I've found some information on St. Servulus, and this saint seems a much-needed friend and mentor currently. I'm praying to have this man's strength of praising God and singing hymns of glory to God in my mind and heart of love. The suffering of increased pain at increased levels is yet difficult for me to manage even with meds, so I look to St. Servulus to be here with me, inviting him to guide and inspire. While I know it takes time to adapt to increasing suffering, my desire as a hermit is to be of the law of God--the law of His Love--and simply, sincerely genuine. This is definitely a phase in my spiritual life and as a consecrated Catholic hermit, as a friend, parent of adult children, and as a soul honed by years of pain yet still with plenty of sins and imperfections to be sanded and prayerfully, hopefully in God, polished smooth with the glow of my soul's finished product, all of God's grace and doing. I know I have a way to go, that is for certain. Yet each step, each day, each phase reflects the actualities of melding the challenges of personal temporal and spiritual life within the vehicle of my hermit vocation until that moment in which the Lord calls me from the temporal to be fully with Him in heaven. Servulus has a challenge in me, should he accept my invitation to dwell in whatever essence God allows, in Solus Deus Hermitage and in my heart. Plenty of room for the angels and saints--and that includes my saintly ancestors and friends now on the other side! Welcome here!
Servulus was a beggar, and had been so afflicted with palsy from his infancy that he was never able to stand, sit upright, lift his hand to his mouth, or turn himself from one side to another. His mother and brother carried him into the porch of St. Clement's Church at Rome, where he lived on the alms of those that passed by.
He used to entreat devout persons to read the Holy Scriptures to him, which he heard with such attention as to learn them by heart. His time he consecrated by assiduously singing hymns of praise and thanksgiving to God.
After several years thus spent, his distemper having seized his vitals, he felt his end was drawing nigh. In his last moments he desired the poor and pilgrims, who had often shared in his charity, to sing sacred hymns and psalms for him. While he joined his voice with theirs, he on a sudden cried out: "Silence! do you not hear the sweet melody and praise which resound in the heavens?" Soon after he spoke these words he expired, and his soul was carried by angels into everlasting bliss, about the year 590. And this I found, also:
Saint Servulus of Rome
Invalid and Beggar († 670)
Saint Servulus of Rome
Saint Servulus was a perfect model of submission to the divine Will; it would be difficult to offer a more consoling example to persons afflicted by poverty, illnesses and the other miseries of life. It is Saint Gregory the Great who narrates for us his edifying story:
We have seen under the portico of the Church of Saint Clement, a poor man named Servulus, who is known to all the people of Rome as to Us. He was deprived of all the goods of this world; a long illness had reduced him to a pitiful state. From his youth he was paralyzed in all his members. Not only could he not stand up, but he was unable to rise from his bed; he could neither sit down nor turn himself from one side to the other, nor bring his hand to his mouth. Nothing in him was sound except his eyes, ears, tongue, stomach and entrails.
This unfortunate man, who had learned the mysteries of religion, meditated unceasingly on the sufferings of the Saviour, and never did he complain. He was surrounded by the loving care of his mother and brother. Neither the mother nor the children had ever studied, yet the paralytic had pious books bought for himself, in particular the Psalms and the Holy Gospels, and he would ask the religious who came to visit him on his cot to read from them to him. In this way he learned these books by heart; he spent days and part of the nights in singing or reciting them, and meditating them, and he constantly thanked the Lord for having taken him to be a victim associated with the pains and sufferings of Jesus Christ.
Many alms came to the little house of the paralytic, to such an extent that he became rich in his poverty. After having taken from these what was necessary for his subsistence and that of his mother, he gave the rest to the indigent, who often assembled around him to be edified by his words and his virtues. His bed of pain was a pulpit of preaching, from which he converted souls.
When the time came which was decreed by God to reward his patience and put an end to his painful life, Servulus felt the paralysis spreading to the vital parts of his body, and he prepared for death. At the final moment, he asked those in attendance to recite Psalms with him. Suddenly he cried out: Ah! Don't you hear that melody resounding in heaven?' At that moment his soul escaped from his body, which until his burial gave forth a marvelous fragrance.
Vie des Saints pour tous les jours de l'année, by Abbé L. Jaud (Mame: Tours, 1950).
