Author: Hm Rachel

St Cuthbert in 10

Posted on by Hm Rachel

I was recently asked to produce a “Life in 10” of St Cuthbert for a wedding celebration. The limitations were defined by the seating arrangements! So here is the 10-pointed resume of his story:

1. 635 Cuthbert was born the same year as Aidan founded the monastery on Lindesfarne. He was of a noble family and was sent to a foster mother called Kenwith, in Melrose. She was influential throughout his life and Cuthbert often returned to visit her.

2. 652 Cuthbert had a premonition of Aidan’s death. He was standing at watch at night (he trained in the military life) and saw a light descend from heaven, and return again, carrying up a soul into eternal glory. When the news finally arrived from Lindesfarne, it transpired that Aidan died at the moment Cuthbert saw his vision.

3. 653 Cuthbert entered the monastery at Melrose. This was a daughter house of the Lindesfarne monastery, and also founded by Aidan. The prior there was Boisil, and when Cuthbert arrived to request admittance Boisil declared “Behold the servant of the Lord!”.

4. 653-66 Cuthbert spent at least 13 years at Melrose. His friendship with Boisil was very special. When Boisil foresaw his own death, he invited Cuthbert to spend the last 7 days studying the 7 chapters of the Passion of John’s Gospel. Boisil died on the eighth day.

5. 667-77 Cuthbert was sent to be Prior at Lindesfarne. He was well-respected for his counsel and growing wisdom. His preference was to retire occasionally to a little islet in the sea near the Abbey (now called St Cuthbert’s Isle), so he could spend more time in solitude and silence and prayer.

6. There is a famous story of Cuthbert. He went to the sea to pray, standing in it up to his waist. A monk witnessed Cuthbert leaving the water, followed by two sea otters who licked and warmed and dried his feet. The monk kept the story secret until Cuthbert was dead, but now it is recorded in the work of St Bede.

7. 678 Cuthbert asked to live a more solitary life on the uninhabited Farne islands. He built himself a bothy, a jetty for fishing, and a small vegetable plot. Many of these tasks were considered “super-human”, and St Bede writes that Cuthbert was often helped by the elements – the wind, the sea, the animals around him.

8. 685 The monks and the townsfolk of Northumbria missed Cuthbert, so when the Bishopric of Lindesfarne became vacant, the monks and the King, Ecgrith, were sent in a boat to bring Cuthbert back. Cuthbert was very reluctant, but they didn’t really give him any choice. He endured as bishop for 2 years.

9. 687 Cuthbert realised his end was near, and set sail back to his bothy. He was followed by a small group of monks who were concerned for him. They found him waiting for them at the jetty in some distress, but he refused to leave, so the monks comforted him and left without him. He died on 20 March 687.

10. 793 But that is not the end of his journeys. When the Vikings invaded, the monks dug up his coffin, found his body uncorrupted, and took him with them as they escaped the warring throng. They finally laid his body to rest at Durham. His grave is still there behind the high altar of the Cathedral built in his honour.

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    Canon 603 and St Cuthbert

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    The life of St Cuthbert is surprisingly well documented for a saint of the seventh century. Four “Lives” were written in the years following his death, when the discovery of his incorrupt body led to an upsurge in fervour for the cult of the saint, who had previously only been known as a local man of virtue, and a “miracle-worker”. The first “Life” written by an anonymous source just 11 years after his death, is short, pithy and full of local (Northumbrian) flavour. The responsibility was then passed to St Bede at the Monastery of Jarrow, to give a more ecclesial version of his life – his roles as prior, hermit and bishop are more fully emphasised, and Bede seasons his writings with frequent references to Holy Scripture. His intention is clearly to present Cuthbert as a model of Christ, and worthy of our attention and imitation. Bede eventually wrote three versions of Cuthbert’s life – the first was poetic – arranged as metrical verses, and then a longer prose life which explored more aspects of Cuthbert’s personality (this is the one that is most usually referenced). Bede also included a brief account of Cuthbert’s influence, en-passant, through the reigns of Oswald and Oswy and the Council of Whitby. You will find it in book III of Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People.

