Catholic Hermit: On Being Least

The suffering increases; the weather has shifted some, and the lessening the dose of pain meds raises the nausea.  When I can distract my mind from this temporal, physical body, I do not as much notice the constant burning in areas of the body--such as the abdomen always burns.  But when the pain rises or not as well managed by meds, the pain disrupts, breaks through, distractions.  

So it goes for being an immolation, of which the Lord has asked me in various ways and times.  The most direct was a simple locution:  Be an immolation!  Being an immolation for and with the Lord is a type of irony.  For while the mystical aspects and honor of the Lord Himself asking an ordinary human--directly reaching in to command directly, so powerfully and personally--in actuality the request is most humbling, lowering, debilitating.  

The nausea and abdominal burning--radiating from the burning back--debase the ability to function other than to remain in bed and strive not to let the thoughts drop but to be the only aspect to be great, to be raised high in praise of God.  But I struggle, Lord, and look to Thy Living Word for the way, the truth, the life on this path of suffering.

Thus in the Gospel of today's Mass Jesus refers to his kinsman, the great hermit saint:  John the Baptist.  Jesus speaks the truth of humanity's hypocrisy, of criticizing righteousness and holiness lived, regardless of what is said or done by Christ and His temporally unimportant disciples.  Jesus spoke of this to the people gathered:

"For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they said, 'He is possessed by a demon.'  The Son of Man came eating and drinking and they said, 'Look, he is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners'" (Matthew 11:18).

In our lives, and I can but honestly share of my own path in following Christ, even such as permanent, progressive suffering--foretold by the Lord, being asked by the Lord, and my agreement in participation of not only a Catholic hermit vocation but a vocation of suffering as a victim soul of Jesus--can seem to be at odds with itself.  

A hypocrisy of pain and suffering, with the back and forth, the ups and downs, the knowns and unknowns, the doubting, the reality, the temporal losses, the spiritual combat of loss and gain, the persecution by those cannot begin to grasp the inner extent of suffering's alterations--whatever form, living for Christ, suffering for whatever it is that Christ desires of us in suffering, seems an uncertain, misunderstood: damned-if-you-do and damned-if you-don't proposition.

I don't even remember well the person I was before August 22, 1984 and the cataclysmic event of unfolding suffering in an 11:22 p.m. car accident.  From that point, the lessons in being lessened commenced.  Humility is a process as much or more as any aspect of our temporal and spiritual lives.

Others who look upon our lives, and sometimes we do it to ourselves, will never cease with complaints and criticism, especially of those striving in a path less travelled but yet very much alive in desiring Christ and to do His will.  Of those who strive in Christ, the flaws and sins will be all the more noted and judged not by Jesus but by those in the "marketplace" of our relationships and environment--even and maybe especially within our congregations, our parishes.

I have at times been as a child calling out in the marketplace, observing and opining of others, assuming or doubting of their intentions, words, and actions.  We Christians may be those in the marketplace as well as one who is striving with Christ, desiring to proclaim Christ, to live the Gospels, to do His will no matter what His will includes and asks of us.  His Providence defies and soars beyond our temporal reason.  Yet we know that His will is perfect and brings good for our souls and for the witness and glory of God for others.

But being least keeps us true to His will.  For that, suffering is a blessed balm and gift in the humility of infinite facets.  In my current situation, to date, the lessening is pervasive: less able to filter thoughts and words expressed, the lessening of being relatable in human interactions, lessening ties to this temporal world, less able to do, less able to focus in prayer, lessening of distraction from the suffering itself.

There are so many facets of being lessened, bit by bit, to evolving to being least, that I am too weary with suffering to write further of them.

Yet I want to share this excerpt by St. John Henry Newman on the wisdom of God.

"Saint John the Baptist was separated from the world.  He was a Nazarite (Lk 1:15, Nb 6:2).  He went out from the world, and placed himself over against it...and called it to repentance.  Then went out all Jerusalem to him into the desert (Mk 3:5), and he confronted it face to face.  But in his teaching he spoke of One who should come to them and speak to them in a far different way.  he should not separate Himself from them, He should not display Himself as some higher being, but as their brother, as of their flesh and of their bones, as one among many brethren, as one of the multitude and amidst them; nay, He was among them already: 'There hath stood in the midst of you, whom you know not' (Jn 1:26)..."

