Blog

Christopher O’Donnell, O.Carm.

In what has been said so far, we have looked at our Carmelite vocation in its general expression. From the general vocation to live in obedience to Jesus Christ, intended for all Christians, we are called through our promises to follow our models – Mary and Elijah – in a lifestyle defined as a contemplative fraternal community among people.

Now we will focus on the values that are foundational for our charism and that express it, and we will explore the criteria by which our decision-making is guided in this way of life. Although there will be some overlapping, it is preferable to distinguish these into four values: desert, prayer, sharing, and mission, and then into four criteria: discernment, Scripture, poverty, and human values. Although others may arrange them differently, adding or subtracting elements, these eight components, which we will view as values and criteria, are important for our identity. When we deal with identity, we should not seek what is exclusively Carmelite; just as we would not look for physical differences between a Scot and an American: that one would have an extra finger or nails on his ears. It concerns one human nature, which varies among different nations. And it involves one mystery of Christ, which reflects differently in each religious family. One might even go further and say that precisely between what we call values and criteria, we find things both old and new, so we can say that our Statutes express Carmelite spirituality in a lively and contemporary language.

Our Values

Desert

The development of this concept is mainly, though not exclusively, thanks to the Nijmegen school. This school transcended the concept of asceticism, which developed in the 17th and 18th centuries in the writings of ascetic and mystical theology. Although the terminology is not always consistent, it can generally be said that asceticism refers to what we do with the help of grace, while mysticism represents further development, in which the initiative belongs predominantly to God. There may be some overlap arising from the fact that purification can be both ascetic and mystical, as in the active and passive nights of St. John of the Cross.

The Statutes overlook this post-Tridentine development of the concept of asceticism and turn to a much older tradition, namely the concept of: desert. I remind you that we return here to our original heritage, created on Mount Carmel. And we also touch spirituality that belongs much more to the Christian East than to the Latin West. I fundamentally agree with the basic orientation of Elias O’Brien's doctoral thesis, which attempts to show the Palestinian background of our Rule. But be that as it may, the spirituality of the desert appears in the order's documents, and since 1971, studies on our Elijah tradition have also been of great importance for the present. It is noteworthy at what point in the Statutes the desert is mentioned – right after the historical outline of our origin, at the beginning of the treatise on charism (art. 15). The importance of the value of the desert lies in the fact that it is considered, in a certain sense, a summary and pillar of the new expression of our charism. The experience of the desert is described primarily Christologically: it is about surrendering to the crucified Christ. It is about detachment from everything that could hinder perfect love. This experience of the desert could be summarized by two Latin expressions from our tradition: puritas cordis (purity of heart) and vacare Deo (to be empty for God or at God's disposal). This process of purification – even though this word is not used – then brings a new vision of reality, a clear and transformed approach to the world, which we now see with God's eyes. Because our vision is healed and purified by contemplation, the experience of the desert then allows us to be truly devoted to fraternal community and service (art. 15).

This theme of the desert then reappears in many places in the Statutes. It is reiterated when mentioning the “long and painful journey” of the mystic Elijah (art. 26 referring to the forty-day journey to Horeb in 1 Kings 19). From Elijah we learn to be “people of the desert” (art. 26). The idea of puritas cordis is found in Mary, who is called “the Most Pure Virgin” (art. 27). Indeed, it is from the perspective of the desert that one best comprehends the article on daily turning to the gospel (art. 40), as well as radical following of Christ through the evangelical vows (art. 43–44) and especially the internalization of these vows (art. 46, 53, 61). Furthermore, cultivating silence and solitude, essential prerequisites for prayer, is another virtue of the desert (art. 67), as is daily experiencing the Easter mystery (art. 78) and experiencing the mystery of Christ together with Mary (art. 86).

The desert is a place where one travels without too much luggage. But we detach ourselves in order to be filled. In the Eastern tradition, asceticism (praxis) is an essential preparation for contemplation (theoria).

The concept of the desert goes directly against our contemporary culture. Our world values people for what they have and what they achieve. The experience of the desert ultimately makes sense only in the context of love – the love that the Lord expressed through his crucifixion and that He gives to us. Today's times will need many reflections before fully understanding these thoughts on the desert.

