I recently read an excellent biography of the great saint and Doctor of the Church, Teresa of Jesus, by Cathleen Medwick. Ms. Medwick, while neither a Spaniard nor a Catholic--she is, in fact, an American Jew--captures perfectly the flavor of 16th century Spain, as well as the wit, determination, and chutzpah of la Santa Madre in Teresa of Avila: The Progress of a Soul.
I must confess that, when it comes to all things Teresian, I am very biased. Teresa is my best friend in heaven, the true companion of my soul. Still, I think that Medwick's book is as thorough and honest a reading of the life of the revered saint as one may find outside of her own autobiography, the Vida de Teresa de Jesus ("Life of Teresa of Jesus"), perhaps more so given Medwick's unique perspective. After all, Teresa was herself ethnically Jewish; her grandparents were conversos, Jews who were baptized in the Reconquista of Ferdinand and Isabella. (In an interesting turn of providence, three great Carmelite saints and spiritual masters, Teresa of Jesus, John of the Cross, co-founder with Teresa of the Discalced Reform, and Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, or Edith Stein, the brilliant philosopher and martyr of Auschwitz, were all ethnically Jewish.) Medwick's Teresa is a sign of contradiction: as a nun, bold yet humble, as a religious superior, firm yet loving, and as a reformer of her Carmelite Order and founder of monasteries, industrious yet completely trusting in God's providence.
For Teresa, the Discalced Reform was, ulltimately, God's own project, and God would see it completed. Perhaps a little context is necessary here. By the 16th century, the Carmelite Order, which has been founded in the Holy Land in the 13th century, had strayed from the austerity and prayerfulness of the primitive Rule, especially in Spain, where noble ladies were permitted to bring lapdogs and servants into the convent, adapt the habit to reflect their superior station, and come and go freely from the convent, to the neglect of their religious duties. Teresa's own convent of La Encarnacion was no exception. Moved by a voice from heaven, she established the first reformed convent, called descalzo ("discalced" from the fact that the nuns wore not shoes but simple hemp sandals), San Jose de Avila in 1562, with many more to follow throughout Castile and Andalusia.
While Teresa authored many books throughout her long life, including her spiritual masterpiece, Las Moradas ("The Mansions", more commonly known in English as The Interior Castle), as many commentators point out, her greatest work was her reform movement, which eventually bore fruit in many communities of strictly enclosed, contemplative nuns, as well as friars who, due to the requirements of their various ministries, were less strictly enclosed, but no less contemplative. To this day, these sons and daughters of Mary, Queen and Beauty of Carmel, live lives of prayer and quiet sacrifice, constantly interceding for the people of God.
A good companion to Medwick's biography is the nine-part Spanish mini-series Teresa de Jesus, directed by Josefina Molina and starring Concha Velasco as Teresa.
Showing posts with label John of the Cross. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John of the Cross. Show all posts
19 March 2011
12 August 2008
Detachment
Saint John of the Cross (with Teresa of Jesus, founder of the Discalced Carmelite Reform), a revered Doctor of the Church, wrote much on the topic of detachment. That is, that we as Christians should be detached from all temporal things, even those which are themselves good or profitable, such as our human relationships.
We may understand well enough why Saint John would counsel us in detachment from something like wealth, status or power. We need only look around and see how money is often the cause of much anxiety, the enemy of inner peace; the poor break laws to get money, the rich break laws to keep it, and both break more than laws in this plutonian pursuit, leaving in their wake a litter of broken hearts and broken homes. Such is the result when people try to fill with riches the void that only God can fill. And if any suffer more than these two extremes of the economic strata, it is those in the middle who from below and from above are subjected to the perennial lie: Money can indeed buy happiness. The expression "They had just enough money to make them miserable", comes readily to mind.
