Blessed Newman

With one miracle accepted by the Holy See, Cardinal John Henry Newman is scheduled to be beatified by Pope Benedict XVI later this spring during his visit to England.  In order to be elevated to sainthood, one more miracle will need to be attributed to the cardinal and accepted by Rome.   

Desert Father

In preparation for next Sunday's Adult Christian Education Class concerning desert spirituality (9:15 a.m. at St. Paul's, Chattanooga--come one, come all!), I stumbled upon James Cowan's book, Desert Father: A Journey in the Wilderness with Saint Anthony (Boston: Shambhala, 2004).  I was initially struck by the fact that something contemporary had been written on St. Anthony the Great.  Since Anthony is the patron of my Order, I was sold in wading through the book, and I'm about half-way finished.

Those familiar with Abba Anthony, as he's sometimes called, know him through St. Athanasius' biography of Anthony--of which there are numerous editions chronicling Anthony's retreat to the desert and his teachings.  Cowan's work is interesting because he is using his own spiritual journey alongside that of Anthony. Cowan leaves his academic career in Australia in order to pursue Anthony into the wilds of Egypt, whereupon he lands in one of the oldest monasteries in Christendom, the Coptic monastery of Saint Anthony.  Here at the monastery, Cowan encounters a strange new friend, a person the monks there consider to be the last solitary in the Church, a man named Lazarus who himself is an Aussie ex-pat who renounced the world.  Lazarus lives in a cave high atop Mount Colzim, the mountain where Anthony lived.  The monastery sits just below the mountain.

Here's an excerpt:

These were the questions that I brought to Lazarus's attention on my occasional climb up the mountain.  I did not make such trips often, believing that it was important to contemplate questions myself before inflicting them on my friend.  I was conscious of not imposing myself on Lazarus in a way that might interfere with his life.  He had a right to his solitude, as he had fought hard to acquire it.  As a practicing hesychast, Lazarus deserved more than to have his world examined by someone like me.

Cowan paints vividly the Roman world in which Anthony and the desert fathers and mothers fled the cities in silent rebellion.  The desert, the great metaphor for the human soul, is the background in which Anthony overcomes the temptations of the adversary.  Again, Cowan writes:

In my desire to deepen my knowledge of Anthony and the Desert Fathers, I had wandered into a cenobium of spiritual masters.  These men weren't recluses who chose the desert simply to escape Roman oppression.  They were men in possession of a vision unique to the world.  The fact that the desert was the place where they developed their knowledge was incidental.  What they had been looking for was a metaphor to enter and inhabit.  Here at the foot of Mount Colzim lay that metaphor: every stone and cave in the mountainside was testament to the life of men who had come here to test themselves in, and against, the desert.  Most of their names were anonymous, their their silence was like a chorus.  I could hear them uttering the eulogy of the solitary: 'We are the katachoi, the withdrawn, the God-possessed.' It was a eulogy of promise. 

So rather than reading some dry, arid history of a desert saint, Cowan manages to bring to life Anthony's legacy through the text.  In fact, I have learned quite a lot about Abba Anthony through Cowan, things that I missed in Athanasius' account.

Contemporary and compelling, Cowan has given us an oasis beckoning us to see where the living springs of God burst forth from the desert life.

"Swift, Lord, You Are Not"

At the young age of seventy-five, Benedictine monk Kilian McDonnell began writing poetry.  His published work entitled, Swift, Lord, You Are Not, published by St. John's University Press (Collegeville, MN) in 2003 is a collection of his poetry.  I like McDonnell's style, it feels both raw and insightful.  At his age, the wisdom of the years have instilled a sense of the genuine, authentic, and true self.  The art of crafting poetry, so it seems to McDonnell, is truly incarnational.  Take, for example, this one poem that spoke to me.  I wondered what fires are best unremembered for this monk.    

Don't Look Too Carefully

"O search me God and know my heart" Psalm 39:23

by Kilian McDonnell, OSB

What sudden senile arrogance

provoked this bid to despair?

If you knock, God, be prepared

to see what stands behind the door:

unswept floors, unmade

beds, unwashed dishes

in sink, a lone Giotto

unhung against the wall.

(I, too, have been to the Uffizi,

read Dostoevski, Yeats.)

If you turn over a stone

on my beach, what creatures scurry.

Dig in my ruins, you sift

buried rags of intent.

Uproot my elm, you pulled up

forgotten teen-age tinsel.

Poke my cinders, you stir

fires best unremembered.

Search me not, test

no more.  Take me as I am.

Platefuls: A Poem

I like eggs on top of pancakes.  I know it's weird, but it is a choice.

I learned that from my Pappaw, he liked them that way.

I remember as a child watching him at breakfast,

and then I thought that I should try it too. 

If only life could be that straight forward, to the naïveté of most,

it is.  But those that know differently can see through it.

I'm sorry that you won't know my choices in life;

most are mistakes, and some even seem funny to me now. 

But there's just two that I am most proud of, to say the least.

My point is simply this: try and be. 

Try life out for what it is, and don't stop trying.  In fact,

don't give up.  Quitting only leaves open room for regret.

Be and be large.  You get many choices in life, platefuls

so it seems.  No matter what, integrity guides you, so be
who you were created to be.  Again, regrets. 

My choices are not yours.  Some aren't choices at all.  

Learn from me but know that you don't have to like my tastes.

If you ever want to know what goes with spaghetti,

well, just ask your mother.