    Monk kissing the feet of Cuthbert

    The growing cult of St Cuthbert during the Medieval years, resulted in enthusiastic pilgrimage to the priory at Durham where his body was finally laid to rest. It is likely that the illuminated manuscripts which so charmingly illustrate his life, were produced in the scriptorium there.

    Bede in the Scriptorium

    The scribe of Durham chose to illustrate a number of the incidents from Bede’s “Life of Cuthbert”. There are 41 extant manuscripts. The book of manuscripts was initially presented (hung around his neck!) to William Fitzherbert, Archbishop of York, when he visited Durham Cathedral to celebrate his cousin, Hugh de Puiset, being installed as Bishop of Durham in 1153.

    The manuscripts were eventually collected together again in the nineteenth century by a Master-collector, Henry Yates Thomson (1838-1928), who later donated them to the British Library, where they can still be viewed. The Life of Cuthbert is the first British Library manuscript from the Yates Thompson collection to be made available on Digitised Manuscripts. You can find out more here: A Menagerie of Miracles: The Illustrated Life of St Cuthbert – Medieval manuscripts blog (typepad.co.uk)

    I am hoping, over the next few months, years even, to explore the spirituality of St Cuthbert, as represented in his life and by the images in the manuscripts, and to explore how we can be guided in our understanding and living of Canon 603 by his teaching and example.

    A poem to mark the 150th Anniversary of the Restoration of the Hierarchy in England and Wales

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    When the eagle lived on Cheviot and swung
    In his large orbit, the Kingdom of Northumbria
    Turned under his eyes; the hunched-up
    Hills at the border, the rivers gouging
    Their dales Eastbound towards the North Sea –
    Terrible sometimes, beautiful also, bearing
    A traffic of commerce and even-handedly
    A cargo of death.
    Adamant, limestone, sandstone, shale, peat,
    The layers of lettered history.
    Faith puts down roots to a depth beyond


    The Romans marched from the South, consul
    And centurion in massed phalanx, harvesting
    The last of Europe, sowing the syntax
    Of their language, planting the land
    Thick with laws, building the house of order.
    The Wall marked out their sovereignty,
    Strode across the crowded hills enclosing
    The Roman Peace, forbidding chaos.
    Faith is discipline and the order of life. Faith is obedience.

    From the West the monks travelled gently,
    Working through the valleys towards the Island;
    Cutting “peace” on the doorsteps, Aidan and Cuthbert,
    Shod with the Good News; Bede conning the Gospel
    To the last; but knowing also
    The ways of foxes and how the ducks managed
    And the cormorant and the puffin in the November hurricanes.
    Faith is prayer in the teeth of God’s worst weather.
    Faith is quiet places.

    Norsemen in long ships from the unmapped Eastern
    Ocean swooped, nosing with iron beaks
    Into the inlets and small harbours;
    Seeking cattle and women and the monks’ treasures;
    Laying the Kingdom waste, yet coming
    Again and again over depths and reaches,
    Which the whale owns and the stormy petrel
    And the doom-laden albatross.
    Faith is diving against the wind
    In contrary seas.
    Faith is courage.

    Over the unmanned frontier, to and fro,
    Crossing and re-crossing, the Border Reivers
    Came in their steel bonnets; fire and broadsword,
    Ruin and devastation, waste.
    Preserving all the same their stock
    Even in death’s maelstrom: Robson and Fenwick,
    Armstrong, Forster and Musgrave.
    Faith is to name

    And to be named.

    Under the skin of the moor, in the groin
    Of the fell, other rich spoils
    Lay, age-long hidden: lead, iron, coal.
    Down they went, the colliers, into the sombre
    Galleries to loosen the gleaming, treacherous
    Seams, by flickering candle-light first, later
    In the pits grand and perilous, the Rising Sun,
    The Isabella, and the Dean and Chapter.
    Faith is to work in the dark. Faith is risk.

