St Teresa of Avila as Religious Reformer

I wonder how many of St Teresa of Avila’s admirers realise what a radical person she was or how much hostility she endured from others because she did not conform to their ideas of what a contemplative nun should be? We have a tendency to sanitize the history of the saints. Whatever hardship or opposition they endured in life becomes after death a demonstration of their triumph over adversity, an expected hagiographic trope. The opposers are either written out of the narrative or relegated to a footnote. Thus, the opposition to her reforms that Teresa encountered from within the Carmelite Order tends to be glossed over today because we see the fruits of those reforms in the abundant holiness they have produced. In 1576 the outcome was far less certain. People genuinely questioned whether St Teresa’s contemplative insights were from God or the devil and worried that her reforms would destroy, rather than purify, the Order.

Religious reformers in every age come in for their share of misunderstanding and opposition. What I think is striking about St Teresa is the way in which, after she had identified her goal, she secured the support and interest of others and waited patiently, though never passively, for any opposition to disappear. She never wavered, either in her determination or in her obedience. The explanation, I suspect, is to be found in that intense life of prayer that characterised her. Perhaps those who feel called to be religious reformers in our own day would do well to reflect on that. Prayer, discipline and sheer hard work, allied to fidelity to the Church’s teaching and tradition, can indeed achieve wonders; but only prayer can keep all the others in harmony, for it is not only the expression of love but its origin and source. Without prayer to keep us ‘in touch’ with God, every activity tends to go astray. May St Teresa teach us how to keep our focus.

Note:
Earlier posts on St Teresa may be read here and here. Others may be found by using the search bar on the right.

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Asceticism: True and False

It might surprise you to know that there is a lot of false asceticism about. All that flesh-hating, afraid-of-the-body nonsense peddled by those who are neither ascetic themselves nor wish anyone else to be is seriously misleading. It is behind much of our simplistic ‘fat-is-bad, thin-is-good’, thinking. It makes people miserable when they ought to be happy and, because it is based on a false premise, prevents people from realising that they never can be happy while they subscribe to a lie.

True asceticism has nothing whatever to do with punishment, but everything to do with training and discipline. The Greek origins of the word are enough to show that (askesis means practice, athletic training). It is not to be identified with austerity, although a certain restraint is necessary since what we aim at is mastery over our appetites and any bad habits they may have led us into. St Jerome was very clear-eyed about this, saying that fasting, for example, should not be taken to excess as it is only a means to an end. It is a help towards attaining moral perfection, but it is not perfection itself. We could go further and say that fasting taken to excess is a sin, because it is a misuse of material goods and a profanation of the body, leading to pride, hardness of heart and a host of other evils.

Asceticism is always ethical, both in origin and in scope. There is nothing mystical about it, although some modern writers seem to confuse the two. Nor is there anything sad or heavy about it. Like all exercise, it is meant to invigorate, only for Christians it is a spiritual invigoration that we seek.

The chief asceticisms of the Rule of St Benedict are obedience and the common life, in which the use of time, speech, material goods, food and drink are all regulated. They are disciplines aimed at freeing the monk or nun from anything that might hold them back on the way to God. Self-will, self-indulgence, all the many forms of selfishness we prefer not to admit to, are encouraged by soft living and having no checks on what one says or does. (You do not have to be a moral theologian to work that out — just look at the gossip columns of the Mail Online, for instance, and you can see how sad and empty are the lives of many people who judge their worth by what they own and who walk away from relationships when the going gets tough.) But the point to note about the Benedictine asceticisms is that none is carried to excess. They are part of our training in the spiritual life and, as such, the renunciations they involve should be joyful. Benedict makes that very clear when he writes about Lent and our offering things up gladly, with the joy of the Holy Spirit.

I myself think asceticism began to go wrong when people began to go wrong about religion, mistaking misery for holiness and punishment for penance. Food, instead of being blessed, shared and enjoyed, became a temptation; wine, instead of being a source gladness of heart, became sinful; and once things become temptations and are regarded as sinful, we get them all wrong, too. Maybe we wouldn’t be worrying about an obesity epidemic if we hadn’t decided that food is innately sinful and therefore curiously desirable; maybe we wouldn’t be worrying about our drinking habits if we hadn’t let them run out of control because we associate the pleasures of wine with guilt; maybe we wouldn’t have so many broken marriages if we hadn’t got so confused about love and sex. I could go on, but I might end up indulging in a grumble, if not a rant.

My suggested remedy for many of the social ills that assail us is for the Churches to rethink asceticism and, instead of presenting much of our ethical and moral behaviour as a series of negatives, try to regain something the early Church understood much better. We are runners in a race towards heaven, and we need to get into training. In other words, we need to become true ascetics. The world has more than enough of the fake and phoney kind.

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Cold Shoulders and Exclusion Zones

All this week we are reading what is known as “the penal code” in the Rule of St Benedict. We began on Monday with a consideration of excommunication for faults, moved on to consider what the measure of excommunication should be and are today contemplating how more serious faults should be dealt with; tomorrow we’ll be looking at those who communicate with the excommunicated without permission, on Friday we’ll be considering the role of the abbot in caring for the excommunicated and on Saturday and Sunday we’ll consider two special cases, that of monks who leave the monastery and the correction of children and adolescents within the cloister (now of purely historic interest). It is a quite extended treatment of a problem that every society faces: how to deal with those who don’t keep the rules.

We all know how effective excommunication is. To be excluded from the group, given the cold shoulder, sent to Coventry, whatever you like to call it, is very painful. We are social beings and rely on interaction with others to remain human. That is why Benedict introduces into the monastery a nuanced scheme of degrees of exclusion related to the seriousness of the offence committed. The really important chapter is RB 27 which details the special care the abbot must have for the excommunicated. I think this underlines the difference between excommunication proceeding from indignation “you don’t conform to our expectations” to excommunication proceeding from concern “you matter too much for us to let you go on hurting yourself”. It is tricky, however, and a powerful reminder that anyone responsible for maintaining discipline, whether in the monastery or the workplace, needs many of the qualities Benedict looks for in an abbot: wisdom, compassion, humility and a genuine desire for the good of others. Get it wrong and you will have inflicted a dreadful injury; get it right and you will have helped your brother (or sister).

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