But what of those things which are obviously good, even of God? What of our friendships and marriages, anything that belongs to the sphere of human relationships? Yes, from these too, Saint John insists, we must be detached, good though they are and far superior to material wealth or status. As Scripture says, "Were one to offer all he owns to purchase love, he would be roundly mocked" (Song of Songs 8:7). Even these, however, can never fill the void in every human heart; loneliness, which is the human condition, can only ever be fully remedied by the indwelling of the Spirit of love and truth.
This does not mean that we must (necessarily) divest ourselves of all worldly wealth, status, power and (God forbid!) relationships, hermit-like. We need not run off to the mountain or the desert to escape temptation for, as the Gospel clearly demonstrates, even there (especially there) do we meet temptation (cf. Matthew 4:1-11). But everything must be ordered to the service of God and judged, for good or for ill, according to the extent that they serve God. If your riches empower you for the service of God, thank Him for them; if your riches are a consistent occasion of sin and grief, thank Him for them and then give them back.
Think about this the next time you get that whopping paycheck (some of which you will save, and some of which you spend on Christmas presents, a dinner out with friends and--one hopes--some charitable cause): What if God took it all away? Would it affect my relationship with my family, my friends... God Himself? Would the loss pull me down into despair? Would my ability to trust and to love be crippled? Would I have the peace of spirit to learn and grow from the experience?
Put another way, our human loves must never become possessive. (See what a difference such slight modifications of language make.) Perfect love (Latin caritas, Greek agape) is not only non-possessive, it is self-giving love... sacrificial love, for which Christ died on the Cross. And this is yet another paradox of the Cross: He loved the world too much to be bound to it.
"Love consists not in feeling great things but in having great detachment and in suffering for the Beloved." Saint John of the Cross
In His peace.
We may understand well enough why Saint John would counsel us in detachment from something like wealth, status or power. We need only look around and see how money is often the cause of much anxiety, the enemy of inner peace; the poor break laws to get money, the rich break laws to keep it, and both break more than laws in this plutonian pursuit, leaving in their wake a litter of broken hearts and broken homes. Such is the result when people try to fill with riches the void that only God can fill. And if any suffer more than these two extremes of the economic strata, it is those in the middle who from below and from above are subjected to the perennial lie: Money can indeed buy happiness. The expression "They had just enough money to make them miserable", comes readily to mind.
But what of those things which are obviously good, even of God? What of our friendships and marriages, anything that belongs to the sphere of human relationships? Yes, from these too, Saint John insists, we must be detached, good though they are and far superior to material wealth or status. As Scripture says, "Were one to offer all he owns to purchase love, he would be roundly mocked" (Song of Songs 8:7). Even these, however, can never fill the void in every human heart; loneliness, which is the human condition, can only ever be fully remedied by the indwelling of the Spirit of love and truth.
This does not mean that we must (necessarily) divest ourselves of all worldly wealth, status, power and (God forbid!) relationships, hermit-like. We need not run off to the mountain or the desert to escape temptation for, as the Gospel clearly demonstrates, even there (especially there) do we meet temptation (cf. Matthew 4:1-11). But everything must be ordered to the service of God and judged, for good or for ill, according to the extent that they serve God. If your riches empower you for the service of God, thank Him for them; if your riches are a consistent occasion of sin and grief, thank Him for them and then give them back.
Think about this the next time you get that whopping paycheck (some of which you will save, and some of which you spend on Christmas presents, a dinner out with friends and--one hopes--some charitable cause): What if God took it all away? Would it affect my relationship with my family, my friends... God Himself? Would the loss pull me down into despair? Would my ability to trust and to love be crippled? Would I have the peace of spirit to learn and grow from the experience?
Put another way, our human loves must never become possessive. (See what a difference such slight modifications of language make.) Perfect love (Latin caritas, Greek agape) is not only non-possessive, it is self-giving love... sacrificial love, for which Christ died on the Cross. And this is yet another paradox of the Cross: He loved the world too much to be bound to it.
"Love consists not in feeling great things but in having great detachment and in suffering for the Beloved." Saint John of the Cross
In His peace.
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