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Penetrating Writer: Francois Mauriac

Preparing for North Dakota, I am perusing a delightful French novel, ‘Woman of the Pharisees’, intrigued by the author Francois Mauriac.  A twentieth century writer, contemporary to Albert Camus and Elie Wiesel, Mauriac wrote as a devout defending Catholic.  Interestingly, his granddaughter is Anne Wiazemsky, lead in Bresson’s ‘Au Hasard Balthazar’, a film I recently enjoyed at the Cleveland Cinematheque.  Mauriac’s writing style trends toward stark realism, revealing the dark side of human nature, especially poignant when focused upon pious individuals corrupting through their commitment to faith.  He is fearless in exposing those dedicated to the Church based upon the imposition of free will.  Avoiding the stain of negativism and self-righteous judgment, his words present spiritual insight and enlivening lessons for those advanced in the spiritual life, a relief and recognition awaiting those experienced in Catholic socializing.  The characters are recognizable.  I am taking a break from spiritual reading, creating mental space before North Dakota, enthralled by being captivated by a novel.  I have also been listening to Fyodor Dosteyevsky’s ‘Notes From the Underground’ while driving.  A harsh quote from EWTN regarding Mauriac’s sensibility.  Keep in mind, within his sternness, I find a loving and compassionate nature tendered by Mauriac toward his characters.

Mauriac was a man of orthodox faith and constant practice…Yet many of his novels dismayed Catholics with their pessimism, their presentation of vice in all its turpitude, and his continual near obsession with sin. But there was no mistaking the fidelity with which he represented the realities of living and showed that no kind of happiness is possible without God. He displayed the squalor and emptiness of souls from which faith is missing. He exposed the misery and horror prevailing in some families which are outwardly in order.

It has been well said that Mauriac is not a novelist of the human condition, but of the human exile. He does not depict man’s humanity: he depicts his fall, his loss of grace, his deprivation of paradise, his concupiscence, and the sad weight of heredity which lies upon his free will. He showed the power of the flesh and its apparent incompatibility with love for God; he described the final vanity and despair of passion….Mauriac wrote: “Every human love sets up a block against the one Love, and so involves and marks its own destiny.” But the same human souls which he studied with such pitiless pessimism when at their lowest and in their greatest misery, are forced to raise their heads, to look up. His constant purpose was to show the contrary of all that sadness: to demonstrate the value of Christ’s words “Without me you can do nothing” and to do so by means of human decadence.

In the ‘Woman of the Pharisees’, Brigitte Pian, stepmother to the narrator Louis telling the story of his youth, is exposed as a woman preoccupied with religious domination.  Her greatest spiritual exercise is Lording over the destiny and thoughts of others.  A woman demanding recognition as a virtuous, impeccable leader of the Church, she is only happy and expressive in faith when controlling.  She puts much effort, thought, and time into her conniving and manipulating, extending herself into the authority of the Church in order to further personal agendas. She never took a step she could not immediately justify. Within brokenness, she forcefully determines it is her destiny to direct souls. Her words and advice provide grace for those placed under her guidance.  A woman who presents herself as one who cannot be questioned is revealed by Mauriac as one who must be questioned.  The quoted section is brilliant in subtle insight, the unmasking of repugnant spiritual corruption. It is astounding the novel fell into my lap.

…Brigitte Pian had plenty to occupy her.  The days were too short for her happy task of helping a man straighten the tangled skein of his private problems. She felt that she was not wasting her life, that she was to make clear to others what God had planned for them from the beginning of time.  Here, at her very door, was an unrivaled opportunity for her to show her mettle, though she fully realized the dangers involved.  She was perhaps, too satisfied in the part she felt called upon to play.  Not that she was guilty, even in the smallest degree, of self-indulgence: still, at first she did seem to be deriving too much satisfaction from Monsieur Puybaraud’s way of listening to her as to an oracle.  But, alas, his meekness was superficial only.  Very soon it was borne in on Brigitte Pian that she was dealing with a less submissive sheep than she had at first supposed.  “He is a wandering soul,” she told herself in the course of the second week.  She even went so far as to accuse him of deliberately setting his face against the operations of Grace—by which she meant her own advice.