Prayer

Closely associated with the concept of the desert is the stimulating gift of prayer. The sixth chapter contains a rich and accessible exposition on prayer in our lives. It exhibits characteristics that we have already noticed in these Statutes: it is traditional, draws from the depth of our heritage, and is simultaneously contemporary enough. We can outline the teachings of the Statutes on prayer with several questions.

What is prayer?

The Statutes provide several parallel answers to this question. Prayer is primarily a gift, “the fruit of the Holy Spirit’s work in us and in our lives” (art. 64). Prayer is “nourished by the constant search for God” (art. 66), which is also the highest expression of the community life (art. 66). The Statutes say that prayer is “the center of our life” (art. 64); it is the celebration of the mysteries of Christ (art. 72, 78). It involves or produces practice in the presence of God, which is mentioned here as a part of Carmelite tradition and that “is becoming increasingly difficult” in the present time (art. 77). In three wonderful articles, prayer is described as the foundation and expression of contemplative life (art. 78–80). And finally, they tell us that prayer is ecclesial; it is not just individual but must be carried out with others and for others:

“He (the Holy Spirit) inspires us with words when we lack them; he leads us to unity with the whole Church… In the Our Father, Jesus taught us to pray in a way that unites heaven and earth. Thus, in our spirituality, we unite our love for the world with our sense of transcendence (art. 64).”

What is the place or role of prayer?

The second question asks about the role or place of prayer. Here several ideas are connected. The Statutes describe our history and situation as follows: “From the beginning, the Carmelite Order has embraced the life of prayer and the apostolate of prayer” (art. 64). Prayer is an essential part of the life of Carmel and its mission. The mission of prayer involves both prayer for others – that is the ecclesial dimension we just mentioned – as well as the apostolate of prayer among them, which includes sharing our prayer. The Statutes thus recommend:

• centers of spirituality, retreat and study houses for the members of the order as well as for others (art. 68),
• celebrating the liturgy of the hours with other believers (art. 74),
• sharing our values with the Carmelite family (art. 28, 106, 109),
• studying our spiritual authors (art. 83, 31e),
• supporting prayer and the search for God (art. 95; cf. 98).

Furthermore, prayer has the task of building community, especially through the Eucharist (art. 70). We are encouraged to make “special efforts to help one another seek God through the prayer that is connected to everyday life” (art. 77). Our communities are to be characterized by a spirit of prayer (art. 31).

And finally, the task of prayer is this: “A deep religious sense must permeate our entire life, by which we perceive what happens in us and around us in the light of God. Our entire life must be so deeply contemplative that we see everything happening as though through God's eyes (art. 78).”

At this point, two further comments. What is described here as contemplative insight is seen by the medieval tradition as the use of the gifts of the Holy Spirit, known as wisdom and knowledge, as seeing things from God's perspective and in relation to Him.¹ This insight of faith means the ability to “see through,” transparency, Durchsichtigkeit, as Balthasar calls it. It is not primarily about a skill to analyze that can be learned, but about openness and vigilance, so that we can be taught by the Holy Spirit, who of course can teach us indirectly, that is, through others. When we speak or act based on what we contemplate or see, it is appropriate to speak of our prophetic charism. And again, this is not an acquired or learned skill, but a gift.

What are the main types of prayer?

The Statutes show two traditional types of prayer: liturgical prayer (art. 69–76) and personal prayer (art. 77–84). Both are closely related as summarized in the dense article no. 69: “As religious, we are called to communal liturgical prayer following the example of the early Church during the celebration of the Eucharist and the Liturgy of the Hours. Liturgical prayer is the most sublime form of encounter with God in community and represents that which is celebrated within it. Personal prayer is closely connected with liturgical prayer: one flows from the other.”

The articles on the Eucharist are traditional, returning to the Rule (art. 70–71). Although different provinces may vary in their customs and individual communities may have specific issues, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the statutes, just like the Rule, require that the brothers gather for the Eucharist every day (art. 70–71). Already in the key article about moments of greater extraordinary importance in the life of the community, there is a strong assertion:
“Therefore, our communal life includes moments of greater intensity and importance: … in communal participation in the Eucharist, through which we become one body and which is the source and summit of our life, and the sacrament of fraternity” (art. 31a).