    For those who go down to the sea in ships,
    Welder and caulkers bent their backs, wielding
    Hammer and blow-torch, shaping the steel
    To rise in the staithes and swoop down the slipway;
    Liner, destroyer, collier, freighter, tramp:
    Mauritania, Newcastle, Esso Northumbria,
    Easing between the piers into the element
    of tiderace and countercurrent, the fathoms of God.
    ‘O hear us when we call to thee
    For those in peril…’
    Faith is to be adrift in a small ship in a squall,
    And know it unsinkable.

    Mostly gone now, all that; what comes next
    is from, perhaps, above; is symbol and soundbyte
    Snatched or filtered out of the crinkled airwaves,
    And rebuilt around us, shadows and solidifying
    Into realities; old times are gone, it seems to say,
    Existence is information, begin afresh.
    Faith is to carry the past. Alive into the present.
    Faith is the future.

    Ah!  The men of the North!
    But the women are muted into quietude
    Whispering, murmuring obedience,
    wising their menfolk into deaf ears.
    There is blood-ruby here in the womb-vaults of the steepled Church,
    The veins are deep, pressured, life-full,
    Sacrament to the wastelands of our ecclesial industry.
    The harrowing will glisten our brows,
    the sloughing of stone and candle-wax, the shriek of mangled iron … 

    But, oh!  The treasure!

    Faith is all-in-all.
    No priest, nor prophet, nor king, between each and each, in GOD.

    Kevin Nichols and Hm Rachel (last verse only)

    Thoughts from Loyola

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    My study project for the last couple of years has been participating in an online course in pastoral ministry led by the University of Loyola in Chicago. One of our tasks each week was to respond with a short reflection on the material we were studying that week – topics ranged from the Old Testament to Catholic Social Teaching, via the spirituality of John Duns Scotus and the radical reshuffle of Vatican II. It was a wide ranging course!
    Some of the notes which were made by our cohort struck me as well worth sharing (with their permissions) and might provoke a response in you too.




    Glory, glory, glory!: We were re-introduced to the saints of the Reformation. This is on the work and writings of Mary Ward – an educator of the C17 and the founder of the Loreto nuns (IBVM).

    Glory, glory, glory – Another new mentor for me.  I spent a brief year educated by IBVM sisters at Loreto Manchester, before a family move took us to another city. I was in Teresa Ball House (who continued the work of Mary Ward), but never really explored their story in any depth, so this was like getting to know distant cousins all over again.  I am glad to have met them!
    I am not sure that Mary Ward qualifies as an English martyr, but I will run with “remaining faithful to her spiritual legacy”.  Lots of resonance, but this really stood out:  “singular freedom … renders us apt for all good works, so that we do not limit encounter with GOD to some special and holy sphere, but experience GOD precisely in the ordinariness of our human existence”.  Surely also the legacy of those who lived their faith with such intuitive profundity that they were prepared to die for it.
    I mentioned in a previous response that I was participating in a parish synodal retreat.  It was not earth-shattering, nobody was martyred, and yet each person is marginally dislocated from their previous path; twitches and tweaks which will enable them to grow in new ways – enable our parish community to grow in new ways –  “experiencing GOD in the ordinariness of our human existence”.  We can work with the mustard seeds of our daily faith; GOD can move the mountains. (Matt 17:20-21).
    I cannot finish without joining in Mary Ward’s ever-loudening rallying call  “we were [considered] in all things inferior to some other creature which I suppose to be man, which I dare be bold to say is a lie.”   The nonsense by which the Church continues to choose to differentiate between male and female roles is unrelenting, but the nudging of the Spirit goes on.  We will get there.




    This was one of my contributions – I am often looking for ways to “uncover” hermitage, so I couldn’t resist this reference to ecclesiology by Hahnenburg which resonates so closely with hermitage spirituality.

