Thealogical Lady: A Blog

Psalm 116

7/24/2016

Psalm 116

I love you, O Thea;
   hear the voice of my pleading;
   incline your ear to me,

For the cords of death entangle me,
   and the grip of the grave takes hold of me!

Hear me when I pray,
   “O Thea, save my life from destruction!”

I trust that you will rescue my life from death,
   my eyes from tears, and my feet from stumbling.

For gracious and kind are you;
   you are the compassionate one.

Even now, you give me a new chance to walk in your presence
   in the land of the living.

O Thea, I am yours;
   I am the daughter of your daughters.

I will fulfill my vow to walk on your path
   in the presence of all your Creatures.

While I have life, I will lift up the cup of your covenant
   and call upon you, O Thea.

Easter: Day 43

6/1/2014

For the last couple of days, I've written about my Benedictine Canon vows. Today I'll explore the vow of obedience.

Obedience was always the vow I resisted most when I was discerning the possibility of life as a Roman Catholic nun. The idea that I would ultimately have to submit to an authority outside of myself worried me. To use an example that actually came up in my discernment, if my heart's desire was to be a liturgist and my community/superior told me I had to do something other than prepare liturgy, what would I do? How would I be happy?

Obedience, as I understood it, was a stance of submission to the will (and whims) of the other. When I read about Joseph and his many brothers, and the trials Joseph endured while he waited for God to come around, I'm reminded of this stance of submission and I cringe. The psalmist's question, "How long?", is one that could be answered with "Forever." If one found oneself in the wrong community, a life of obedience could be one of misery.

What I discovered as I was discerning the possibility of becoming a nun was that I was being obedient to God--I was listening hard, and I was hearing God's voice through my worries. To be obedient to God is to pay attention to one's life. What is it in my life that brings deep, quenching joy? What brings me nerve-wracking restlessness? Paying attention to my life in all its particulars is a vital way in which I listen to God's call for my life.

In my novitiate as a Benedictine Canon, I dig through the hardened soil in my heart so I can make room for what God wishes to plant in me. In order to turn that hardened soil, I have to embody a stance not of blind submission, but profound openness--openness to be seen by myself, God, and others in all my facets, just as I am. Masks keep me from perceiving what God wishes for my life and keep the seeds already planted in me from budding; they keep my unique, God-given brilliance from shining in God's marvelous light.

To be obedient, in my case, is to notice what life as a Benedictine Canon life is like for me. If I were worried or doubtful or unhappy, obedience would mean paying attention to that worry, doubt, and unhappiness and being willing to seek their source. Being obedient as a Benedictine Canon means being willing to share my joys and fears with my Benedictine siblings, especially my superior. To take counsel with another is an act of utter trust, and it is a way of allowing God to speak through others what I may not yet be able to hear from God through myself.

What will I hear as I continue to listen to God in the presence of sacred others? What will spring forth from my heart as I loosen the soil that has been made tough and hard?

Easter: Day 42

5/31/2014

Yesterday I began a three-part series of reflections on my Benedictine Canon vows. Today I want to talk about my vow of conversion.

Conversion is often associated with joining a new church (which I have done), but that's not what this vow implies. Conversion (conversatio) has to do with a cultivated attitude of turning: turning the soil of one's heart so it remains fertile, and turning perpetually back toward the sacred other in order to engage in dialogue. Conversion implies on-going resistance to one's own closed, hardened heart. Conversion requires ongoing engagement.

Conversion can be really tough.

Suppose my heart has been hardened by the scars of old wounds. Why would I reopen them by making myself vulnerable to God or my neighbor? Why would I risk an even greater wound?

The Benedictine life demands the risk of possible wounding so that one can love God and one's neighbor with abandon. The Benedictine vow of conversion is a vow to risk the cross in order to invite resurrection.

In what ways will I meet the cross during my novitiate? In what ways will I be raised up?

Easter: Day 41

5/30/2014

I took three vows when I became a Benedictine Canon novice in February: obedience, conversion (conversatio), and stability. I've spent a good deal of time reflecting on each of these recently, and I'd like to spend time with them over the next few days. The strength and power of the vows becomes evident when one considers one's own weaknesses, so I will discuss the vows in light of my own weakness. I want to give consideration to stability today.

Let's suppose that the journey through the novitiate became really difficult and I felt like I wanted to give up.

One of the things that has been true of me in the past is that, confronted with great difficulty, I sink into my shadow's aching, heavy desire to withdraw. I have burned a number of bridges that way, including some that I wished I could restore later and couldn't.

Stability implies that my shadow doesn't get to burn bridges when things become difficult. My vow is to be stable, to stay--to deal with whatever comes my way while maintaining my presence.

When I'm healthy, when my heart's soil is well-tilled, I can do this, often utilizing supports that are already in place. St. Benedict knew that in community oriented away from self-interest and toward God and neighbor, much support would be available to the members of the community. My community is exceptionally supportive, even though it's small and we are not cloistered.