This is a sensitive area for some of our younger members. We must keep in mind that our Rule was unusual for its time for its emphasis on daily Mass. The Rule of Benedict contains eleven chapters (8–18) on the Liturgy of the Hours but says almost nothing about the Eucharist. Moreover, unlike modern congregations, which have a deep sense of reverence towards (permanent) presence of the Lord in the Eucharist and corresponding expressions of devotion, the center of Eucharistic devotion in our tradition represents the Holy Mass. But we cannot assume that these core values are today apparent to people by themselves. We need to help our younger members grasp this central value of our lives through our example, teaching, and the quality of our liturgy. The Statutes also demand with a brief remark:
“In addition to careful preparation of our liturgy, we must also grow in love for the liturgy and in the desire for its renewal. We hope that in this way we will deepen our contemplative participation in the celebrated mystery” (art. 71).

Such a love for the liturgy will provide useful guidance for those who perceived liturgy too legally, viewing it as an obligation, and thus it became not only a work of God (opus Dei) but also a burden of God (onus Dei).

The articles on the Liturgy of the Hours (art. 72–73) basically take on the view characteristic of the newly revised breviary, from which they quote. It is recommended that we celebrate the Liturgy of the Hours with the faithful (art. 74). Here, the same problem may arise as with the Eucharist. The Liturgy of the Hours is not a value that is self-evident; for the people to understand it, they must be guided. The magnificent articles 72 and 73 can serve as an excellent introduction to this prayer.

The communal celebration of the liturgy has deep roots in our psyche. Few members of modern congregations find meaning in two people gathering for communal prayer several times a day.

Before we move on to personal prayer, we should notice two articles on the sacrament of reconciliation (art. 75–76). Their importance arises from the emphasis that the entire Statutes place on conversion and on the necessity of reconciliation within the community and in society.

Much has been discussed about the term “personal prayer” (art. 77–84). The terms “meditation” or “private prayer” have been felt to be misleading or burdened with secondary or negative connotations. It deals with it in a traditional manner and important elements of our tradition are outlined. We can note several points:

• prayer should be integrated into daily life (art. 79),
• it should lead to authenticity (art. 81),
• it involves seeking God (art. 77),
• the community should support individual prayer life (art. 77, cf. 33)
• prayer is a great aid in developing a contemplative attitude toward the world (art. 78–80)
• prayer must be nourished by reading spiritual literature, especially Carmelite authors (art. 83)
• it strives for the ideal expressed by the Lord of “praying always” (Lk 18:1; art. 84)

How do the Statutes regard new forms of prayer and especially Lectio divina?

The Statutes speak positively about new forms, especially about Lectio divina. This method includes both communal and individual prayer.

Lectio divina has its roots in the patristic way of reading Scripture, which we encounter in the Benedictine and monastic tradition in the West. Around the year 1180, it was formulated by the Italian monk Guido II in a letter sometimes called The Ladder of Prayer² and can be found in all periods of the Middle Ages. It is also described in the Cloud of Unknowing from the 14th century. During the Reformation, it lost some prominence, and it is not clear in St. Teresa. She learned the prayer of recollection,³ in which one enters one’s inner self to listen, to speak, and to contemplate, which are three of the four elements that make up Lectio. It seems that we had largely lost contact with our true tradition before the Reformation, becoming eclectics and adopting elements from other schools, including the Ignatian. Lectio returned to Europe in the 1970s and 80s, when it emerged from the Benedictine tradition that had preserved it. It began to appear in Carmelite writings since the mid-1980s, although the emphasis on God’s word in communities was apparent in meetings since around 1972.

The statements of the Statutes regarding Lectio are indeed very strong:

• devout listening to Scripture is an important aspect of communal life (art. 31c),
• Lectio divina promotes the diversity of forms of prayer (art. 66),
• everyone should participate in it (art. 82, para. 1),
• it should be done regularly (art. 82, para. 2).

Article 82 literally states: “The pure source of Christian spirituality, recommended by our Order, is lectio divina. Therefore, we carry it out every day, so that we may taste and live it deliciously and come to attain exceedingly valuable understanding of Jesus Christ. Thus, we put into practice the command of the Apostle Paul presented in our Rule: ‘The sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, may dwell richly in your mouths and hearts, and whatever you do, let it be done according to the word of the Lord.’”

It is recommended to carry out communal lectio divina regularly within the community to enable mutual sharing of their experiences with God among brothers, and to give a collective response to God's Word and its challenges.