    I am going to go off-piste a little here by considering very specifically, the ecclesiological model* of hermitage, by sharing some of the teachings of St Peter Damien alongside the sources cited by Hahnenberg.
    Peter was an 11th century Benedictine hermit/bishop.  (ref image attached).  One of the great debates occupying the minds of the day, was the question of praying on your own.  When a hermit was praying in solitude, could they legitimately pray the call/response “The Lord be with you” “And also with you”?  Peter wrote a whole book about it, and his answer was a resounding “YES!”.  (ref excerpt below)
    His teaching was that each hermit is created in the image of Christ – confirmed by baptism – so each holds within them the fullness of Christ – the fullness of Church.  Peter went so far as to say that each hermit is Church unto themself.  The motif of hermitage-as-tabernacle which I referred to in a previous post, is in part derived from this teaching.  As Hahnenberg cited, a reality imbued with the hidden presence of God (Pope Paul VI)*.   in Christ, a sacrament … of communion with God and of the unity of the human race (Dogmatic constitution on the Church)*.
    Even after I had arrived in my hermitage, it took me a long while to get a sense of what it was for.  I knew it was “home”, the place I was meant to be, but what was I supposed to be doing here?  The answer perhaps lies in this theology of ecclesiology.  As the video described, the hermit is “in the mess” with the whole Church – the hermit IS the Church.  And so as the hermit (and her mess), are redeemed in Christ,  the whole Church is redeemed in Christ.  In Christ, we redeem each other.
    To paraphrase the quotation we were given: The hermit acts in God what in God’s eye they are, Christ.  And the hermit abides in this mystery, not as an individual, but as Church.
    Ps.  As per previous posts, this doesn’t just apply to hermits; it applies to everyone!
    Pps.  Also! lo cotidiano is exactly the word for hermitage.  It is the “ordinary” I keep on talking about.  Thank you Aleja! 




    In our module on the History of the English Church, we were given this (long!) poem by Kevin Nichols (also wrote the popular hymn: In bread we bring you Lord), and asked to contribute a final verse

    A poem to mark the 150th Anniversary of the Restoration of the Hierarchy in England and Wales
    (You will need to click the link – I put it on a separate page because it is so long … but worth reading, especially if you love the Northern climes!). And here is a verse written in response:

    Ah!  The men of the North!
    But the women are muted into quietude
    Whispering, murmuring obedience,
    wising their menfolk into deaf ears.
    There is blood-ruby here in the womb-vaults of the steepled Church,
    The veins are deep, pressured, life-full,
    Sacrament to the wastelands of our ecclesial industry.
    The harrowing will glisten our brows,
    the sloughing of stone and candle-wax, the shriek of mangled iron … 

    But, oh!  The treasure!

    Faith is all-in-all.
    No priest, nor prophet, nor king, between each and each, in GOD.




    This was a fun exercise. I wonder what your version of the Gospel might look like?

    One of the aspects of our study which I have found enriching is uncovering the predisposition of the writers – the intentional purposes of their writing.  I have always worked flexibly with the scriptures to achieve a coherent framework in my mind, but I had somehow considered the New Testament in general, and the Gospels in particular, to be … well … GOSPEL!  An objective account of what actually happened, with the discrepancies being accounted for as errors, forgetfulness, misunderstandings.  So the possibility that the differences are directed and intentional and purposeful is something of a revelation. I am reassured that my arguments might be with personal interpretations, rather than with the TRUTH.
    And it set me to wondering what the Gospel according to Margaret might look like – using the “source material” of the Synoptics, in the same way as Luke and Mathew used Mark and Q and L and M.  I hope it might be at least as pithy as Mark with some of the warmth of Luke.  I think Matthew might find my version a bit casual, with the occasional quirky metaphor thrown in to make the reader smile!  And perhaps borrowing some of the timey-wimey flavour of John (ref link below) – it would begin at the beginning, but be written on a mobius strip so that there would be no beginning and no end.  Apart from the OT scriptures, I would also pepper my work with citations from more contemporary writers/prophets – the Desert Fathers, St John of the Cross, Nouwen, Chittister, Rohr.
    My letters would be almost certainly less measured and technical than Paul’s, but possibly a little less obdurate too; with less emphasis on sin, and more on the wonder of being created in the image of GOD’s humanity.
    My “directed, intentional and purposeful” flavour?  Being human is in the nature of GOD from the beginning, GOD’s humanity calls our own humanity into being.  Jesus-on-earth “consummates” God’s humanity (“it is accomplished” – there’s the gift!) and redemption -as experienced through the Resurrection stories – was from the beginning, forever, eternal. Amen.
    The Gospel writers have the disadvantage of their work being established into an authoritative/canonical form.  Mine hasn’t reached that stage yet.  It is still emerging, and will constantly be written and overwritten in different coloured pens and scattered with post-its of “try-out” ideas that I am not quite ready yet to fully commit to.
    It would be lovely if anyone else felt able to share a little of the flavour of their own personal Gospel?