While John the Baptist shows us the reality of a human learning to be least and becoming increasingly less with his life devoted and obedient to God's will and mission for him as one who came calling out as one in the desert,  Christ's forerunner, proclaiming Christ is among us, Jesus the God-man, exemplifies to us perfect humility, of being least.  For Jesus did not distinguish himself with any titles or position, no noble career or identifiable vocation--not even that of a hermit.  Jesus is among us as one of us.  He is the epitome of what it is to be least; his very heart and soul: humble.

His birth and his death--both humble.  His relationships became least, dwindling down to a handful at the foot of His cross.  Even then, Christ chose being least, flanked in final suffering and crucifixion death by two of the least of least of humankind: criminals. 

I'm not fully least.  I had a Christmas card from a friend who I thought I'd also offended and lost; the email had been hacked.  In the message was a repeated request to email, and the new address.  A young woman whom the Lord pointed out to me years ago, as she was but a child then, having come alone to Mass on a snowy, January, dark night, called with news of her engagement.  I hear from her on rare occasion, this being a blessed one.  

A most loved one continues no communication; I know not why, but am learning to be less in sorrow and more in praying.  My very elderly aunt maintains her desire, expressed through her daughter, that she does not want a phone call.  I accept that lessening as a final loss; my best purpose in this relationship now is to pray for her soul's effective preparation for death and passing.  A granddaughter unexpectedly responded to my text asking if she has a Christmas gift list.  Yes, I've become less, Lord, than a month ago; but I'm not least yet.

An aspect of being less and least, has not to do with the lack of others, but with a peaceful ebb and flow of others, of allowing however God wills in their lives and their needs, to be always accepted.  Being least is allowing God to be all in Himself and in His creatures and creation, without the hermit being more or most, or expecting to be or need or demand more or most of God, of others, or things.

The more I've prayed (focus, I think far less, for pain is increasingly and maybe totally the means of prayer) at least with what is of my life now, that I might be least of all hermits but yet a best-possible, striving soul in my less.  May I be least in this lesser of the vocations, and within the vehicle of this hermit vocation, may I be least through hiddenness,  least in not asking to be approved in canon law or otherwise by anyone.  

As Jesus says, not the least of His beauty, truth, and goodness: "Wisdom is vindicated by her works"  (Matthew 11:19).  

May I become less and less until least.  May I desire less of this world. Lord, may I be least of persons--less until least in others' thoughts and remembrances, least in consideration, and least in self.  May there be ever joy and unconditional love of God and for others, eternally, in being least.  Being least, may I become less, even lost, in the silence, the solitude, the slowness, the suffering, the loss of self in nothingness.  

God bless His Real Presence in us!

Catholic Hermit: Fondness for St. John the Baptist

On this day in 1988, a major vision accompanied by a locution occurred.  I was not Catholic at the time; I would not convert for another 7 years.  Dr. H. was working with me on career possibilities and pain management, and I was half-way through courses for a doctorate in clinical psychology in San Diego while finishing up writing my dissertation in administration at USC.  

Dr. H. felt that with my extra-sensory perception, along with my life up-ended with constant, intractable pain after a car accident and back surgeries, that I'd be helpful as a psychologist, especially working with people in pain.  As it turned out, my periodic and unpredictable pain sieges brought the PsychD. to a close a few months later.  

I was doing internship hours and had a client in crisis; but I awoke in a pain siege and had to cancel appointments.  The clinic asked when I'd be available, and I admitted the pain sieges can last three days to ten days.  Dr. H. and I made the tough decision that this was not going to work out.  As it was, the professors were concerned all along as I had to recline on the floor while taking the classes due to the pain from driving to and from the school.

Anyway, on this day, June 24, 1988, I had a vision and locution.  It was stunning to both myself and Dr. H.  He ended up tape recording, but I'll never forget the impact and how John the Baptist came into view--subtly, in shadow at first, with great light behind him so that I could only see his silhouette--a large and rugged man but what we'd call a sweetheart of a man!

The vision began, however, with an immense bloom materializing in inner sight.  I'd never seen such a flower, and it grew larger and brighter.  From that golden bloom came the tremendous light from which John the Baptist emerged or materialized.  (Describing visions are always inadequate.  I may cease writing about it; I usually end up frustrated with not being able to describe adequately what is seen and the tone of voice and words--impactful is an inadequate word to describe the effect.)

John was identified, and he had a message for me with advice.  I've probably written it out on this blog or one of my former blogs, or perhaps I read what he said, as Dr. H. gave me the tape to transcribe.  John told me he had great warmth for me, that he understood, and that he knew how it was to go on before--to be different, yes.  

