Guest column
By Mary Marrocco (CNS)

It can be difficult these days not to become crabby, bitter and divisive. Every day, we receive so much that frightens or angers us, and seems to threaten our very being.

Recently, I encountered a woman named Joanna. She was wondering what to do about a spate of messages that were written and posted about her in big bold letters, calling her mean and nasty. Her eyes were wide; she was hurt and scared. Understandable reactions, given that slander is both hurtful and dangerous.

Joanna, seeing such messages with her name on them, could have become what she received: nasty, mean and cowardly. Here are symptoms of a virus that has far more variants than alpha and delta; a virus contagious and deadly, that’s been around since Adam and Eve bit into the fruit they were warned not to taste.

How could Joanna avoid becoming what she received, and passing it on to others?

St. Augustine of Hippo observed that humans become what we receive. He had great respect for the power of habit to influence and change us, for the worse or for the better. He saw the goodness and beauty at the core of every person, and the ugliness we are capable of and are frequently marred by.

The fundamental antidote, for him, was always the same: Receive the sacraments. Receive the Eucharist. Become what you receive. He saw that Communion is not something we do, make or are capable of; it’s something we receive and become. And that “something” is not ugly or nasty, but godly.

So what changes when we receive Communion? We do. We are changed in the twinkling of an eye (1 Cor 15:52) and we are changed little by little, as water drops on rock carved out Niagara Falls. We are changed, not into something else, but to our true selves. “Be what you see; receive what you are.” (Sermon 272 of Augustine)

This is communion. This is what we are made for: communion with God and each other. Nevertheless, we have trouble getting there – even when we try – and more trouble still when we stop trying or head the other way.

This is our real work: communion. The secret is, it is not a work but a gift. We can work against it, of course, like the writer of the false messages about Joanna. We will not be able to destroy it, but we can harm ourselves.

Fortunately, even when we inflict self-harm, God remains imbued in it all, urging us from within. “From your presence, where can I flee?” (Ps 139:7) As Augustine observed, we have hope because God is not changeable, but we are. “We will all be changed.” (1 Cor 15:51)

Someone told me recently that while alone in her room praying for a friend who is dying, she had a sudden sense of being not alone at all but surrounded by others who have died and live. She realized, joyfully, that she was in a crowded room: the communion of saints.

If Eve, when offered the fruit, had dug deep and found her anger toward the serpent for urging it on her, she might have had the energy to say, “No thank you,” or “Get behind me, Adversary (Satan).” Perhaps she and Adam would have got along better, and the whole human race after them. If we are able to focus our anger on the real Adversary, we might learn to find each other instead of harm each other.

But how? Another secret: We can’t, but Christ can. And because Christ can, therefore we can. In receiving the Eucharist, we receive all Christ is, completely given, nothing held back. We become what we long to be, though we might be only dimly aware of our longing.

Joanna too had a secret, which I happened to know by fortuitous accident. Just the week before the mean messages were posted, I heard a homily reminding us participants how good it is to be together at Eucharist, taking in the beauty and joy and gift of God. But that means we don’t go home and leave it all “at church;” we must bring it with us, into the world. That is “Mass,” being “sent.”

Hearing this homily, I recalled that as I’d arrived at church that morning, Joanna was arriving too. She stopped and told me her concern about a man down the street who asked her for food. “I see him often, but he doesn’t usually ask for breakfast on Sunday morning,” she explained.

She immediately went, got him breakfast, and came back into church just as liturgy was beginning. Yes, the same Joanna who later had the nasty messages posted about her.

Who are we becoming? Let us receive the gift of God himself. Let us become what we receive.

Many voices, now more than ever, are trying to distract and fool us and keep us apart. As my spiritual father liked to say: Keep the focus.

(Marrocco can be reached at marrocco7@sympatico.ca)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Nothing so much approximates the language of God as does silence. Meister Eckhart said that.

Among other things, he is affirming that there is some deep inner work that can only be done in silence, alone, in private.

He’s right of course, but there’s another side to this. While there is some deep inner work that can only be done in silence, there is also some deep, critical, soul work that can only be done with others, in relationship, in family, in church and in society. Silence can be a privileged avenue to depth of soul. It can also be dangerous. Ted Kaczynski, the unabomber, lived in silence, alone; as have many other deeply disturbed individuals. Mental health professionals tell us that we need interaction with other people to keep us sane. Social interaction grounds us, balances us, and anchors our sanity. I look at some of our young people today who are interacting with others (in person and through social media) every hour of their waking lives and worry for their depth, though not for their sanity.