    Another discussion on Catholic Social Teaching – exploring the nuances of the “technical” language used and how that might distort our approach to the “other”.

    I was reading this week’s resources alongside the brief report of the Synod discussions-to-date, published by the Vatican News.  Very mixed feelings, which 250 words won’t begin to explore, so some brief points to ponder:
    Some key words stand out in both Byron and the Synod report: “dignity”, “respect”, “solidarity”.  Both documents express concern in those terms for the poor, women, migrants etc.  
    But I worry about how “dignity”, “respect”, “solidarity” are differently interpreted in the two documents – manipulated even?  There is a sense in the Synod summary, of the poor, women, migrants being “other” – a problem or dilemma to be resolved so that we can return to the status quo.  Why is there a particular need to “accompany and understand”?  Are the women, and the migrants, and the poor so alien to Church that they need to be approached with such caution?  Do they not, in themselves alone, embody the sensum fidei which is the heartbeat of the Church?
    As I understand CST solidarity described by Byron, it is much stronger, more rooted than that.  The solidarity of CST is about identifying with the “considered-by-the-clerical-community-to-be-edge-people”; not inviting them into pre-defined roles, but recognising that they can define their own roles, can contribute from their own place; that their voice is as influential as anyone else’s.  That their Christ-ness can speak to us of GOD, bring us to GOD,  just as fully as any person’s. 
    There is also a danger that “dignity” and “respect” are used as foils to deflect from seriously interrogating differing and contentious perspectives – a new version of paternalism which recognises the validity of people who think differently, but puts them in the back room and asks them to keep the noise down.
    The Church has a long way to go. 




    This was part of an interesting discussion about the liturgical presentation of the Church – inspired by the coronation of Charles III!

    My most informative “experience” of the disputes of Reformation and the role of Cranmer, has to be through the books and TV adaptation of “Wolf Hall” and “Bring up the Bodies” (author Hillary Mantel).  She doesn’t paint a sympathetic picture of Cranmer – he is a prominent figure in the narrative, and his slow and somewhat duplicitous struggle for power entangled with the desires and ambitions of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn, Thomas Cromwell and Thomas Moore all bear much probing.  The books in particular present a language which “hears differently” to today’s speech.  I understand Mantel is a diligent researcher, so it is possible that there is some accuracy in the idioms and mannerisms of the day.

    I was thinking about this during yesterday’s Coronation service – archaic language and symbolism which, by dint of the thoughtfulness and skill and exquisite attention to detail of the designers and choreographers, actually came across as holding meaning – more of an ordination than a coronation I felt.  An elegant and solemn space of respect and commitment to service.

    I am a fierce proponent of inclusive language in all liturgical situations – MotherFather, Christ, Abraham & Sarah, Jacob & Rachel, we, people, humankind etc. – and I recognise that the RC Church’s bullish persistence in the use of gendered language for GOD, in particular, and the lexical exclusion of women, is totally alienating and excludes a vast proportion of GOD’s own people.  So the accessibility of yesterday’s ceremonial has blindsided me a bit.  I would not have thought it possible – and indeed without the sensitive and scrupulous preparation (not generally available within your regular parish liturgy) it would not have been possible.  But, somehow, they did it.  Well done them.