It was Brigitte Pian’s way to drive reluctant souls on to the mountain tops (that was how she phrased it), and she made it her duty to open Monsieur Puybaraud’s eyes to that special trick of the Devil which takes the form of enlisting against a Christian sinner the very sense he has of his own humility.  My master was convinced that previously he had had too high an idea of his own strength when he had felt himself called upon to eschew the normal destiny of mankind.  He felt that it was his duty, while there might yet be time, to find his way back to the beaten track marked out by those who had gone before him and, like them, to take himself a wife, have children, and watch over them as a bird watches over its brood.  But Brigitte Pian knew well that it is sometimes necessary to tear from human souls that mask of spurious humility behind which they take refuge.  She declared, as though she had been the very mouthpiece of God, that Monsieur Puybaraud had been taken from his school work only because, from all eternity, he had been destined for the life of the cloister.  She assured him that he had to face one problem and one alone—at what door should he knock?  To what Order should he make his submission? 

 

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Spiritual Direction

We read in the Chronicles of St Francis, that a secular asked a good religious, why St John Baptist, having been sanctified in his mother’s womb, should retire to the desert, and lead there such a penitential life as he did. The good religious answered him, by first asking this question: pray why do we throw salt upon meat that is fresh and good? To keep it the better, and to hinder it from corruption, replied the other. The very same answer I give you, says the religious, concerning the Baptist; he made use of penance as of salt, to preserve his sanctity from the least corruption of sin as holy Church sings of him, “that purity of his life might not be tarnished with the least breath.” Now, if in time of peace, and when we have no temptation to fight against, it is very useful to exercise our bodies by penance and mortification, with how much more reason ought we do so in time of war, when encompassed with enemies on all side? St Thomas, following Aristotle’s opinion, says that the word chastity is derived from “chastise,” inasmuch as by chastising the body we subdue the vice opposite to chastity; and also adds, that the vices of the flesh are like children, who must be whipped into their duty, since they cannot be led to it by reason. –St Alphonsus Rodriguez ‘The Practice of Christian and Religious Perfection’.

Chastise: 1. To discipline, especially by corporal punishment. 2. To criticize severely. 3. Archaic to restrain; chasten. 4. Archaic. To refine; purify.

St Alphonsus Rodriguez writes guidance for the religious, yet I find his harsh, demanding perspective practical in contemplative pursuits as a layperson, while also touching upon a consideration into living a fully consecrated life. We are either fully in, or we are out. No dabbling. This is not a game of casualness, times of allowing explorations into the secular and nonreligious without salting ourselves. If we are not fully in, we must respect those fully in. Consideration and kindness are deeper than being casual and brash. Defenses must be up, ramparts in place, when journeying through life. I am reading a novel, ‘All We Know of Heaven” by Remy Rougeau, a Canadian Benedictine monk writing about a nineteen year old entering a Cistercian monastery. The novel captures me with its concise matter-of-fact, drab delivery; a boringness to the entire endeavor that pleases. Brutally honest realism, I suppose, with respect to Thomas Merton’s ‘Seven Story Mountain’. Poignantly ironic, I find the work of fiction realistic, and the biography delusional. In the novel there is not an underlying need for the author to establish himself as a recognized intellectual, an academic authority, a pop culture religious/literary celebrity. This is simply a monk telling a simple story. There is no great exploration of larger than life ideals, no religious history, nor romanticizing through flowery language, no desiring to expose the mystical and supernatural (a criticism I should consider reflectively), no tendency toward psychological self-absorbing introspections, no exposing of one’s inner-most being, no long sentences—saying so many things in a quick spewing. It is a simple realistic view into the occurrences within the life of a young man entering a Canadian Trappist monastery. Ordinary, yet set apart, an original thing in the world. Things can be defined by what they are not. “He walked into the house (his parent’s home after a week at the monastery) and felt as though he had returned from a foreign country; the television seemed a very odd contraption.”

No time, and thoughts are not coming out. I was aiming for the idea that God did not sacrifice His Son over two thousand years ago, and aside from the Church, basically disappear from the ways of man accidently. A God of order, there is a divine plan in place. It is difficult, demanding penance, mortification, and dedication, obviously trust and confidence, as well as obedience and surrender, the following of the ways of the Church if serious depth is to be achieved. Within and through the ordinary, the boring and mundane, we come into actualization, yet the process is difficult, the ways of the saints rigorous, brutal, and nearly impossible in regards to application.  Divine assistance please subtly abide. The extraordinary existing within the ordinary takes a fine process of revealing; romantic traps, emotional enticements, egotistical needs, the desire for intellectual gratification, artistic expression, boredom, and the flesh are always posed for a gradual or immediate devouring.  Not sure I am pleased with this entry, struggling personally with respect to perfection and longing for Ann–some days are difficult, yet never will I fully concede defeat, for as St Liguori teaches, the greatest defeat is to lose hope. My friend with the Catholic bookstore has a sign above her front door, above a holy water dispenser, ‘All yee who enter, abandon despair’. Always through faith, hope, charity and GRADUALNESS within fortitude, perseverance, and understanding–‘gratefulness for progress achieved’ maintained as a driving force, I move forward. To dabble or sit casually still is to die.  The sitting still must be done with precise purpose, adorably and prayerfully in the presence of the Eucharist. Dentist appointment this morning, natural world calls, salting performed.