Sharing

The third value emphasized by the Statutes is sharing. In the past, sharing was more or less an ascetic value, relating to material things or generosity. Now it is a rich and diverse concept, manifesting in many forms. Thus:

• lectio divina as communal prayer allows among the brothers “mutual sharing of their experience with God” and the possibility of “giving a common response to God’s Word and its challenges” (art. 82, para. 2),
• in a more general sense, we find sharing in the programmatic article 31, inspired by our Italian community of brothers in Pozzo di Gotto; this article illustrates “moments of special intensity” of our communal life,
• sharing occurs at various levels in our communities: human, spiritual, intellectual,
• additionally, our mission among people is also viewed as sharing,
• the most important example of sharing is the dialogue, which is mentioned in the Statutes about twelve different times.

It seems that the unifying idea behind the various mentions of sharing is brotherhood. However, we must admit that there are serious issues regarding sharing in various parts of the order. Our younger Carmelites may feel frustrated in this area and will often point out the contrast between the ideal contained in our documents and how we live. It is important to discuss this openly, so that younger members understand where the older generation has come from.

Some people were raised in environments where sharing on a personal level was foreign, aside from complaining about health issues and discussing them. Furthermore, apostolic activities like preaching and celebrating the liturgy were perceived as matters of individual professionalism; these were areas in which “one does not meddle”; nobody commented on another’s service. Sharing on the level of feelings, hopes, joys, sorrows, as well as sharing another's spiritual journey was not a common feature of our Carmelite life before 1971. Those who engaged in some modern renewal movements, such as Better World, Marriage Encounter, or the charismatic renewal, found an atmosphere of encouragement and trust in which sharing became easier.

Today, younger members expect and long for sharing. This seems difficult and daunting to the older ones. Sharing is not innate. We must learn it. When people slowly learn to trust one another and share in some appropriate manner, it requires much patience. We can expect that sharing will often remain superficial for a long time. But superficiality is not a problem. Any sharing, if it is true, has value; if we give it time and are patient, it may deepen. For now, sharing remains an area that poses a significant challenge. Nevertheless, it is one of the most important values that we must continually develop.

Mission

Although community and brotherhood take precedence over mission, mission holds very important value for us because it inevitably shapes and defines our brotherhood. In the last part, we will examine both the criteria of brotherhood and the criteria of mission. When we look back on our earliest history in Europe, we see three main features of our spiritual service:

• like other fratres, we were known as preachers and confessors,
• we guided people in prayer,
• already in the 13th century, we cared for the faithful through pastoral service in parishes.

As we realize that the most acceptable service to women and religious up to the present is the sacrament of reconciliation service, we see that the entire area of help through counseling and spiritual guidance belongs to our traditional mission.

Our medieval history, especially in the 14th and 15th centuries, shows that those who delved deeper into theology usually focused on Scripture. During this period, we had few dogmatic theologians, no experts in canon law, and few genuine philosophers. “Sacra pagina” was the discipline preferred by Carmelites in studies.

When we look into the statutes, we find encouragement for all kinds of service. Our law does not exclude any service in the Church. But particularly, service in the area of spirituality is recommended: “care for those who show interest in the spirit, the spiritual heritage, and the life of Carmel” (art. 93). But this is precisely a critical issue: how do we discern our mission to which we will ultimately dedicate ourselves?

Continued in the next issue.
Translated from English by Miluše Hosnedlová and Jája Vanišová.

Let's take the event with Martha and Mary from the 10th chapter of Saint Luke, to ponder the connections, the relationships between prayer and action...

Veronika Elisabeth Schmitt, O.C.D.

“Serve God for free…”

The understanding that contemplation and action cannot be separated is important for our time and has become self-evident. But it was not always like this. In the time of Teresa, in the 16th century, the “spiritual life” was only for men who belonged to the religious state or were clergy. When the Franciscan priest Francisco de Osuna demanded in his writings that contemplation is for everyone, he appeared revolutionary. Teresa found her spiritual teacher in him. She, too, wanted contemplation for all – including women! Her reform rediscovered that this earnest desire was at the beginning of the Carmelite order, and she wholeheartedly committed herself to it.