We need each other. Jean-Paul Sartre once famously stated, “hell is the other person.” He couldn’t be more misguided. In the end, the other is heaven, the salvation for which we are ultimately destined. Utter aloneness is hell. Moreover, this malevolent aloneness can sneak up on you wearing the best altruistic and religious disguises.

Here’s an example: I grew up in a very close-knit family in a small rural community where family, neighbor, parish and being with others meant everything, where everything was shared and you were rarely alone. I feared being alone, avoided it, and was only comfortable when I was with others.

Immediately after high school, I joined a religious order, the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, and for the next eight years lived in a large community where, again, most everything was shared and one was seldom alone. As I approached final vows and permanent commitment to religious life and priesthood, what I feared most was the vow of celibacy, the loneliness it would bring. No wife, no children, no family; the isolation of a celibate life.

Things turned out very differently. Celibacy has had its cost, admittedly; and admittedly it is not the normal life God intended for everyone. However, the loneliness I feared (but for brief moments) seldom ensued – the opposite. I found my life overly full of relationships, interaction with others, flat-out busyness, daily pressures and commitments that took up virtually every waking hour. Rather than feeling lonely, I found myself almost habitually longing for solitude, for quiet, to be alone; and I grew quite comfortable with being alone. Too comfortable in fact.

For most of the years of my priesthood, I have lived in large religious communities and they, like any family, have their demands. However, when I became president of a School of Theology, I was assigned to live in a house designated for the president and for a period of time lived alone. At first, I found it a bit disorienting, never having lived alone before; but after a while it grew on me. I really liked it. No responsibilities at home to anyone but myself.

Soon enough though, I perceived its dangers. After one year I ended the arrangement. One of the dangers of living alone and one of the dangers of celibacy, even if you are living faithfully, is that you don’t have others to call you out daily and put every kind of demand on you. You get to call your own shots and can avoid much of what Dorothy Day called “the asceticism of living inside a family.” When you live alone, you can too easily plan and live life on your own terms, cherry-picking those parts of family and community that benefit you and avoiding the difficult parts.

There are certain things that begin as virtues then easily turn into a vice. Busyness is an example. You sacrifice being with your family in order to support them by your work and that keeps you from many of its activities. Initially, this is a sacrifice – eventually, it’s an escape, an inbuilt dispensation from having to deal with certain issues inside family life. Vowed celibacy and priesthood court that same danger.

We all know the expression, ‘I am spiritual but not religious’ (which we apply to people who are open to dealing with God but not open to dealing with church). However, we struggle with this in more ways than we might think. At least I do. As a vowed, celibate priest, ‘I can be spiritual but not religious’ in that, for the highest of reasons, I can avoid much of the daily asceticism demanded of someone living in a family. However, this is a danger for all of us, celibate or married. When, for every kind of good reason we can cherry-pick those parts of family and community we like and avoid those parts we find difficult, we are spiritual but not religious.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

GUEST COLUMN
By Reba J. McMellon, M.S., LPC
A wise man is silent till the right time comes, but a boasting fool ignores the proper time. Ecclesiastes: 20:6

Have you ever walked away from a conversation feeling ignored or brushed aside? It usually happens when we tell someone something about ourselves that is either exciting, sad or upsetting. You share something big only to find yourself on a completely different subject about the other person moments later. Have you ever wondered how or why this happens?

It’s happens when information you are sharing triggers a thought in the listener about themselves. That is normal enough and even to be expected. However, it can prevent opportunities to truly listen to one another. Immediately changing the subject is an ineffective form of communication.

In training to be a counselor, I was taught listening skills. There are entire textbooks devoted to listening skills. I doubt any of us would want to ‘listen’ to all that. I think it can be reduced to what I refer to as: the two-sentence rule.

• When somebody shares something about themselves, ask at least two sentences that has to do with what they just said. Ask them before moving on to what that reminds you of – namely, yourself. Try asking questions beginning with who, what, where, when or how; but never why. For example: When did it start? How did it go? Who else was there? What got you interested in that? Or, where were you? Those are called open ended questions.

• Starting a sentence with ‘why’ puts the other person on the defensive. Most of us don’t know why it happened, why it made us so upset or excited or sad. ‘Why’ often shuts down the conversation.

• Remember, a conversation is a dialogue, not a monologue. When people interrupt too quickly with, “Well I…” – the subject is about to shift. A conversation is an exchange of thoughts, feelings, or ideas between two or more people – a two-way street.

• The two-sentence rule is easy to remember and a good way to catch yourself. Any more than two sentences could seem like probing. Any less than two sentences could seem uninterested. Pay attention to how many times you start a sentence with, “Well, I …” If a horn honked every time you start a sentence with “I,” would it sound like a car alarm was going off? I … I … I … I

• If you don’t care to listen, don’t ask the person a question.