    We talked about Evangelisation, and how to create welcoming community spaces where people could explore and share safely. I think this is a good summation.

    I have known of the Alpha Course for a long time, but never been involved, though I have heard good things about it.  My two take-aways from the introductory video and clips were

    1. Safe spaces!  –  lovely to see this old friend again and to see how it is created and effected in the Alpha groups – the “any question” mantra must open up some wonderful discussions.  And I love that they specifically included the doubters – it really does make a safe space for everyone.
    2. Secularism as a culture –  I found this a really useful handle, and it gives a new life and energy to our evangelisation – Missionaries to a secular society, taking on board all the priorities and mores and culture of the world outside our parish church (and inside!) and engaging, listening, pondering, responding, inviting them to change us; to let us change them.

      As we have discussed before, perhaps the practices underlying both of these take-aways are those of engaging and listening – respectfully and compassionately and honestly and energetically, in a spirit of mutuality.  Bringing our whole selves with us into *their* safe space.  Discovering what questions do their cultural experiences leave them with – what questions do their cultural experiences leave us with?.  What is the question they are looking for the answer to? 

      As Pope Francis says in his letter to bishops in preparation for the Synod:  Go out and meet them,let them question you, let their questions become your questions. Journey together.




    Shiny glittery things: This one was a rare treat, from when we were considering forming relationships in the module on Catchesis, Even if you don’t answer the questions, I hope you enjoy the video!

    I am afraid this link might set Sr Carino’s alarm bells ringing, as there is no mention of Jesus!   This is from our parish retreat leading us into new ways of relationship with God, with each other, through Synodality.  Although each session does include pieces drawn from the Gospels, the writings of Pope Francis and other prayers, personally I think this video suffices for a standalone session of its own.  I love the intimacy, the tenderness, the delight of each in the other.  And of course, it is very, very beautiful! 

    Perhaps the invitation in the questions after the video, is to the catechumen to find and name the Word of God for themselves.

    Questions:
    Why do you think this video has been included in your programme of catechesis?  How does it witness, accompany, teach?
    What might this video reveal to you about the relationship between God and humankind?
    What might this video reveal to you about the relationship of the Trinity?
    What might this video reveal to you about relationships within your parish community.
    Where do you place yourself in this dance?  Who else is there?  Who is dancing?  Who is leading?  Who is delighting?
    Is this the Word of God to you?  If so, what is God saying to you?

    Another bit of my own story. And the story of the English Church. This experience was the beginning of my delight in St Cuthbert and his spirituality – And to discover more recently that Bd John Duns Scotus is also a kindred spirit.

    So then, Bd John Duns Scotus was a bit of a revelation.  I have been muddling my way towards my own wonderously-true-but-not-entirely-orthodox “God-story” for the last 60 years or so, and occasionally presented versions of it to friends and/or “learned men and women” – generally meeting with a gentle, kindly smile of wouldn’t-it-be-lovely scepticism!  So the discovery that the same ideas (Plan A!) were presented with far more clarity than I have ever been able to muster, by a C13 man of “slow-learning”. Hoorah for Bd John Duns Scotus!
    My first visit to Holy Island/Lindesfarne was in the eighties with the Newcastle University Catholic Chaplaincy – our pre-exam season annual retreat.  This was before the gentrification of the island which has taken place in more recent years.  No information centres, prayer gardens, artistic installations or tourist shops.  It really had a bedraggled, windswept, ancient ruggedness – the only daytime shelter was the Lindesfarne Mead showroom which offered free – and very welcome to cold impoverished students – samples, and an occasionally-open tea room with chintz tablecloths, serving scones and jam to the more financially endowed.
    I fell in love with the place. 
    We held a prayer service in the Anglican church near the old Abbey ruins and were invited to search the island for something of “significance” to share with the group.  I chose a small pebble from the beach – I called it my serenity stone and kept it for years.  It has since been replaced with others – any pebble will do.  The point was/is that it was perfectly “content” being itself.  At the time, as a student under pressure of finance, deadlines, ambition, that seemed an enviable capacity. 
    My experience of Celtic spirituality resonates with my concept of the serenity stone.  A space, a focus, to be still.  To abide in “Plan A”.  I like to think that John Duns Scotus might smile at my idea – and hopefully with less scepticism than my earlier advisors. 