Teresa knows how essential it is for any contemplative life that contemplative life does not pursue any intention. In prayer, spiritual reading, and meditation, she seeks only “God Himself.” She herself experienced and endured a long process in which the soul transitions from seeking its own salvation to openness to God, unburdened by any purpose. From selfishness – to gain salvation – she arrived at a true turning toward God. In prayer, it is no longer about earning heaven and salvation for her. Prayer means living a personal relationship where the focus is on God Himself. To expect or even demand a reward for it, she writes to one novice in Soria, would resemble the thinking of “ordinary soldiers” (referring to paid mercenaries): “… do not crave too much for heavenly comforts! For it is characteristic of ordinary soldiers that at the end of each day they demand their pay. Serve Him for free, just as the great ones of this land do for their king, and may the King of heaven be with you!”¹

Because she trusts that this King cares for His creation, just as naturally Teresa includes urgent matters and the misery of the world, which “is on fire” (Way of Perfection 1,5), and the struggles and concerns of the proclaimers of the gospel into this contemplative, friendly relationship with God. Thus, she shatters any pious idyll where there exists “only God and the soul.” In the way of contemplation that Teresa lives and teaches, she finds space for everything that happens on this earth.

From contemplation then springs – and is fundamentally required – all “actions.” Since: “Where holy love dwells in the heart, there His Majesty also provides the opportunity for it to be shown in deeds.”² Fully in the spirit of the New Testament, “deeds” are the fruit of the relationship with God – not a condition in order to receive God’s grace as a reward. How could we even understand them as a condition for turning to God when He is love? These deeds are indeed only possible in the strength of selfless turning to God – that is Teresa’s experience. And it does not refer to any “great deeds,” but rather to concrete sisterly mutuality, “deeds,” corresponding to God’s love in the midst of everyday life.

“… this kitchen stove would be a precious treasure for all the monasteries of brothers and sisters.”

We know Teresa as the founder of the order, as a woman experienced in the spiritual life, which earned her the title Doctor of the Church in 1970, and as a writer. For her sisters, however, she was simply one of them, who just like others did all the work. In the Book of Foundations, we hear about her cleaning and procuring all the necessary things. She also loves to cook for her sisters. And it is by no means about some ascetic reasons for overly salted soups, but rather about meals that are very tasty, even if simple. That Christ is present even “in the kitchen and among the pots” (Book of Foundations 5,7) is one of her sayings that has particularly remained vivid to this day. And so it is no wonder that Teresa understands not only the kitchen but also kitchen stoves. She can get genuinely enthusiastic about a good stove and knows that she acts in the spirit of Christ when she asks Fr. Gracián: “Your Paternity may grant him (Teresa's brother Lorenzo) permission to enter the monastery (in Seville), to see with his own eyes the kitchen stoves that the prioress had made… The sisters tell wonderful things about them… If those stoves are really as described, they would be a valuable treasure for all monasteries of brothers and sisters… It is even said that they are better than Sota's forge; one could hardly say more.”³ With the same enthusiasm with which she strives for spiritual values, Teresa also turns to entirely ordinary things. In everything – even in the seemingly most trivial – she is entirely herself, performing “deeds” that correspond to the contemplative life that constitutes her existence.

“Let us set aside those good intentions that cost us so dearly.”

Looking for a reward for supposedly good deeds has led throughout the history of Christianity to a situation where one anxiously looks to their heavenly account. Thus, God gradually became rather a feared, inaccessible Accountant. But this distorted not only the image of God but also the image of man. And out of this emerged an anxious, overly reverent, unfree, and dependent person – towards church and religious superiors as well as God…

Teresa is an advocate for a different image of man, and especially a different image of woman. She wants to awaken self-confidence in her sisters. Time and again, she encourages them and unmasks every false, hunched humility. She leads⁴ her sisters to not accept everything uncritically simply by referring to religious obedience, not even from the prioress. In one letter, Teresa writes to Fr. Gracián: “Oh, it is terrifying how much harm a superior can do! Even when the sisters see with their own eyes the mistakes over which they are scandalized – and that often happens here (in Malagón) – they still think they must not interpret them negatively, otherwise, they would be against obedience.”⁵ And in one letter to the convent in Seville we can read: “True love must not cover mistakes that can be remedied without much harm… Let us set aside those good intentions that cost us so dearly.”⁶

