No Mass for two days, I was rewarded with a splendid endeavor at St John the Evangelist in Streamwood, Illinois. A full choir and band on Halloween Wednesday, a pre-celebration for All Saints day. A communal Rosary before Mass, plentiful attendance, allowed a resting within meaningful peace. It is gratifying to be amongst believers glorifying the Lord. Tomorrow the Church will provide Eucharistic Adoration before and after Mass. God is good.
Prayer is both a gift of grace and a determined response on our part. It always presupposes effort. The great figures of prayer of the Old Covenant before Christ, as well as the Mother of God, the saints, and he himself, all teach us this: prayer is a battle. Against whom? Against ourselves and against the wiles of the tempter who does all he can to turn man away from prayer, away from union with God. We pray as we live, because we live as we pray. If we do not want to act habitually according to the Spirit of Christ, neither can we pray habitually in his name. The “spiritual battle” of the Christian’s new life is inseparable from the battle of prayer.
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We must also face the fact that certain attitudes deriving from the mentality of “this present world” can penetrate our lives if we are not vigilant. For example, some would have it that only that is true which can be verified by reason and science; yet prayer is a mystery that overflows both our conscious and unconscious lives. Others overly prize production and profit; thus prayer, being unproductive, is useless. Still others exalt sensuality and comfort as the criteria of the true, the good, and the beautiful; whereas prayer, the “love of beauty” (philokalia), is caught up in the glory of the living and true God. Finally, some see prayer as a flight from the world in reaction against activism; but in fact, Christian prayer is neither an escape from reality nor a divorce from life.
Another temptation, to which presumption opens the gate, is acedia. The spiritual writers understand by this a form of depression due to lax ascetical practice, decreasing vigilance, carelessness of heart. “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” The greater the height, the harder the fall. Painful as discouragement is, it is the reverse of presumption. The humble are not surprised by their distress; it leads them to trust more, to hold fast in constancy. –Catechism of the Catholic Church
Evagrius of Pontus: The demon of acedia, which is also called the noonday demon, is the most burdensome of all the demons. It besets the monk at about the fourth hour (10 am) of the morning, encircling his soul until about the eighth hour (2 pm). First it makes the sun seem to slow down or stop moving , so that the day appears to be fifty hours long. Then it makes the monk keep looking out of his window and forces him to go bounding out of his cell to examine the sun to see how much longer it is to 3 o’clock, and to look round in all directions in case any of the brethren is there. Then it makes him hate the place and his way of life and his manual work. It makes him think that there is no charity left among the brethren; no one is going to come and visit him. If anyone has upset the monk recently, the demon throws this in too to increase his hatred. It makes him desire other places where he can easily find all that he needs and practice an easier, more convenient craft. After all, pleasing the Lord is not dependent on geography, the demon adds; God is to be worshipped everywhere. It joins to this the remembrance of the monk’s family and his previous way of life, and suggests to him that he still has a long time to live, raising up before his eyes a vision of how burdensome the ascetic life is. So, it employs, as they say, every [possible] means to move the monk to abandon his cell and give up the race. No other demon follows on immediately after this one but after its struggle the soul is taken over by a peaceful condition and by unspeakable joy.
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In Dante’s Divine Comedy, for example, sloth is described as tepid love, the failure to love God with all of one’s being (lento amore). In the popular imagination sloth has become equivalent to laziness, yet the Eastern Christian understanding of acedia enjoys a much richer meaning. Acedia, says Evagrius, is the “noon-day demon” that attacks the believer when the sun is at its highest and the heat unbearably oppressive. It is more than a flaw of character but an alien power that drains the person of energy and life, ultimately leading to spiritual death and sometimes even suicide, tearing “the soul to pieces as a hunting-dog does a fawn”.
The eight logismoi (temptations) of Evagrius combine in various ways, generating different psychic-spiritual outcomes; but acedia appears to be unique in one respect: “If it is true that, for the others, at any given time they are a link in a colorful and variously assembled chain (God’s creation), so it is said of despondency that it is always the terminus (the end of faith, hope, and love) of such a chain, and is therefore not followed immediately by any other ‘thoughts’”.