He emphasized learning from the plants and trees and animals--all creatures of God's creation--and to learn the cycles of nature, for that would teach me much about life and about the spiritual realm.  He commented on metamorphoses, and of taking first steps, and to keep progressing, as if on rungs of a ladder, climbing, and then, of course, to simply keep going.

My transcripts are now in a storage unit in another state.  But today I've been telling John the Baptist how I have great warmth for him, too.  My spiritual father wrote not long ago, and once more he told me how different I am, and that he'd never met anyone like me and so forth.  

I do not like to be reminded; my spiritual father and John the Baptist know that I prefer not being different--in the way that they mean--spiritually "different."  A mystic, it is; yet when John the Baptist reassured me that he understands and knows how it is to be different, and how he had to live out in the desert--he said the physical desert but also the desert of his mind--it has made all the difference ever since, all these years.

I am so grateful for John the Baptist, my friend, for whom we share great warmth for one another.  I feel terrible that I seem to have backslid and been distracted with (such as today--gluing and nailing in stair risers and laying wood flooring on the stair landing, as well as rest breaks to cope with the gnarly, bodily pain) the details of finishing up construction and gardening.  Yet, deep within, I know John understands.  Jesus understands--the Carpenter of all carpenters!  

As one phase ends, another will begin.  John mentioned "life":  As one life ends, another life begins.  It is the cycle of nature, the metamorphosis of body and soul, all this.  We repeatedly metamorphose physically and spiritually through our temporal lives and into eternity.

When John had said all he had to tell me that day back in 1988, Dr. H.'s first stunned comment surprised me. He said, "I don't know about you, but if I were you I'd head straight to the library and find out what kind of flower it was that you saw and described!"  I guess my description of it while it appeared must have impressed in him an awe; or else, most likely, the Holy Spirit nudged him to tell me to find out the flower's name.

So I went right away to the library, and I asked the librarian where I'd find the flower books.  She pointed me to the section of shelves, and I went up to where she pointed, and pulled out a book.  I had to start somewhere.  I opened the book, and the page shown upon opening the book had the very flower I had been shown in the vision--immense, bright gold, filled with light, and very detail vivid.

The flower was a St. John's Wort.  I'd never heard of it.  (Now it seems so familiar--I even have some St. John's Wort tea bags I got in Avila, Spain 13 years ago when I took courses at the Catholic university there--on Sts. Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross.)  I was amazed at the immediacy of locating the flower, and I read the information accompanying the photograph on the page.

It told of locations it is grown and another name for it in this country--Klamath Weed--and then told the Medieval legend.  On the eve of St. John's Day, maidens would place a St. John's Wort flower at their window sill, and the first male they'd encounter the next morning would be the man they were to wed.  

I realized that since the flower's name had "St." in front of it, and the information said the flower was named for St. John the Baptist", that I was dealing with something Catholic.  (Having been a life-long Protestant up to that time and following a few years, I knew enough that "saint" is a Catholic something or other.)

So I asked the librarian where I could find out something about St. John the Baptist.  She directed me to the section of the library where I found Catholic encyclopedias.  I looked up St. John the Baptist and read a bit, coming to the part in which his birthday is commemorated in the Catholic Church.

I'm sure by now you can guess that it was June 24.

Yes, I was veritably floating, filled with the numinous aspects that only the Holy Spirit can infuse with such experiences and connections.  Awe--that is again the word that probably best describes the effect.  Awe and love for God, for Jesus, for the Holy Spirit--and a special friendship made forever with St. John the Baptist.

Here I planted a St. John's Wort.  I had planted them in previous hermitage gardens, but only here has it really taken off into a full-fledged shrub of the type I saw in Avila--near end of blooming period as I was there after St. John's Day in 2005.  Today the St. John's Wort here at Te Deum Hermitage is blooming profusely.

It is a warm day, bright and intense sunlight, and yes, dear St. John the Baptist, I thank you for the guidance and powerful messages, and I appreciate that you understand what it is like to be different, and that you show the way, the path, the hermit life in such a solid and strong way.  And you teach me how to suffer and to be humbled, and to always show the way to Christ in whatever ways I can--quietly, in my words, prayers, and even in trying to do my manual labor omnia pro Deo--all for God!

This day, also, was the espousal of my soul.  Christ, my Spouse, forever my love.

God bless His Real Presence in us!

(At some point, I will either hunt in the blogs or wait until I (if I make it past this phase on earth and relocate where my filing cabinet is at hand) can write out and share the exact wording of St. John's message.  It had much to it--much good for anyone, of course!  He knew how to go on before, he knew how to suffer greatly, he knew how it was to be different.)