P. Peter Lippert, SJ
The German Jesuit P. Peter Lippert (1879–1936) was a renowned preacher and journalist of his time, author of articles and books. One passage in his book "Letters to the Monastery" caught my attention, so I translated it and offer it for your reading as well.1
The entire book consists of letters written by a spiritual leader to a young man who has sensed God's call to a religious life, enters a monastery, and then lives there. Our excerpt concerns the stage when the young man is discerning whether he fits the order. First, P. Peter mentions and praises his good qualities: discipline, reliability, perseverance. He is convinced that he certainly has the necessary prerequisites for life in the monastery.
But then he warns him about one of his faults and evaluates it as very dangerous. It is quite possible that his precise description of it and the prompt to boldly confront this bad habit will be useful for someone among us...
But you yourself are fully aware that your limits are also important in this regard, yes, the weaknesses of your personality that I have often discussed with you. And they (here) might decide even more. You are a clever (perhaps too clever) young man, you see everything, observe it, and form your own judgment. I have no objections to that; it is part of being a mature person to have open eyes and have the strength for sincere and serious criticism.
But I am not sure if you can bear this critical spirit, this clear and harsh knowledge yourself. And your (widely) expansive gaze, which can now shine so warmly and encouragingly, may harden and cool as the years go by. You will measure yourself and your brothers, your superiors, the monastery, and the entire order by very strict standards – and you will be disappointed.
Nothing on earth exists that can perfectly fulfill your ideal. Not even marriage, nor any manly or heroic vocation could accomplish that. But there you would not be disappointed, because you expect failures and difficulties. However, in your religious ideal, you do not account for them. Do not contradict me; you truly do not account for them. You, when you go to the monastery now, bring your whole soul there and seek the holiest for your life, you seek your God, his purity and his infinity, you seek the very eternity. And it will be very bitter for you when you only meet people there. "Where is my God now?" you will one day ask.
The fact that you also have a nimble tongue and express your opinions and convictions very freely, I will only mention in passing. After some failures, you will ultimately learn to be silent; you will understand that God does not need you to save justice and truth. Yes, you will be silent. But you, in the end, would do more than be silent; you would become dumb.
And now I come to what is decisive. You surely still remember several serious conversations we had about your "sticking points"2 and about the effort you had to exert to get free from such a jam again. A few times you were able to extricate yourself only because I helped you. But then in the monastery, you will not have me with you, I will not be available to you as I was then.
(What strength) this (your) sticking point has! Everything within you shuts down, everything freezes and hardens, and you are – as you say – "not good." At that moment, you can truly despise people, and you become a little great hater. With clear, vigilant eyes, you see the bad, (and) the resistance and hardness within you, and you condemn yourself, lose faith in yourself, and are no longer good to yourself. Then you do not even seek God further; you withdraw from his way, do not respond when he calls you, lower your gaze before the beam of his light, which wants to penetrate your eyes and heart. Yes, boy, a kind of stubbornness can seize you.
When I think that this could happen to you in the monastery and I would be far away or dead, who will help you then? I already dread it when I think of it. Then it would truly be better if you chose some completely ordinary, insignificant, soulless vocation, yes, I would prefer if you became – if that were possible – a superficial person, unthinking and ordinary, like most. Just not this, just not the terrible thing that this sticking point seizes you in the monastery, because probably there will be no one to pull you out of it.
I do not want to describe further how then – in such a state – your soul would be paralyzed, how your best powers would fade, how your inner life would shrink and your wings would be broken. For that would not be the worst. No, the worst would be your silence before your God. You do not even know how excellently sweet and grace-filled your life and actions can be before God, your speaking, and your silence. More than could be expressed. I know this, and I have often rejoiced with God that He has you. Yes, I have experienced this. But in that unfortunate sticking point, you would suddenly become mute and cold before God, that continual conversation by which you are joined in love would come to an end.
Boy, this must never, ever happen. If you can calm me about this, then I will personally accompany you (upon your entry) into the monastery. But if you still have to say today: "Yes, this (with the sticking points) will always be with me," then I would rather pray that before your entry into the monastery, you could go where no dusk or winter (as a season) will terminate love.
I cried while writing this and I am not at all satisfied with my letter. Why must I cause you pain like this? Write to me soon, or better yet: come to me soon, even before the semester begins. No matter how my letter affects you, think of how very anxious I am and meet me halfway!
Yours (Peter)
Thus ends the quote from the book. I have thought of several questions that may serve anyone who would like to engage deeply with the ideas presented:
- Do I suffer from such "sticking points" and muteness before God? Or what other unhealthy reactions am I prone to and must be careful about?
- What means have proven effective to me as a remedy against this? How honestly do I confess this to Jesus?
- What help against this have I discovered in the Scriptures? Could I find some guidance in the gospel account of the healing of the possessed boy (Mk 9:14-29)?
(Translated from German and added commentary by P. Gorazd, O.Carm.)