Teresa herself behaves astonishingly confidently as a 16th-century nun! “I will now explain to you,” – here she means Fr. Gracián, who wants to command her to take over the position of prioress in the Avila monastery of The Incarnation – “that I will resist this with all my might.”⁷ Although she has committed herself to obedience to Fr. Gracián in a special way, this does not prevent her from resisting his will until she herself can accept it. Due to the prolonged negotiations regarding her own province of the reformed branch of the order, she urges him to act: “... time is passing, and we haven't sent anyone to Rome, and we will perish in our hopes that comfort us for a thousand years.”⁸ She knows that hesitation and delay due to fearfulness and false humility lead to missing opportunities. “Believe me,” she writes in 1577 with no less clear words to Fr. Marian, “that we will never succeed if we overlook the right time.”⁹

Also from Teresa's prayer, we know that Teresa knows how to deal with God – “His Majesty,” who is also “a friend” – in a remarkably free manner. She teaches her sisters to speak with Him freely and as they carry in their hearts. She wants to lead them to freedom, for she knows: “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Cor 3:17).

“I have so much work…”

Teresa did not leave any farewell letter. Death surprised her. She was just, as so often, on the road. From Burgos, where she had just founded a monastery of sisters, her journey led through Valladolid to Medina del Campo. From there she wanted to return to Avila as soon as possible to accept the vows of her niece Teresita. Right after that she intended to travel to the monasteries in Salamanca and Alba de Tormes, and then realize a long-held desire – to establish a monastery in Madrid. However, it turned out differently. In Medina del Campo, Teresa received the order to travel immediately to Alba de Tormes. When she arrived there on September 19, she fell seriously ill. Already four years earlier, in May 1578, she had written very realistically: “Although my wishes are fiery, I am nevertheless old and tired.”¹⁰ Her cancer has now taken hold, and there was bleeding that could not be stopped. Two weeks later, on the night of October 4 to 5, 1582, Teresa dies. Due to the calendar change occurring that night, her date of death is counted as October 15.

The last letter we have from her was not written by her. Like many other letters, she dictated it to her secretary, Anna of St. Bartholomew. It was written three weeks before Teresa's death and was addressed to the prioress in Soria. After the signature, we can still read an addition in her own hand: “We have arrived in Medina. I have so much work that I barely have time to tell you we had a happy journey.”¹¹

Until the very last moments of her life, Teresa strives for a new branch of the Carmelite order. Yet she does not meet only with agreement. Opponents of the reform can be found within her own ranks. She is deeply saddened by the Cloister of St. Joseph in Avila, upon hearing what wishes the sisters expressed in 1581 during the final revision of the statutes. One nun from Seville slandered her, and Teresa had to answer to the Inquisition. The prioress in Alba de Tormes, where Teresa is now located, does not enter her death chamber even once, so antagonistic is her attitude toward the founder. Teresa dies alone. Only her faithful companion Anna of St. Bartholomew and her niece Teresita are with her, and they reported in the protocol that Teresa's death was not easy at all.

The beloved Fr. Gracián Teresa would never see again. In the last letter she addressed to him on September 1, 1582, she bitterly complains about his rapid and, in her opinion, not entirely necessary departure. “I do not understand therefore the reason for your departure. But I have felt your absence so much under the current circumstances that even my desire to write to you has passed…”¹² In Teresa's writings, we repeatedly encounter the experience that there is only one true Friend who never lets us down. “The only true friend we can rely on is God,” she writes in 1577 to Father Marian.

Teresa's wishes and spirit remained “fiery” until her death. Her letters are a testament to a spirituality that is instructive even today.

Excerpted from the journal Karmelimpulse, year 10, 2000/4, pp. 5–9.
Translated from German by Sister M. Petra of the Risen Lord, OCD.

... nechceme přejít bez povšimnutí letošní 550. výročí vydání buly Cum nulla, která je považována za oficiální zpřístupnění společenství Karmelu také ženám a laikům...

As in a family, there is a kinship among various images (in our case, among the images of Our Lady of Mount Carmel)...

From the interpretation of the Carmelite Rule by Blessed John Soreth

Carmelite spirituality is today one of the most popular in the church. However, outside the circle of experts, it is not very well known, especially when it comes to the older part of our heritage.

Veronika Elisabeth Schmitt, OCD

“I emphasize everything that supports virtue, not bodily austerity.”