All We Know of Heaven

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Recovery reflection

Reflective day. I want to sort through my thoughts by writing them down. I was supposed to move today, yet I just simply did not have the physical or emotional energy. Work has been difficult the past week, hot and physically demanding—long hours and hard dirty work. I was exhausted punching out today. Adhering to routine, I headed for downtown: immediately to the Eucharist for adoration, then mass, and exploring Cleveland streets. During adoration, with no serious sadness, I erupted in tears before the Eucharist, crying whole hearted, contemplatively and cleansing. One of the Poor Clares was moving about as a ghost, passing between the order’s cloistered pews and into what I speculate is a private chapel for communal prayer. Father Roger, one of the extern sisters, along with a gentleman blossoming into a friend were speaking softly as I entered. All eyes cast my way. I said nothing. They said nothing. I nodded my head. Sister Clare Marie waved and Father Roger smiled. I commenced into prayer. I am not sure how and when, yet they all departed, leaving me alone with the Eucharist and one of the sisters stealthily moving about. The Poor Clares home has become my home, peace comes, and yet today so did strong tears. I am not sure if Dennis took note, yet after some time he came out casually making his way to me. Conversation with him is strenuous, awkward, due to his speech impediment. I know he finds it uncomfortable to speak, preferring silence. He wanted to discuss the offer I made to supply food for the after Sunday mass gathering, outlining possibilities, asking me not to bring anything this week as they had plenty, and the fact Father Sam had a birthday celebration the twenty-fourth. His suggestion was that would be a good day for something special. Earlier in the week, Sister Clare Marie touched me by the fact she has no knowledge of Brie cheese. Being from India, she never tried, nor even heard of the cheese. I want her to try the cheese with respect to its monastic origins, and association with the court of King Charlemagne. I am positive a well arraigned serving tray centered round French bread, brie cheese, assorted vegetables: English cucumbers, sliced avocadoes, red bell peppers, mini-carrots, and green onions; along with a quality pasta and potato salad would be proper and light fare for the fifteen or so people who gather, possibly more for Father Sam’s birthday. The conversation soothed my melancholy as the sisters launched into their mid-afternoon prayers behind sanctuary walls. On into mass at the cathedral, where something of note should be registered. During mass, melancholy returned. During the extending of peace, a stout teenage girl turned to shake my hand. Her family all turned to greet me, however once she faced me the twelve years old’s bright spirit and strong, serious, genuine square face caught me off guard. Rosy cheeked, she beamed, radiating sheer joy and enthusiasm, absolute beauty and innocence. Uncontrollably, yet subtly, I broke into tears, casting my eyes downward. Embarrassed, doing everything to avoid dramatics, knowing what was happening was authentic, I continued on, and gracefully everything surrounding advanced appropriately for me to gather myself and remain hidden. Moving on to Cleveland streets, the flocking crowd held nothing for me today. There were no clever words for the Romanian waitress working at the Vietnamese restaurant. I departed downtown quickly, heading for the suburbs and Mother’s Day shopping. Staying only two months at my latest residence, it is more difficult to leave than I anticipated. I know I am doing the right thing. Confidence and proper discretion guide, yet there are so many changes occurring. Turning the focus to recovery–recognizing a year of sobriety approaches, arriving in June—an integral part of the changes involves being asked to give a lead at a special monthly AA meeting, Calix, in July, the month of my birthday. Overall, the role of AA in my life is being examined. I have determined I will turn the offer to tell my story down. I will not share my experience, strength, and hope. I spoke with my therapist/spiritual director yesterday, and realized I should have discussed the matter with him. I will before officially negating the request. It is an honor to lead the meeting. I am surprised they asked, yet I am not comfortable with the spiritual aspects. I did discuss with my therapist the fact I will be curtailing my activities with AA. There are many reasons and it is well thought out. Everything written before points to this. I have been intimately involved with AA for over ten years, and I am, confident in comprehending, embracing, and admiring AA’s message. I will also make the statement, and I made it to my therapist who closely examined and questioned my words, that a concrete awareness has centered in my being that I will never drink again. I will never take another drink of alcohol. I cannot. It is a vow I extend to Christ, pleading with the Holy Spirit to guide, bowing to God the Father in silence, knowing under all circumstances Mary watches over me, guiding and instructing my guardian angel. The reality grows more acute daily. There is no need for justification, criticism, announcements, proclamations, or over-explanations. A huge part of the changes in my life will be breaking from the group of people I have worked with four times a week for well over six months. It is a wonderful locale, in the quaint small town of Olmsted Falls. This evening I even walked around the historic railroad depot, shopping, ice cream, and riverside park. Pleasant and quiet time of walking prayer. With thorough gratitude, it is time to move forward. I am conformable with my changing involvement in AA, discerning proper signs, lacking definitude.  Yet I also felt the need to postpone the move for a week. I will board with a gentleman, and his future son-in-law, involved in the program for decades, intelligent and interesting, having giving up the insurance business in order to return to his call as a Presbyterian minister, employed with a local hospice. I will allow the Holy Spirit to guide regarding my new role in AA. My housing host supports me, also providing respectful space, while declaring that my living there is predicated upon absolute abstinence. I know exactly what I seek from AA: fellowship, a clear unadulterated message, and vivid reminders of the devastation alcohol plays in the lives of those unable to successfully imbibe. AA is practical, touching on the spiritual and psychological, while remaining distant from personal spiritual guidance. Friends are essential. My weekly basketball games are huge, vital to my sanity. My prayers are filled with hope for an expanding social life. Acquiescing to divine will, I allow patience to shape my coming days. I post the first reading from Sunday, the sixth Sunday of Easter. The words from Acts chapter 10 correlate to a discussion with a friend before the Eucharist at St Paul’s:

