Imbecile Infant of God

On occasion a person or two has been concerned that others would consider the nothing to be crazy. They didn't want the nothing to be judged like that. This was awhile ago, but it gave the nothing something to consider.

Over time, one can become inured to being considered a nit-wit. For awhile, in the hometown, people who did not know otherwise were fond of the term "weird" to describe the nothing. One stalwart went to great effort to defend, but the nothing learned to not be too bothered, or want defense, and didn't want to hear what terms people used.

One time a brave soul arrived unexpectedly at the door, in the small town where the hermit lived, and was invited in for tea and church-shaped sugar cookies. (A friend from a distant state had sent the special cookie cutter.) This person proceeded to discuss all things that other people were saying about the hermit--negative things, of course. Crazy, weird, odd, nuts, strange. Whatever. But this soul said it defended the [nit wit?] by saying maybe the one being talked about thought they were all crazy.

The hermit assured this soul that the hermit thought or said no such things. The hermit was busy making cut-out cookies, reading, writing, praying, and otherwise trying to manage the interminable physical pain. But it was sweet of that soul, and courageous, to come to the hermit and check it out.

Of course, there were many long-time friends who knew otherwise, but so what? The good is that the hermit learned to find the benefits in being considered weird, or whatever the chosen term. It provided more time for solitude, prayer, silence, reading, stillness, manual labor, suffering, writing, simplicity. Also, when out on errands or at Mass, people did not give much account to or seek information from the hermit [although they knew nothing of the vocation]. This was good, for the nothing could have been truly crazy, and then what worth would any insights provide?

And, what worth are the thoughts and insights, anyway, other than those that turn hearts and minds directly to God? The nothing Catholic hermit has no wisdom, no heroic virtues, no expertise to offer, not really. Just sharings, and those with a very few who may or may not read blogs.

Blogs are wondrous in that they are just out there, and do not need to be thrown out or burned. When one dies or ceases the writing, there is nothing to sort and toss. Or, if prior to death, the nothing is weary of the words, a button can simply delete the whole gob.

Only, and finally, when the Bishop misunderstood the nothing (and this on the word of tattlers), did the nothing decide it charitable to appear less simple. It has been a good thing, and an act of God grew the ensuing friendship, as spiritual friendships come from God's special gardens. A start was the hermit's change in garb.

Appearance makes others believe a nothing is something. Appearance lends credibility. The deputies who came to Agnus Dei in their uniforms and gun-laden holsters made a statement all its own. The nothing commented to a spiritual friend that it might be surprising for others to see what this Catholic hermit looks like. Perhaps others picture glazed eyes and nervous ticks.

Appearance does alter perceptions. Consider the day the hermit overheard the woman who was entering the chapel, and a man said that he wanted to open the door for such an elegant, beautiful lady. Then the lady was heard to say to the man that for all he knew, the lady could be nasty on the inside. Appearances are only what something appears. But, an ugly spirit can grow from the inside and be like mold that creeps up and out of a dirty garbage disposal.

When considering nothingness, and how it is virtually impossible to be nothing, the hermit has not yet written of the labels granted from the spiritual realm: Spouse of Christ. Staretz. Servant. Sinner. Saint. Child of God. Even given names/labels bear meaning, such as John = God's gracious gift; Nathan = to place; Joseph = he shall add; Emmanuel = God witih us.

Since we are all (at minimum and maybe most) children of God, we cannot escape the minimum. We are something. In that somethingness (and of being made in the image and likeness of God), perhaps for humility's sake it would be best for the nothing Catholic hermit to embrace the label: imbecile infant of God. After all, the Staretz Silouan's handle on the matter: "Keep thy mind in hell, and despair not".

Pope Benedict XVI (in his framed photo) sits over there by the (small) great room windows of Agnus Dei, and says (in English, thankfully), "All right, now, imbecile child of God: rise from the sofa, limber up, take some over-the-counters for pain, and put in another hour of consumer complaint editing!"