For centuries, the “Barefoot Carmel” has had a reputation for extraordinary penitential austerity. However, the letters of St. Teresa, the reformer and founder of this order, speak a different language. For instance, in a letter addressed to one of her sisters, Mother Maria of St. Joseph, a prioress in Seville, we read: “... the candies you sent me in such quantities taste excellent.”¹ Teresa clearly knows how to savor them. She admits it to herself as well as to the sisters and brothers of her young order! She enthusiastically writes to the prioress in Salamanca: “I have a hermitage from which I can see the river. Even where I sleep, I have the same view, and I can admire it even from my bed, which gives me extraordinary pleasure.”² And to Father Gracián, she advises in one letter: “When sleep comes, enjoy it. You will still find plenty of time to think about what is needed.”³ Teresa is by no means a “numb” nun who cannot accept human emotions and pleasures. Her intense compassion for others is based on a highly developed ability to perceive through all the senses.

On the contrary, she looks skeptically at those who strictly maintain bodily austerity but chase after dubious pleasures in spiritual life: “If prayer is accompanied by those mentioned pleasurable feelings, it leaves only weakness, fear, and hypersensitivity toward those who do not appreciate us in our souls. I would not wish for any other prayer than that which makes me grow in virtues. Even if it is accompanied by strong temptations, dryness, and despondency, I consider it a good prayer only if I come out of it more humble.”⁴

Here it is very clear what reformer Teresa is aiming at: “I emphasize everything that supports virtue, not bodily austerity. You can see this in all our monasteries,”⁵ she writes to Father Marián. This insistence of hers was often misunderstood, as shown by the lines from the following letter: “If Father John of Jesus says that it is my will for our brothers to go barefoot, it seems strange to me; for I have always forbidden this to Father Antonín. I wanted capable men to enter the order and not be discouraged by excessive austerities.”⁶ She is not concerned at all about outer “strictness,” about the rigorism that was very relevant to her time in the monastic reform movement. She distances herself from it. What she cares about is the inner conversion of the heart. She speaks of humility and virtues, which are so important to her, and means those attitudes that lead from egocentric imprisonment to openness through all the senses to the divine and human You. One should become completely transparent to God's presence and His action in and through oneself.

“Please take care of your health!”

“God prefers your health and your obedience to your penitential exercises,” Teresa writes to her brother Lorenzo, whom she also spiritually accompanied.⁷ “This is a sign that you are surrendered to His will, and I consider this surrender the greatest good that comes with the practice of internal prayer.”⁸ Teresa certainly harmed her own health by often denying herself sleep due to excessive work. In hindsight, however, she recognized this as a mistake. “My health was indeed harmed by it, and therefore I fear it might have been a temptation,” she writes to Father Gonzalo Dávila in June 1578.⁹

Health is a gift from God that we must protect. With this understanding, Teresa stands in stark contrast to those who, at her time, exaggerated penitential practices. There is hardly a letter in which she does not inquire about the addressee's health and how they are doing, and she usually mentions how her health is doing too. She is particularly concerned about her sisters and Father Gracián; occasionally, she even gives therapeutic advice up to providing a recipe for pills that helped her so much. “I am convinced that using these medicines will greatly alleviate your suffering, even if you take just one pill every two weeks,” we read in a letter from 1581 to the prioress in Seville.¹⁰ The illnesses of others disturb Teresa much more than her own: “I do not know what to do so that the illnesses of my prioresses do not affect me so much. Please take care of your health, but neither you nor the sisters use that ‘healing’ water!”¹¹ When the plague rages in Seville, Teresa endures severe anxiety about her sisters and writes to Father Gracián in June 1582, a few months before her death: “Do not succumb to (...) the temptation to want to travel there! That would be ruinous for all of us, at least for me. God has indeed granted you health, but exposing it to danger would be appropriate only to prepare me for life!”¹²

Taking into account the condition in which one finds oneself is something Teresa recognizes in relation to the life of prayer. She knew the importance of psychosomatic connections and that both body and soul must be led “gently,” lest human nature suffer harm: “You must know that just as in the external world, there are also various ‘weathers’ in the inner world, and it cannot be otherwise…”¹³ She also gives advice: “Occasionally pay attention to taking a walk outdoors if you are feeling down; for it does not prevent prayer, and we must fight against our weaknesses in such a way that our nature does not suffer. This is also seeking God; for it is because of Him that we resort to these means, and it is necessary to lead our soul gently.”¹⁴

During her life in the monastery, Teresa hardly went a day without pain. Without bitterness, and with a great deal of humor, she admits: “... if I suffered no more than my usual pains, then my health is excellent.”¹⁵ She knew very well what it meant to have impaired health. This made her sensitive regarding the health of others.