Then Peter (first Pope) proceeded to speak and said, “In truth, I see that God shows no partiality. Rather, in every nation whoever fears him and acts uprightly is acceptable to him.” While Peter was still speaking these things, the Holy Spirit fell upon all who were listening to the word. The circumcised believers who had accompanied Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit should have been poured out on the Gentiles also, for they could hear them speaking in tongues and glorifying God. Then Peter responded, “Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people, who have received the Holy Spirit even as we have?” He ordered them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ.

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The Knight of God –Henry Suso poetry

“For I will show him how many things he must suffer for My name’s sake.” Acts ix. 16

As the song of him who singeth,
Playing on a harp of gold,
So to me was Christ’s evangel
In the days of old.

Thus across the lake of Constance
Went I forth to preach His Word,
And beside me sat the squire
Of a noble Lord.

None in all the ship so knightly,
None so bravely dight as he-
“Tell me,” I besought, “thine errand
Yonder o’er the sea.”

“I go forth,” he said, “to gather
Many a knight and noble bold;
They shall tilt at joust and tourney,
Whilst fair eyes behold.

“And the bravest and the noblest
He shall win a glorious prize,
Smiles to boot, and courtly favour
In the ladies’ eyes.”

“Tell me what shall be the guerdon?”
“Lo, the fairest in the land
Sets a gold ring on his finger
With her lily hand.”

“Tell me how the knight may win it?”
“Scars and bruises must he boast,
For the knight shall be the winner
Who endures the most.”

“Tell me, if when first assaulted,
He in knightly guise shall stand,
Shall he win the golden guerdon
From his lady’s hand?”

“Nay, right on, till all is over,
Must a worthy knight hold on;
Bear the brunt, and stand a conqueror
When the fight is done.”

“And if he be wounded sorely,
Will he weep and will he mourn?”
“Nay, in place of winning honour,
He would win but scorn.”

Then my spirit sank within me,
And within my heart I spake-
“O my Lord, thus fight the knightly
For their honour’s sake.

“Small the prize, and stern the battle,
Worthless gain, and weary fight-
Lord, a ring of stones most precious
Hast thou for Thy knight!

“Oh, to be the knight of Jesus!
Scorning pain, and shame, and loss;
There the crown, the joy, the glory,
Here, O Lord, Thy Cross.”

Then I wept, with bitter longing
Thus the knight of God to be;
And the Lord, who saw me weeping,
Gave the cross to me.