It’s as if acedia makes it impossible for the other passions to operate, so enervating is the gloom. For this reason Evagrius identifies acedia as “the most oppressive of all demons”. On the day that it strikes, “no other thought follows that of despondency, first because it persists, and then also, because it contains in itself nearly all the thoughts”. Hence it is one of the most dangerous of the vices and the most difficult to combat, especially if it settles into a more or less permanent condition. The frustration of desire, inevitably accompanied by anger, fuels the deadly torpidity. “A despondent person hates precisely what is available,” Evagrius writes, “and desires what is not available”. He is thus reduced to a state of irrationality, “dragged by desire and beaten by hatred”
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Finally, a characteristic time factor may be added. The other thoughts come and go at times even very rapidly, for example those of impurity and blasphemy. In contrast, the thought of acedia, because of its complex nature, which unites in itself the most diverse other thoughts, has the characteristic of lasting for a long time. From that duration arises an entirely particular state of mind, such as is typical for depression. When it is not recognized in a timely manner, or rather when one refrains from applying the appropriate remedies, it can become more or less manifest as a permanent condition.
In the life of the soul, acedia thus represents a type of dead end. A distaste for all that is available combined with a diffuse longing for what is not available paralyzes the natural functions of the soul to such a degree that no single one of any of the other thoughts can gain the upper hand! —Eclectic Orthodoxy website reviewing the book ‘Despondency: The Spiritual Teaching of Evagrius of Pontus’ by Father Gabriel Bunge.
Durtal left the corner of the transept where he had been sitting with his back to a pillar, and turned to the left, towards a bay where there was a framework ablaze with lighted tapers before the statue of the Virgin.
And schools of little girls under the guidance of Sisters, troops of peasant women and countrymen, poured out of every aisle, knelt in front of the image, and then came up to kiss the pedestal.
The appearance of these folks suggested to Durtal that their prayers were not like those that are sobbed out at evening twilight, the supplications of women worn and dismayed by the weary hours of day. These peasant souls prayed less as complaining than as loving; these people, kneeling on the flags, had come for Her sake rather than for their own. There was here and now a pause from grieving, a sort of reprieve from tears; and this attitude was in harmony with the special aspect adopted by Mary in this cathedral; She was seen there, in fact, under the form of a child and of a young mother; She was the Virgin of the Nativity, rather than our Lady of Dolour. The old artists of the Middle Ages seemed to have feared to sadden Her by reminding Her of memories too painful, to have striven to prove by this delicate reserve, their gratitude to Her who in this sanctuary had ever shown Herself to be the Dispenser of Mercies, the Lady Bountiful of Grace.urtal felt in himself an answering thrill, the echo of the prayers chanted all round him by these loving souls; and he let himself melt away in the soothing sweetness of the hymns, asking for nothing, silencing his ungratified desires, smothering his secret repining, thinking only of bidding an affectionate good-morning to the Mother to whom he had returned after such distant wanderings in the land of sin, after such a long absence.