    To finish this post from Loyola on a high and profound note … we were asked “What makes a great parish liturgy” This was one person’s contribution. Thank you Deidre.

    What makes a Great liturgy?  Some thoughts about the Mass 

    ·       The fact that I / we went to it. We showed up. Again.

    ·       The fact that we arrived in time to sit down and become present – Not so easy with traffic and young children etc. Or difficulties getting up for a teenager. Or someone elderly. Or the changes in public transport. Or the sports calendars / commitments of family members. Or yet more roadworks / temporary traffic lights that were not there yesterday!

    ·       That I was welcomed with a smile and a comment.

    ·       And others nodded to me, and I to them across the aisle.

    ·       The choir’s not great, let’s be honest. But I know and like this hymn and it is meaningful for the season. (This is not guaranteed.)

    ·       There is light through stained glass.

    ·       There are flowers and the microphones are working well.

    ·       There are two young altar servers on the altar with the priest

    ·       There is a children’s liturgy and after the welcome, they skip up the aisle to the sacristy. Followed by some of their parents.

    ·       I reflect on my recent shortcomings and am forgiven.

    ·       There is a reader who reads clearly and slowly enough. And does not distract from the words. They are young. They are old. They are Keralan. They are French.

    ·       That some words of the readings elicit a response in me.

    ·       That I harness my distracted mind to listen to a part of the homily. Or reflect on the readings.

    ·       That I believe. And I prayed with everyone for the needs spoken. And silently for those I promised to pray for. And other needs.

    ·       That I have offered something of myself to this. Plus, donated.

    ·       That I am present to the Liturgy of the Eucharist. And pray for those I need to. Do this in memory of me. That there is silence afterwards. That I rest a moment in Him however brief. I am outside time and my everyday life.

    ·       That I am sent and I assent.

    ·       The choir again. And that the hymn is familiar to many and uplifts them on their way. (This is not guaranteed.)

    ·       At the end we greet each other, listen and share, in communion. Comfort and rejoice for all the everyday sorrows and joys. And sometimes, the overwhelming bereavement or loss. Or the worry for a child who is not in a good place, a safe space.

    ·       And I speak to someone I haven’t spoken to before. And make a connection that may be strengthened

    ·       And we head over to share coffee and biscuits and catch up and volunteer. And accept support. And I check in with the priest.

    ·       And it is ordinary. And it is extraordinary.  

    ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​A great liturgy. A mystery.

    Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. Romans 8:26-27 NRSV

    How to be a hermit

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    How to be a hermit.

    This is one of the most commented on pages of my previous website, so I have copied it directly with a few updates. I hope you still find it useful.

    I occasionally receive enquiries from folk asking for advice or support in pursuing their own vocation to the hermitage, so I put this page together.  The information here is purely of a practical nature, and I write only from my own experience in the UK; it is not exhaustive, and things may be different in your locale and circumstances.  I may add to it from time to time.  Please let me know if you have further (practical) information which might be included.

    The call to hermitage is often a gradual realisation,  a growing affinity with solitude, a desire to know God in the ordinariness of simply being alive.  It is a call which is falling on increasingly receptive ears.  By nature, it is a very individual call, and each individual will realise it in a different way depending upon personal inspiration and circumstance.  