Still, when things are hard and I'm not well, remaining faithful in the exercise of stability means having the humility to acknowledge that I need help even if I'm not sure I'll get what I need, whether from my community or anyone else. It's one thing to pray, "My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth," when one has lots of tangible help around oneself. It's another to pray it when God's help is perceived to be the only available source of help.

At one's darkest moments, the vow of stability implies utter reliance on an uncapturable, untameable God. It's an invitation to fall, trusting that I will be caught, even though I have no safety net of my own devising in place.

By taking the vow of stability, I've promised not to withdraw or give up, period. I've promised to see this journey through, no matter where the path takes me--even if it meanders out of the out of the comforts of community and into places of desolation.

And if my foot slips from its foothold on the wall of a stark, vertical cliff?

Then my vow demands that I must fall back into Spirit's enveloping breath.

Will I shed the burden of fear when I fall? Will I fly on the lightness of hope?

Easter: Day 21

5/10/2014

What's in a name?

Since the last solemn profession held in my Benedictine Canon community, my Benedictine brothers have started to embrace their religious names more fully. In my community, each brother has taken a religious name at his solemn profession, becoming Brother First name-Religious name (so Br. Philip, at his profession in March, became Br. Philip-Martín).

I've given a good deal of thought to the religious name I would take at my solemn profession. I've given less thought, at least until now, to my given first name. I go by a shortened version of my middle name--I have since college. My first name connoted too many aspects of my childhood self that I no longer embraced, so I dropped it, and only a few people call me by it anymore.

I wonder now if continuing to eschew my first name is a sign of my rejection of part of myself. Am I at a point where I can embrace who I was as a child--meek, silent, shy, gullible, frail? Why would I ever embrace those things as a feminist seeking a position of leadership?

I doubt I'll ever return to my first name, especially if I make my solemn profession (because three names is a little much, no?), but I cannot so easily ignore the person I was for nearly two decades.

What do I need to reclaim about my childhood self? What do I fear?

Eastertide: Day 13

5/2/2014

Okay, God, I get it. My life is going back and forth between awesome and terrible because I'm supposed to be learning something useful, right? The drama is part of the plan, yes?

I'm really done, though. Like, I don't need any more mega-happy things, and I don't want any more mega-sad/frustrating/terrifying things--just middle-of-the-road ordinary would be great.

So maybe the lesson is that the uneventful life isn't such a bad thing. Is that it?

Or maybe as a Benedictine I'm supposed to approach all these storms and brilliant rainbows with a certain degree of detachment because you're the center of the universe, not me? Like... (oh, what is that psalm we were just praying...) psalm 136?

O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever.
O give thanks to the God of gods,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever.
O give thanks to the Lord of lords,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;

who alone does great wonders,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
who by understanding made the heavens,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
who spread out the earth on the waters,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
who made the great lights,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
the sun to rule over the day,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
the moon and stars to rule over the night,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;

who struck Egypt through their firstborn,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
and brought Israel out from among them,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
with a strong hand and an outstretched arm,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
who divided the Red Sea in two,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
and made Israel pass through the midst of it,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
but overthrew Pharaoh and his army in the Red Sea,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
who led his people through the wilderness,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
who struck down great kings,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
and killed famous kings,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
Sihon, king of the Amorites,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
and Og, king of Bashan,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
and gave their land as a heritage,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
a heritage to his servant Israel,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever.

It is he who remembered us in our low estate,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
and rescued us from our foes,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever;
who gives food to all flesh,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever.

O give thanks to the God of heaven,
   for his steadfast love endures for ever.

Okay, so I should approach all these things not with detachment, but thanks. Steadfast thanks for your steadfast love.

Okay. Okay. I'll start again, this time with psalm 138.

I will give thanks to you, O Lord, with my whole heart...
When I called, you answered me;
you increased my strength within me...
Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you keep me safe...
The Lord will make good his purpose for me;
O lord, your love endures forever;
do not abandon the work of your hands.

(Wait, did you hear that last line, God? Because this relationship thing is a two-way street. I'll give thanks, but I'm not afraid to importune you. Loudly. Just so's you know. Because hiding behind pretense just ain't part of the deal. K. Glad we're clear on that.)

Thanks, God.

(Wait--are you laughing at me?)

((Okay, God, my bad. I'm over myself. Thanks for the nudge. Love you.))

Living Lent: Dwelling - Laetare Sunday

3/30/2014

My Benedictine brother, Philip, made his solemn profession as a member of the Community of St. Mary of the Annunciation yesterday.

In the card I gave him, I wrote this:

My dear Brother Philip-Martín,

I wish you every blessing on this day of your solemn profession. The pall has been placed over you that you may be raised into new identity as a Benedictine Canon. May you always strive faithfully to uphold the Rule and the Gospel, and may you remember that in both your successes and your failures, God abides with you always.

