too “involved” and “busy” to respond to the needs of those who have a right to our time and energy, and the other as a flight into a “higher calling” which rises above and leaves behind the cries of those who need us.
When it comes to constant sermonizing about helping out, I can see one reason for this; I’m sure there are others. I grew up in the Fifties when many parishes had a minimum of two priests, and religious sisters and brothers (young and older) staffed most parish positions. Laity were not encouraged, or even seen as necessary, for Church ministry (except choir members, altar boys and ushers). In those days, since churches remained unlocked, a layperson might sit quietly in a darkened, candle-scented, Gothic nave, surrounded by statues and stained-glass windows to feel and communicate with the Mysterium Tremendum of God, the loving and tender Virgin as well as the angels and saints. It was a time and place conducive to contemplation.
After Vatican II and the reawakening of the priesthood of the faithful, the upheavals of the late 60’s and 70’s with cries for social justice and action, the aging and exodus of priests and religious with few replacement vocations in an ever-growing secular culture, etc., parishes became desperate for workers to bring in the “harvest.” Since then there has been a constant pleading for active souls to help tread the wine press.
In my opinion, the benefit of this urging is that it serves as a check and balance to those who feel a yearning towards a less active life and more time for contemplative prayer and listening. Emphasis on action can aid discernment as to whether withdrawal really is a “vocation” which comes from God or simply a personal need to flee from handling the plow. Contemplation is not, however, a flight into bliss and ease.
As those in contemplative life know, whether vowed religious or laity, a genuine call is no escape into complacency and comfort. It is a desert trek, not only with stops at cool springs surrounded by peaceful and shaded palm groves, but also a passage wrought with doubt-filled and pitch-black nights, discouraging dryness, patience-robbing heat, tempting demons and roaming bands of soul-threatening terrorists. The pilgrims on this journey are seldom refreshed by letters of appreciation, applause, accolades from the pulpit or honor banquets. They only are sustained by their love for God as well as a faith and hope that He is leading them to a Promised Land on the other side of death in this earthly life. There is no escape from hardship on this exodus. It is a desert journey after all.
From the time when the first Christian hermits left predominately pagan cities and villages that needed evangelization, in order to seek God in the wilderness, there has been soul-searching and controversy about reducing one’s active ministry for “flight” into the desert. Yet, the desert was not a place to find peace. It was a scary place in those days–the physical rigors and isolation as well as the danger to life and limb from bands of robbers and terrorists ready to prey on these Christian solitaries.
I think the key is “vocation” – what does God want; what is He calling me to do at this time and place in my life? How am I to be a good and faithful servant?
As with anything, “active” and “contemplative” can be abused, used as ways to escape personal responsibility–one through being too “involved” and “busy” to respond to the needs of those who have a right to our time and energy, and the other as a flight into a “higher calling” which rises above and leaves behind the cries of those who need us.
When it comes to constant sermonizing about helping out, I can see one reason for this; I’m sure there are others. I grew up in the Fifties when many parishes had a minimum of two priests, and religious sisters and brothers (young and older) staffed most parish positions. Laity were not encouraged, or even seen as necessary, for Church ministry (except choir members, altar boys and ushers). In those days, since churches remained unlocked, a layperson might sit quietly in a darkened, candle-scented, Gothic nave, surrounded by statues and stained-glass windows to feel and communicate with the Mysterium Tremendum of God, the loving and tender Virgin as well as the angels and saints. It was a time and place conducive to contemplation.
After Vatican II and the reawakening of the priesthood of the faithful, the upheavals of the late 60’s and 70’s with cries for social justice and action, the aging and exodus of priests and religious with few replacement vocations in an ever-growing secular culture, etc., parishes became desperate for workers to bring in the “harvest.” Since then there has been a constant pleading for active souls to help tread the wine press.
In my opinion, the benefit of this urging is that it serves as a check and balance to those who feel a yearning towards a less active life and more time for contemplative prayer and listening. Emphasis on action can aid discernment as to whether withdrawal really is a “vocation” which comes from God or simply a personal need to flee from handling the plow. Contemplation is not, however, a flight into bliss and ease.
As those in contemplative life know, whether vowed religious or laity, a genuine call is no escape into complacency and comfort. It is a desert trek, not only with stops at cool springs surrounded by peaceful and shaded palm groves, but also a passage wrought with doubt-filled and pitch-black nights, discouraging dryness, patience-robbing heat, tempting demons and roaming bands of soul-threatening terrorists. The pilgrims on this journey are seldom refreshed by letters of appreciation, applause, accolades from the pulpit or honor banquets. They only are sustained by their love for God as well as a faith and hope that He is leading them to a Promised Land on the other side of death in this earthly life. There is no escape from hardship on this exodus. It is a desert journey after all.