Usually our lives seem to be moving in many different directions, all at the same time. It doesn’t always work this way, but sometimes it does. Especially during Lent, when we want to slow down and pay more attention to the call of the Lord in our lives; our best intentions get frustrated by the pace and variety of life. But sometimes, things do slow down. Occasionally things converge and come together.  

Blessedly, this seems to be a time of convergence, not frustration. Sr. Bernadette is in Singapore right now, on a family visit. I am minding the hermitage, and working on an online course from St. John’s on the prophets. It’s also been a very long and snowy winter, with lots of time indoors. So that has brought more time to read and savor the prophetic writings.

In the course of reading some background material on the prophet Isaiah, I found a wonderful phrase used to describe some of the many meanings which might not be immediately obvious upon a casual reading.  Brevard Childs, in his commentary, speaks of meaning which “shimmers behind the text.”  I find it a wonderful phrase to describe what happens in the Scriptures,  and also what  goes on in our lives all the time, but which we normally don’t even notice.

I think it’s akin to what happened to those two disciples on the road to Emmaus. They met Jesus, but they didn’t know it was him. And he walked along with them, explaining the Scriptures to them, unfolding for them so many of the meanings shimmering behind the texts. These deeper, less noticeable understandings were not immediately apparent to them. Like most of us, they saw only on the surface. They needed help to see the deeper meanings, the more shadowy and evocative connections. They had only the faintest glimmer of the deeper text, the deeper and higher and more glorious meaning of God’s design and purpose, shimmering behind the bare bones of the Scriptural words.

Lent is a wonderful time to slow down and pay  attention. It is meant to be a time of repentance and conversion. But in order to change or allow ourselves to be changed, we first need to pay attention. Not only to ourselves, and not only to what we think we need to change or fix. Self-knowledge, to be helpful, must be twofold. Knowledge of ourselves and our neediness; but also, just as important, knowledge of God and of God’s presence in our lives that is the deeper text for each of us: the deeper text that shimmers through the unique story that is our life.

Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, like the residents of Nazareth, who couldn’t comprehend this young man Jesus who had grown up in their midst, we too usually can’t see the undertones of God that shimmer behind our surface lives.

Who are we really? What is our life about? Where is it going? These are good questions to ask ourselves during Lent.

Our daily life, our surface life, with its ups and downs, continues. The undertones are there also, but harder to notice. “Your life is hidden with Christ in God,” St. Paul tells us (Col 3:3). This life that is hidden with Christ is the undertone, the hidden text, which sometimes shimmers through, breaking the surface, giving us a glimmer, or sometimes a burst of radiance. Do we suffer? It is the Lord who suffers in us. Are we rejoicing? It is God’s joy, delighting in us and with us. Are we merely continuing on, day by day, doing the best we can with what life throws at us? It is the life of Jesus, moving through ours, patiently enduring. Lent is a time to notice these things, to let the hidden text shine through. A time to remember this hidden text. A time to believe in it. A time to embrace it wholeheartedly. A time to turn away from all that moves us away from this radiant undertone, to embrace the life that the Lord lives in us.

As we move through the shadows of Lent, the shadows of life, to the glory of Easter, let us remember the undertone which shimmers behind our lives. With this for support, we can survive all the long cold winters, all the griefs, all the storms, all the work, all the activity. “When  Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory” (Col 3:4).       

           

A few years ago, after we sold our Hermitage in Thorndike, I used the same headline as above: ‘Journeys Ended, Journeys Begun.’ Clearly one phase of our lives had ended, a new phase was about to begin. At that time we had no idea that it would take three years of living in transition before we would finally be able to settle into our new home. It actually was jet another year, a fourth year, before we were finally settled, most of the work completed on building and grounds, and we celebrated the blessing of our new home. Journey over, right?

But life has a way of moving on and moving us on with it. We seem to be embarking on another journey now, not a journey of moving to another physical place, but still another momentous change. We have had many, many blessings in the course of the last year, and perhaps the greatest of these blessings is the gift of new candidates to join with us in our life of solitude and prayer.

Beginning in July we have had numerous requests from women who are discerning their calling to a life of solitude and prayer. Two of these women have come for extended visits, one is planning such a visit. One of these women, who has extensive background in monastic and contemplative life, is currently with us as a resident hermit. And we have several others who are corresponding with us, and hoping to visit.

This is not to say that any of these women are actually called here permanently. It may be that none of them is. Yet, it obviously raises the question of the growth of our little community. And it is a fact that in a time of few vocations, contemplative communities are once again experiencing a rebirth of new members.

“What’s not to like?” you might ask. Indeed, we are blessed! And yet, as with any blessing, it also changes things. And change is challenging for each of us. We can all too easily get into a rut: newcomers disrupt those ruts. It’s very true that in monastic life, the newcomers have lots of changing to do, lots of adapting to the life. If they can’t change and grow, they can’t stay. What isn’t so immediately obvious is that the permanent members also must change and grow. Of course we won’t change the essentials of our way of life, so our changes are not so major. Still, we too are challenged to change, challenged to grow.

Even on a physical level, we are challenged. Because we had limited funding, we built our hermitage with only room for three sisters. Currently there are three of us in residence, so we urgently need room to grow. While we’ve arrived at a temporary solution that at least will give us room for one other to visit briefly, we still need room for others on a permanent basis.

Journeys are challenging, and change is challenging. But when the journey is that of following the Lord, and the change is one that God has in mind for us, then ultimately it is very good indeed. All of us are called to grow and to change: it’s called conversion. It is never easy, but with the grace of God, it’s not only possible, it will also bring us greater peace, greater joy – and the growth of the kingdom of God here on earth.

Meanwhile, we try to adapt in whatever way seems right. We try to listen deeply, with the ears of our heart, to those whom God sends our way. We try to be open to see and hear God’s call to us in the particularities of our lives, and the lives of those whom God sends. God is perhaps beginning a new journey with us. We can only try, with Mary, to say, ‘fiat’; thy will be done. Our fiat is never perfect, as hers was. We grumble and complain. We worry. We wonder if we’re hearing god right. We’re never completely sure if our choices are the right ones, if our adaptation is what God would have us do. But then, no doubt Mary also wondered. No doubt she also was never sure. Like us, she lived by faith. Faith in the ultimate power of God, and faith that, even in spite of ourselves, God would keep us on the right path. God is the origin and the end of all our journeys, and He is the path upon which we walk. “I am the way, the truth, and the life,” said Jesus. If we keep asking for his guidance, we will surely not go too far astray. If we walk in the darkness of faith, we walk securely, says St. John of the Cross.

And so we step into what seems to be the beginning of a new journey. We will surely stumble on this path many times, and yet, God willing, we will get up, find our way, and still embracing the entire world in our hearts and our prayer, we will keep walking.    

Sr. Elizabeth Wagner

Taken from The View: News from Transfiguration Hermitage; Vol. 12, #3.