One such uncanny date in my life continues to be The Queenship of Mary. August 22 continues to be one of immense import to me, personally and spiritually. This past Queenship of Mary marked 23 years since I was received into the Catholic Church after my years from birth to then as a practicing Protestant. So it is, that August 22 is a powerful, spiritual date in my life. Faith has always been deeply important to my soul, mind, heart, and temporal function. I am ever grateful to my parents for instilling Christianity in me from my earliest moments and memories. Even as a Protestant, August 22 has been pivotal in my life as a transitional day. The life-altering car accident occurred at 11:22 p.m. on August 22, some 34 years ago. That began my life of constant, physical suffering and heralded the decision of my earthly spouse to leave the marriage and our then three quite-young children. The ripple effect occurred--loss of career due to disability after two major back surgeries with a death in recovery room and being sent back to rear my children and fulfill my mission. But it also heralded a vast opening of my spirit to the Holy Spirit, more so than had been--and I was already rather in-tune with the numinous. My Maker is my Spouse, and the espousal of my soul occurred along with various, numinous and temporal experiences of which I've mentioned some, but not to the depth or breadth of their occurrences and impact. Too much to share, and intimate, at least for now. And that has been the case for years. My call to the Catholic Church was unmistakable and relentless until I acquiesced to the Lord's will. That evening, the priest who gave me private instruction, chose. He had no idea the import of the Queenship of Mary--or rather previously to me only known by being a date on a calendar: August 22. A miracle occurred during the private ceremony. It was powerful and has served me well as the means to keep me steadfast in my Catholic faith despite more than plenty of persecutions and hardships along the way. The Queenship of Mary happened to be the date that my youngest child went off to college. That time period was a transition phase, as well, and my hermit life intensified following although I had been privately professed and vows received nearly two years prior to the "empty nest." But most years, the Queenship of Mary is marked by a pain siege. This year was no different. However, this time period is very much one of being on the cusp of transition in my hermit life as other than a few tiny tasks and the delight in tending the gardens, the hermitage is complete--and lovelier than anyone, especially me, could have imagined. My spiritual father three or four years ago said it was unnatural and abnormal, what I was able to accomplish and that angels were helping me, certainly. I agreed and still agree! My angel, Beth ("house" or "place of God" or "God is in this place", masculine Hebrew noun) has been astounding. It was Beth who surely got me out to and up the road recently, not conscious, so that neighbors who happened to be outside (and they remarked it was amazing they happened to be outside that afternoon) found me and called the fire and rescue to get me to a trauma center for the head injury and brain bleeds. I am blessed with having so much supernal assistance in what has been quite the "death therapy" in these past few years. And death therapy is just what the Lord prescribed for me, as it has been the best phase to hunker me into my consecrated Catholic hermit life, possible--at least for me! I so needed to die to self, die to the world, die to attachments! May God be praised! We will see what God has in Mind for the transition and next phase in my hermit life. All of a sudden, I am able to shift gears to more meditative and contemplative prayer while gently gardening or also resting. And a major aspect of my mission for the Church has occurred yet again, just a couple or so weeks ago, with yet another sex scandal being exposed, this time in the state of Pennsylvania. I place my suffering, prayers, and various, natural penances that come my way, for the purgation of the priests, bishops, and cardinals who may need whatever the Lord can cleanse for Holy Mother Church. On this Queenship of Mary, on my sleeping bag of suffering, I sensed Our Mother--weeping. I am sure she is weeping for me, also--for my faults, my sins, my weaknesses, my human ills. This morning when the parish couple brought His Real Presence, I was overjoyed despite the problems facing us as Catholics. While some will need to run from the burning house--and we are not to judge others who need to do so--there are those of us who are called to run back in and help put out the fire. May the Lord use me as He wills. I lived through the recent head injury--against the odds of no broken bones, no internal injuries, and even the shoulder is improving after horrific suffering with it. May the Lord use me, yes, as He wills for whatever time and breath left, in whatever phase next, if any. I pray to fulfill my vows--not only as a consecrated Catholic hermit but also as a victim soul of and for the Church. God bless His Real Presence in us!
Living in the Order of the Present Moment brings shifts in the daily routine of a hermit, and these shifts can occur within moments. So it is that this consecrated Catholic hermit is shifting yet again to what some might consider to be a more acceptable mode, for the depth of our soul's relationship with God Is Love is within, remaining in His Love, and not really externally seen. What we do see in any given moment is but a glimpse of that moment. And this is true for ourselves, living in the silence of solitude yet taking what God brings each moment as a gift, and in that gift there is always the call to service. That service can be listening to someone who calls (and for me that is rare indeed) or to read an email, or to write an email, with the words uplifting others, inspiring, or encouraging in love, as one who loves in Christ and from Him flows Love. Always the love finds its way outward, like a stream into a river that meets the incoming tides (of love) in an estuary. Love is of God and ability to love is God's gift to us and also His desire for and of us. Today the physical pain was far worse--just when I thought I might attempt a trip into civilization to get an eye drop prescription filled. The present moment God brought, moment after moment, included variations in pain enough to keep the body mostly down, resting. Perhaps tomorrow there will be the journey for the provision; yet no matter that, each moment is a journey in itself. The soul benefits if desiring to benefit, if the heart is faithful to Christ and trusts in His invitation, perhaps a command: Remain in My Love. So that is just what I'm doing--and the doing is made possible only by God Is Love!