And now that he had seen Her, that he had spoken to Her, he withdrew, making room for others who came in greater numbers as the day grew. He went home to get some food; and as he cast a last sweeping glance at the beautiful church, remembering the warlike imagery of its details…. –J.K. Huysmans ‘The Cathedral’
I am waiting in the Chicago O’Hare airport, after a late Sunday morning flight. Everything went remarkably smooth, the flight seemingly over not too long after take-off. Now complications will most likely arise. The other four gentleman meeting me all flew into Midway airport, thirty-two miles south, and then we drive fifty-three miles southwest to Joliet. The others texted that their flight was late in taking off. As I sit waiting in Chicago, they have not even left Cleveland. It appears I will have a plentitude of time people watching at the airport. I find the fact appealing. A mother and teenage daughter, sharing a fine form of loving communication, laughing and joking constantly with one another, has just departed the adjoining seats. An oriental stewardess takes their place. Before the outbound flight, I was able to attend an early Mass at St Charles. Once again, I am struck by the profoundness I am experiencing attending Mass with a full church of parishioners. The families, the elderly, the gathering of people allows detachment, a pulling away from myself, a pleasing feeling of love. Currently, I am being overwhelmed with recovery efforts—a lot is coming at me. I accept the challenge of allowing a multitude of input, while outputting little. Humbly, I allow influences to emerge, and others to pass by. Silently, I try to acquiesce. There is no doubt my center is Mass, the summit of my prayer life. The reality of who I am is concrete, meaningful, and distinct during Mass. I view the process of my life, including the failures and struggles—possibly through them the most—a trudging toward the light, an embracing of God. During Mass, I did become pouty with myself, speculating about realities. I thought of my past, remembering the difficulties. I wondered why God did not guide me to a stable life within the Church. There is no place that brings such peace. Why did I wander so far? During Mass today, within the congregation, I observed women of faith, humbly dedicated to their families and community. Why did a broken young lady materialize as my first love? The heart break and immersion into sin during and after the relationship nearly did me in. I am still recovering. Realizing my first romantic love may not be going back far enough, I whined to myself while awaiting the Eucharist. Why didn’t God draw me immediately and intimately into the Church? It was there I belonged. The religious life or the life of a faithful father and husband are obviously the avenue a properly formed young man would have pursued. Yet that was not who I was. Possessing a stout faith, I was determined to open wide the gates of the world, nearly, and prayerfully not, the gates of hell, all in the name of seeking the life of an artist. Possessing mediocre talent, lacking a serious work ethic, plus being emotionally and psychologically broken, nothing substantial amounted from the grievous endeavor. The fascinated young man who read Hermann Hesse’s ‘Demain’ with a passion inherently needed to experience the world; to discover and appease himself with the possibility he may possess a unique vision. There were things that I could not avoid. Delusion drove forward, enlightening through sorrow, disappointment, addiction and severity. I can only be grateful for the protection God provided, the anchoring and guidance provided by my Holy Mother. Now looking back, it is obvious I never stood a chance. Struggle and strife were the only paths I was capable of creating. There was no way prosperity and stability could establish itself. I reflect upon my time with the Franciscan order, comprehending my proliferation within the rigorous prayer life, while unable to adapt to the emotional and psychological demands of community life. It was not long before internally I was warring with others. My thoughts while alone, away from prayer, were lonely, desperate, and ugly. Within a religious order, I became singular, an isolated being—a soul vulnerable to Satan. Unable to properly seek spiritual guidance, unable to communicate, it was not long before I was walking away, my obstinate pride leading the way. Deficient in coping mechanisms, I stubbornly rejected a life that gave me a sense of peace and depth never known before, a way of life that introduced the means of advanced prayer that grace allowed access to. There were things that needed to be addressed, and I did not have the means to address them. Rebellion, a contentious and fighting nature ruled my thoughts, and thus my behavior. I could not cease the dissenting. I could not quiet my argumentative mind. The struggles continued, within a life devoted and loving God, I could not find peace. Anger and wrath were my natural expression. I recall living with my rescuer, screaming at her so relentlessly that I piercingly gave myself a splitting headache. It was not about being right. Attached to a codependent and obsessive idea of love, the core of my being poured forth rage. Now I sit at the O’Hare airport watching people, the majority reflections in the street viewing window, distinct where the window is darkened. One of the gentleman emerging (I posted his photo) will be guiding me through the book ‘Why am I Afraid to Tell You Who I Am?’ Under the direction of another, he recently exercised his way through the book. Now the student becomes the teacher. My teacher he will become. I trust the gentleman. His unassuming, smiling nature, instantly disarms. I turned around for the exchanging of peace yesterday at St Paul Shrine, my eyes locking onto this wonderful face seated directly behind me. I knew I knew the man. It took a concentrated stare and the reception of a smile before the realization set in that it was Dennis wishing me peace. He was not wearing his glasses. I look forward to sharing a reading and recovery experience with Dennis. Together, we will explore the writing of Jesuit priest John Powell. Conducting research on Father Powell, I was saddened to discover complexity. I will link to a EWTN Women of Grace post for further examination. Life is truly a struggle.