The two-sentence rule is not meant to be complicated or rigid. In fact, you can skip the two-sentence rule if you check your mindfulness. Check and see if you are listening and genuinely care. If so, slow down thoughts of yourself enough to be mindful of the other person, at least for two sentences.

Wonder who, what, where or how they are feeling, when they come away from a conversation with you. We can all learn more from truly listening rather than simply hearing.

(Reba J. McMellon, M.S. is a licensed professional counselor with 35 years of experience. She worked in the field of child sexual abuse and adult survivors of sexual abuse for over 25 years. She continues to work as a mental health consultant, public speaker and freelance writer in Jackson, Mississippi. Reba can be reached at rebaj@bellsouth.net.)

From the hermitage
By sister alies therese
Must say I am grateful that my prayers do not take as much time to reach the ear of God as the post takes to travel from Jackson to my hermitage less than two hours away! Somehow even the post has been attacked by ‘the twisties.’
I read plenty this summer and was filled with great excitement, mystery, several sides of politics, spiritual action and joy. I also spent time drafting short stories – my favorite format. For recreation I took in some Olympics (both). The sheer determination, perseverance and desire of athletes outweighed any gold, silver or bronze medal.

The bravery of Simone Biles, a Black Catholic, to come forth despite ‘the twisties’ was impressive and showed real Olympic gold, despite her bronze. She and others admitted the truth (i.e., human with limitations) and reminded me that expectations of others can also be set aside in favor of a deeper truth.

I re-read, The Fifth Agreement by Don Miguel Ruiz and Don José Ruiz. At the end of the second chapter, they state: “What is real we cannot change, and it doesn’t matter what we believe.” Quite powerful, especially with the political and church discourses currently in flow. They explained it this way: “The truth does not need you to believe it; the truth simply is, and it survives whether you believe it or not. Lies need you to believe them. If you don’t believe lies, they don’t survive your skepticism, and they simply disappear.” (page 99)

With ‘the twisties’ a gymnast cannot tell up from down. Other than being in the air, there is no truth for them and that causes the danger. Body, mind and soul are muddled and no matter where the athlete thinks is up … it may not be so.

September is a glorious month, on the edge of summer and fall, contributing to weather changes. Each season, though not always as dramatic in one place as in another, was set to help us, to nourish us, to provide for all of Creation. We can see the drastic interruption of seasons both by the long-term picture of normal global development, and the constant contribution to climate change by our (my) unwillingness to cut back, change plans, see the truth, and stop calling it something else. The twisties prevail.

A U.N. report gives us a ‘red card’ for irresponsible, unsafe behavior. Normal global development is well authenticated over millions of years … once we were under ice, a volcano sits deep under Jackson Stadium, and various aspects of nature seemed to disappear of their own accord. Today, however, we are also aware that portions of God’s marvelous Creation are exterminated, eliminated, and endangered because of our (my) failure to look at the truth and act. COVID asks us (me) to move from ‘me’ to ‘we.’ If vaccinations are necessary to protect others, get one. If masks are helpful to mitigate symptoms and decrease the power of the virus, wear one. No brainer. Do not let ‘the twisties’ get you.
Part of the dilemma might be – how do I know the truth? How do I find out? One way, not unlike our gymnastic friends … is to step away from all our flying about, sit quietly and consider.

Pray. There are plentiful definitions of prayer in the Catechism and Compendium. As the gymnasts want to freely fly in the air all the time; we want to always pray and act for the common good. Like this definition in the Compendium:
“576. Praying is always possible because the time of the Christian is the time of the risen Christ who remains ‘with you always.’ (Matthew 28:20)

Prayer and Christian life are therefore inseparable: ‘It is possible to offer frequent and fervent prayer even at the marketplace or strolling alone. It is possible also in your place of business, while buying or selling, or even while cooking.’ St. John Chrysostom.”

The truth is unmasked by the actual things we do, think or say. With God’s help, we can work our way out of a twistie if we find ourselves entrapped. Others might choose to complain and create spinning stories that unfortunately affect more people than we would like to believe. What was once just an idea over a cold drink became something with legs that ran downhill, full of twisties. And people died. (Consider January 6, 2021.)

Do we use the phrase ‘practicing our faith’ with ease? Does it need more attention? Ask a gymnast or any athlete (or musician), what ‘practicing’ means. And what is the cost? If you run into ‘the twisties’ step back, breathe and pray. It is indeed the ‘truth’ that sets us free.

(Sister alies therese is a canonically vowed hermit with days formed around prayer and writing.)