Even now, as I briefly consider in the middle of the night, what I have written of my hermit phases, the description of the current one is not much accurate any more than the writer of an article I read in which two different hermits were interviewed and described. The reader receives but a crumb from a loaf of many loaves of bread of human life.
So in the depths of a current pain siege, awake and having reached for the flashlight by this too-soft yet newer mattress on the floor in here, I tapped out some ground Excedrin into my hand and swallowed it with sips from the water bottle, both at hand and on the floor by the mattress. Then to break off a couple of bites of banana, also on floor by the mattress--for that will help coat the stomach since I consume a fair amount of anti-inflammatory aides.
And where are the thoughts, the disposition of mind and heart and even the soul?
They--all of me--are with the Lord. Even though I briefly checked a national news story for which I've been praying along with many in this country and perhaps around the world, of a deranged shooter who killed more than he wounded while they worshipped in a church on Sunday morning. My soul has been speaking with the Lord in the silence of the night, broken some by off-and-on slight rattling of the wall heat pump.
I read the Living Word of which I can access from a bookmarked site on my little laptop--the window to the world I have that is convenient in the darkness of this night. The books are packed away in the pole barn, other than my Breviary and a handful of others which are packed in a space inside the hermitage; the John of the Cross writings I read off and on are downloaded onto an iPad.
Well, it is in this current phase I live in the ongoing construction zone of the hermitage. Seems quite reasonable to utilize the simplest and most practical means of reading and writing and of receiving correspondence. And again, it is all a certain, present phase for this consecrated Catholic hermit.
While it may seem perhaps more so to myself than the glimpse I describe to others. I yet feel I am driveling away from how a proper hermit ought to exist. I no longer can be that good of a judge of the hours of silence of solitude or of the form and substance and breadth of prayer and praise of God.
So much simply comes from the depths of suffering, the depths of a soul yearning for union with the Beloved, with the Lord Jesus, in waiting for the consummation of the marriage of the soul with God. Yet I must remain in this temporal realm, doing the temporal tasks, living a temporal life with pain and work, and somehow also far from this world in the heart of Christ, remaining in His Love.
There are several points of the Living Word which impart sustenance and love here in the darkness and relative silence. Even though physical pain screams for attention, the rest of me--the mind, heart, and soul--considers the truth of Christ's Word.
You will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.
This is helpful, as in the depths of suffering--this present phase of a major pain siege. I sometimes wonder how I can continue on, and I can easily think that I am failing the Lord in some way or other, or many ways. Am I delighting in the love of God or meditating on His law (of love) day and night? Seems to me, not so much. God is well aware of every thought as well as every comment from the depths of suffering.
The Lord knows how weary is the body from the constancy of pain, and of the various modes of temporal distraction for which I am so thankful. All is His gift! Yet He knows also the hours and hours and days and days of great silence--drowning the outer noise distractions; and in this silence and the incomprehensible number of moments, the soul is attuned to Christ. Surely the innermost being remains in His Love even when the outer crusts of the mind think it is not so much.
I mostly just hang with the Lord in here.
That is perhaps the best description of this hermit's phase of these past four-plus years. I hang mostly stripped down, rather beaten, somewhat abandoned of sorts at least in direct human interaction. Yet it does not seem at all so, for the mind and heart and soul reflect upon many persons living on earth and living not on earth. All is prayer--the reflections, the bringing forth of souls to the subconscious as well as conscious, from and by the Holy Spirit.
While sanding primed doors, while preparing some coffee, while trying to get up from the mattress or trying to get comfortable on the mattress (not possible really, this latter): the mind, heart, and soul are turned to the Lord even when the outer self can think not, surely not.
That is the deception, though. And even if I can think that I am rebelling of sorts, or being a very flagrant and despicable Catholic hermit, is that the reality? No, for reality at some phase of spiritual progression is no longer a possession by a soul but is in the purview of God, an assessment for His Real Presence to determine.
Thus, when I read the Living Word in the following, it all makes sense once again, and any crumb of description of whatever phase of hermit life and hermit soul I might attempt to describe, is of no concern. As John of the Cross puts it, there are those who pass through in the active "night", and those who are brought through "passively."
My soul is being brought through in the passive "night."
For from Him and through Him and for Him are all things. To God be glory forever. Amen. ~ Romans 11:36