Love and blessing,
Sister Kate

The temptation of Benedictine life as I experience it is to believe that divine favor is greater when one does more--prays more, works more, gives more. But the remedy for that temptation abides within the Benedictine tradition as well. Even in death, when our will and power to act passes away, we are God's beloved. Br. Philip-Martín allowed the funeral pall to be placed over him as a sign that he had relinquished every power of his life, that God might accept his lowliness. Benedictines approach God by emptying themselves, that God might fill them. A Benedictine's success in praying, working, or giving isn't her own--it is God's.

When my novitiate comes to an end, will I be ready to give my life over, to release my every power, to lay myself bare before God in a death of all that I can do and accomplish and be on my own? Will I trust, in that moment of utter powerlessness to please God, that I will be called forth to rise up again as God's Beloved?

Introducing Sister Kate

2/3/2014

Photo by M. Kate Allen

Yesterday, during the Candlemas liturgy at St. Augustine's Episcopal Church in Tempe, Arizona, I made simple vows to become a Benedictine Canon Novice.

This is what I promised:

To dedicate my life to Holy God through the vows

(Because vows imply radical commitment, and to become a member of a religious community is akin to entering a marriage--dissimilar in the way one relates to other members of the community, but similar in one's level of commitment to those members.)

of Stability in this community of canons,

(A vow to stick with this novitiate in this community, no matter what. I will not blithely abandon this community. These vows are to last at least twelve months, and I will see them through, no matter what insights or doubts or failures may come.)

Conversion through the monastic way of life,

(A vow to allow my life as a Christian to be formed by the wisdom and requirements of this Benedictine community's life.)

and Obedience according to the Rule of our Holy Father Benedict.

(A vow I have long dreaded, ever since I began to take seriously the possibility of religious life. Obedience could always mean that I would not be taken seriously, that my voice would ultimately be ignored, that I would be bullied by my superiors. To obey, however, is to listen--ob audire--and I was able to make this vow because the capacity to listen in a self-emptying way is so clearly manifested in the superior of this community.)

By taking simple vows, I have been given the title of Sister. I am choosing to embrace that title in a broad way, and I invite anyone who encounters me to address me as Sister (abbreviated "Sr.") Kate if they feel comfortable doing so.

I used to joke with my Roman Catholic friends that they'd be calling me Sister Kate someday. I spent many years investigating seriously the possibility that I might be called to a religious vocation as a sister in the Roman Catholic Church. I assumed when I got engaged that that door would be closed to me forever. But lo! in the Episcopal Church, I have found that not to be true. One can be called "Sister" or "Brother" as a Benedictine Canon and be married with children as well--or not married, not a parent!

I find that embracing the title of "Sister" is a way of making a statement about my role as wife and mother as much as it is about being part of this Benedictine Canon community. Claiming this title is the same as saying that my roles of spouse and parent are indeed deeply holy, just as the role of the celibate religious person is. It isn't celibacy that forms the foundation of our holiness, according to this manner of Benedictine life. That is true of Episcopal clergy as well, of course--one can be single or in a committed relationship or married, and none of those things determines whether you are considered called to ordained ministry.

I asked the Prior of the community if I could make my simple vows on Candlemas because dates matter to me, and Candlemas in particular stands out as a date of significance. In 2006 (or perhaps it was 2007?) I participated in a Candlemas procession coordinated by my classmate, Cody Unterseher (of blessed memory). Cody had been Roman Catholic growing up, and he became an Episcopalian later on, partly (or perhaps mainly) because of his identity as a gay man. He found in the Episcopal Church a place to call a very dear and hospitable home, which I didn't relate much to at the time. I remember all the candles being carried by many warm hands down the long hallway into the chapel, where they were placed together around the Paschal Candle and blessed with water and holy words. I considered how much light the candles would give over the coming year as they burned down, down, down, the same way the baptized bear light in the world as they move toward the final extinguishing of their baptismal wick. I remember the smell wafting from the swinging thuribles of incense. I remember listening to the profound stories of Simeon and Anna, Mary and Joseph, and of a small child born to be light. I remember wondering why I had never celebrated Candlemas before.

That procession was with me yesterday. In this place, where fresh air flows freely, my baptismal flame burns brighter than ever. I find open doors and fresh air where I used to find locked doors carefully guarding musty, airless rooms.

I get it now. I get why Cody felt at home. Because now I, like he, am able to be wholly who I am called to be--no hiding or sneaking or wondering if I'll get caught for saying things too radical to people with power to diminish my light. I get it because I am now a religious novice in addition to being a wife and parent. I am invited to speak with my expertise and to utilize my gifts where before I was looked on with suspicion and, sometimes, pity. I am no longer being asked to choose one part of my call at the expense of another.

I am a novice of the Benedictine Canons, vowed to live out the Rule of Benedict in a way that honors my whole calling--as a woman, as a parent, and as a member of the baptized. I welcome this time of testing. I no longer fear that vow of obedience because I trust that I will never be asked to deny the many facets of my God-given vocation. I trust that I will be asked to chip away at the crust of my superficialities so that who I am called by God to be may glow brightly for all to see.