Bitter pain, and shame, and sorrow
Came upon me as a flood-
I forgot it was the tourney
Of the knights of God.

And again I wept, beseeching,
“Take the Cross, O Lord, from me!”
Till a light broke like the morning
Over the wild sea.

Then there spake the Voice beloved,
Still and sweet my heart within-
“is it thus, O knight of Jesus,
Thou the prize wilt win?”

“O my Lord, the fight is weary-
Weary, and my heart is sore!”
“And,” he answered, “fair the guerdon,
And for evermore.”

“I have shamed Thee, craven-hearted,
I have been Thy recreant knight-
Own me yet, O Lord, albeit
Weeping whilst I fight.”

“Nay,” He said; “yet wilt thou shame Me
Wilt thou shame thy knightly guise?
I would have My angels wonde
At thy gladsome eyes.

“Need’st thou pity, knight of Jesus?-
Pity for thy glorious hest?
On! let God and men and angels
See that thou art blest!

In the middle ages, the knight was the heroic figure men aspired to be in fantasy and deed–a life of bravery and honor. Chivalry demanded a code of ethics–manliness included virtuous conduct and thought, fighting the good fight, speaking words of wisdom, generosity, and kindness. In a world of brutality and wicked tongues, the knight righteously matched violence with violence, cruelty with compassion and intelligence. The defenseless were to be protected, the weak to be venerated, respected and sheltered. A true knight’s every effort was to God and others. In tournaments, the battlefield and life, a knight dedicated his efforts to a chosen damsel. The lady of honor acknowledging his respect by tying a scarf to the knight’s jousting lance or armory. St Francis aspired to be a knight in his younger days, before turning his heroic efforts over to the religious life. His lady of honor became Lady Poverty, captured so lovingly, allegorically, and fantastically in ‘Sacrum commercium Sancti Francisci cum domina Paupertate’ (The Sacred Bond of Saint Francis with Lady Poverty). The idea leads so fittingly into a devotion to Our Holy Mother.

Knight Praying

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Farewell Discourse moving forward

Gospel of John chapter 15

1 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. 2 Every branch of mine that bears no fruit, he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. 3 You are already made clean by the word which I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in me, and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. 6 If a man does not abide in me, he is cast forth as a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire and burned. 7 If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you will, and it shall be done for you. 8 By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be my disciples. 9 As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you; abide in my love.

farewell

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The Spiritual Canticle

THE BRIDE

Ah, who has the power to heal me?
now wholly surrender yourself!
Do not send me
any more messengers,
they cannot tell me what I must hear.

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Imitation of Christ: Humiliation Invitation

When you strive to do the very best you know how and then, because of this, you receive from people words of scorn and contemptuous shrugs, and when they consider you in their hearts as nothing at all and think that you neither know how to nor dare to seek revenge–and if you not only stand firm and unshaken by all this but also pray lovingly to the heavenly Father for them and pardon them before him out of love–as often as you thus die to yourself out of love, just so often does my death turn green and bloom in you. When you keep yourself pure and innocent and yet your good actions are so suppressed that you are counted among the evil doers and your heart is joyful at this, and when you are so ready to forgive completely those who caused you anguish or seek your pardon for all the misery they ever caused you, as though it never happened, and, in addition, are ready to help them and render them service in word and deed in imitation of me forgiving those who crucified me, then you truly stand next to your crucified Love. When you withdraw from human advantage and comfort, except for the bare minimum you need, then your renunciation of these joys and pleasures makes up for all those who then deserted me.

When you are so free of attachments to your friends for my sake, as though they did not concern you in all things where an obstacle can occur, then I have a disciple and brother standing beneath the cross who helps me bear my suffering. The undisturbed freedom of your heart clothes and adorns my nakedness. When, in all the adversity that befalls you because of your neighbor, you are overcome for my sake and you accept the chaotic anger of all men as meekly as a silent lamb–no matter where it comes from or how quickly it arises or whether it is your fault or not–and when you thus overcome the evil of others with a good disposition, mild speech and a kind expression on your face, then the true image of my death is being fashioned in you. Truly, when I find this likeness, what pleasure and joy my heavenly Father and I experience!

Bear my bitter death in the ground of your heart, in your prayers and in the manifestation of your actions. Then you experience fully the suffering and loyal love of my pure Mother and my dear disciple.

–Henry Suso ‘Little Book of Eternal Wisdom’

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