It took until our time for reasonable care for health to become something natural in the monastery. Even the “little” Teresa of Lisieux was denied appropriate medical treatment. Her biological sisters had to secretly mix morphine into marmalade to somewhat relieve her pains. How would Teresa have cared for this sister and how would she have tried to help her! How unfaithful the order proved in this regard! It preferred poorly understood asceticism over such a human and Christian attitude of its founder!

It is no coincidence that Teresa emphasized the contemplation of Jesus' humanity in spiritual life. Human beings are the place where God reveals Himself. The Incarnation, this central truth of Christian faith, Teresa always placed, in every respect, at the center of her life.

“I no longer act as I was accustomed; everything is easier with love.”

To a world characterized by ambition, strength, hardness, and power, Teresa responds with human and “maternal” values. Again and again, she emphasizes how important it is for her that everything is done gently. This is the quality she values so much in Father Gracián. “I believe that Your Paternity will achieve much if you proceed quietly and gently,”¹⁶ she writes to him in 1575, in the same year that she got to know him. She also advises the prioresses of her reformed monasteries: “Prioresses should remember to execute their office with great gentleness.”¹⁷ About herself, she admits that she has gone through a process of learning in this regard: “You know that regarding the manner of leading the monastery, I no longer act as I was accustomed; everything is easier with love.”¹⁸

A few years after her death, Teresa's humanity, from which her deep spirituality emerged, would no longer guide the reformed Carmel; instead, an ascetic lifestyle hostile to life would set the tone, embodied in the new provincial, Father Dori. Father Gracián was expelled from the order due to his “lukewarmness.” Father John of the Cross was to meet the same fate; he preempted this by voluntarily signing up for the missions, but died before his departure. As a woman, Teresa set new standards for her reform, which the masculine world of her time understood far too little. Father Gracián and Father John of the Cross were the honorable exceptions here.

Only gradually could Teresa's great humanity establish itself in her order, not least thanks to the scientific research of our times, which has brought the original accents of the reform to light.

Our time is also not immune to erroneous forms of spiritual life. I think of that seductive “performance piety” which is evident everywhere, the inclination toward extraordinary phenomena, the overvaluation of “spiritual” areas of life, associated with disdain for the mundane and worldly. Teresa showed us through her life what true spirituality looks like: heaven and earth are connected in it in appealing humanity. Teresa wanted authenticity and thus credibility. This remains a challenge to this day.

“I have observed so much that monasteries, if these matters are considered unimportant, will gradually disappear.”

This is a time of the fiercest battles between reformed and unreformed members of the order. Everything is to be settled by nuncio Sega, a sworn opponent of Teresa. Lies of all kinds are brought to him against the reformers, including against Teresa herself: “About me, they said that I am a wandering and restless woman and that the monasteries I founded were established without the permission of the Pope and the order's superiors.”¹⁹ Nevertheless, Teresa does not fall into self-pity, even though she admits: “The Lord wants us to suffer because no one stands up for the truth and says a word in my defense.”²⁰ Even Father Gracián, her closest collaborator and confidant, cannot defend her. He himself is also persecuted. This is what Teresa suffers the most.

At the first provincial assembly of reformed brothers in Alcalá in 1581, Teresa is excluded. As a woman, she has no right to participate in decision-making, she, the founder of a new religious branch. “As for what concerns the sisters, perhaps I may nonetheless say at least a word, for I have observed so much that monasteries, if these matters are considered unimportant, will gradually disappear,”²¹ she writes to Father Gracián in February 1581, in order to influence the statutes for the sisters. Gracián (as a candidate whom she wished for) had just emerged from the first elections as provincial by one majority vote.

It took much time for Teresa's spirit to assert itself irrevocably through the voice of women, such as Teresa of Lisieux, Elizabeth of Dijon, and Edith Stein. “In short, truth may suffer, but it will not perish; and so I hope the Lord will reveal it even more.”²²

Taken from the magazine Karmelimpulse, Year 10, 2000/II, pp. 5–9.
Translated from German by Sister M. Petra of the Risen Christ, OCD.

I promised to dedicate as much attention as possible to the theme of Mary on the pages of our magazine this year...

approved by the general chapter held in September 1995 in Rome

Biography of Teresa of Ávila (annotation)

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