My person is not a little hard core inside of me, a little fully formed state that is real and authentic, permanent and fixed. My person rather implies a dynamic process. In other words, if you knew me yesterday, please do not think that I am the same person that you are meeting today.
I have experienced more of life, I have encountered new depths in those I love, I have suffered and prayed, and I am different.
Please do not give me a “batting average,” fixed and irrevocable, because I am “in there” constantly, taking my swings at the opportunities of daily living. Approach me, then, with a sense of wonder, study my face and hands and voice for the signs of change; for it is certain that I have changed. But even if you do not recognize this, I may be somewhat afraid to tell you who I am. –‘Why am I Afraid to Tell You Who I Am?” Father John Powell.
As it reached the chancel,
The light came in through
brighter and clearer colors,
through the blue of translucent
sapphires, through pale rubies,
brilliant yellow, and crystalline white.
The gloom was relieved
beyond the transepts near the altar.
Even in the centre of the cross
the sun pierced clearer glass,
less storied with figures,
and bordered with almost colorless panes
that admitted it freely.
At last, in the apse,
forming the top of the cross,
it poured in,
symbolical of the light
that flooded the world
from the top of the Tree
and the images were diaphanous,
just lightly covered
with flowing line and aerial tints,
to frame in a sheaf of colored sparks
the image of a Madonna,
less hieratic and barbaric than the others,
and a fairer Infant,
blessing the earth with uplifted hand.
Two paragraphs of J.K. Huysmans from ‘The Cathedral’ converted into a poem.
’Shadow’
The dark shadow
of the red barn
cast by the bright moon.
Only with light
does
darkness become.
Flood me in
Your light, Lord,
that I may face my shadows.
’Hanging On’
He held to the Cross,
blood drops nourishing the earth.
Plant your garden here.
’As For Me’
Northern Maine was my home
before I arrived.
It was what I was all about
all my life
even when I wasn’t living here.
Someday
I will walk into the woods
and become an oak tree,
be cut down
and made into a cross.
Thomas Lequin is a priest in Maine, who is also a farmer, Maine Master Guide, hunter, fisherman, and poet. His work has recently appeared in Iodine Poetry Journal, Anglican Theological Review, Iconoclast, Echoes, The Whirlwind Review, The Daily Bulldog, Church World, A Parallel Universe, The Alembic, and an anthology of contemporary animal poetry, The Wildest Peal (Moon Pie Press), Presence: A Journal of Catholic Poetry.
Barn watercolor painting Norma Thomas-Herr
Walk in the woods watercolor by Larry Golba, my junior high school art teacher
We perceive that only through utter defeat are we able to take our first steps toward liberation and strength. Our admissions of personal powerlessness finally turn out to be firm bedrock upon which happy and purposeful lives may be built…self-indulgence and permissiveness, when I came to realize that, by myself, I could do nothing to overcome…I realized I had no recourse except surrender. In surrender I found victory – victory over my selfish self-indulgence, victory over my stubborn resistance to life as it was given to me. When I stopped fighting anybody or anything, I started on the path to sobriety, serenity and peace…I will discipline myself. I will do this disciplining now. I will turn out all useless thoughts. I know that the goodness of my life is a necessary foundation for its usefulness. I will welcome this training, for without it God cannot give me His power. I believe that this power is a mighty power when used in the right way…I pray that I may face and accept whatever discipline is necessary. I pray that I may be fit to receive God’s power in my life.
Faith……….conviction
Hope………dreams
Love………achievement
Oh Holy Mother within my lack of words,
Recognize my weariness,
Praying with a statue still,
Easing into a tone set apart,
Your face radiates, transforms,
A hint of something unknown, masculine,
Eyes closed, cheekbones, and countenance,
Motherly love unified, an aspect you took upon,
Grace, reflecting to the best of abilities,
Changed in appearance, you took on the look
of your Son,
Intimate consequence, you became full,
Fullness and overflowing, a virgin’s kiss.
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