    I hope you will not be put off by the apparent lack of a support structure around the vocation.  It is one of the great joys and freedoms that each one of us interprets the call to hermitage in such  a different ways– it is essentially, perhaps, a call to “solitary living in the conscious presence of God”, though I know of hermits who live in small communities as well, so even the solitude is not a given!

    You will find that much of the information on this page boils down to, “you have to work it out for yourself”.   Please don’t be put off by that.  It might take time –  longer than you expect –  and the solutions might appear to be at odds with any romantic ideals you might have been nursing at the outset, but with determination, a good dose of pragmatism, and a sense of adventure, all things are possible.   

    By way of encouragement, I discovered (after I had been here 10 years!) that the journey of getting to my hermitage (which took me 15 years) has become a part of the sort of hermit that I am.  So don’t feel that the eremitical life only begins once you step over the threshold of your hermitage.  This long search and struggle for stability is the beginning of it.    God is with you.

    I hope this page is helpful.  

    Canon 603

    §1 Besides institutes of consecrated life the Church recognizes the eremitic or anchoritic life by which the Christian faithful devote their life to the praise of God and salvation of the world through a stricter separation from the world, the silence of solitude and assiduous prayer and penance.

    §2 A hermit is recognized in the law as one dedicated to God in a consecrated life if he or she publicly professes the three evangelical counsels [i.e. chastity, poverty and obedience], confirmed by a vow or other sacred bond, in the hands of the diocesan bishop and observes his or her own plan of life under his direction.”

    State of Life

    There are very many different ways of living as a hermit within the Roman Catholic Church.  A hermit can live anonymously, without being “recognised in the law” (of the church), or they can choose to make some sort of commitment, either privately or publicly.  If public, this would usually be into the hands of the local ordinary (bishop).  Again, the type of commitment can vary by arrangement with the ordinary.

    A bishop will usually expect you to have devised a “rule of life” for yourself before accepting your vows. (more on that later).

    If you are considering  the possibility of becoming a “canonical” hermit by profession of  the Evangelical Counsels you will need to refer to Canon 640ff (“canonical profession” simply means, “profession with reference to the Canons”) which describes the process and requirements (basically a minimum of one year’s discernment, one year’s postulancy, 2 years novitiate, 5 years simple profession – Cor Orans 2018). Or you might be able to come to some other arrangement with your bishop and still be professed, but not canonically…

    There is no “hierarchy” of hermitage – no single type of commitment is more valid or worthy than another.  Neither a canonical hermit nor a professed hermit , nor a privately vowed hermit is a “better” hermit than one who has taken no vows at all.  Most hermits (from the little information which is available) are living simple, anonymous, solitary lives without advertisement.

    Rule of Life

    This is a guide for daily living.  It should be useful rather than beautiful (though it can be both!).  Some hermits prefer to adapt monastic rules, or a rule from a religious order to which they feel an affinity.  Rules can be of varying length  and detail– I have found the primary usefulness  of mine to be a reference point for decision making; others might look for something which will more definitively structure their day.  From experience I would caution against anything too rigid  –  it is likely you will be chief cook and bottle washer .. and porter .. and gardener.  You will need to have the flexibility to respond easily to circumstance.   I would suggest that drawing up a rule might be one of the occupations towards the end of your “novitiate” – when you have more of a feel for how you will live in hermitage. It can take quite a long time – years even – and it may well need reviewing a few times before you are quite comfortable that it fully reflects your way of living a hermitage life.  We each do it so very differently!

    Hermitage and living expenses

    Whichever route you take, vowed or un-vowed, you will usually be expected to be self-supporting.  There is no centralised source of practical nor financial support for hermits, nor any register of empty-hermitages-seeking-occupants, not in the UK anyway.  You will need to find your own living place and some sort of income to pay the bills etc. Many hermits have a working life behind them & so are able to provide their own accommodation. Others are “donated” accommodation in return for caretaker or similar duties, or persuade a convent or monastery or other religious community to loan them an outhouse in return for labour.  You have to be pretty pragmatic, determined, and prepared to explore lots of avenues!  It isn’t easy.  

    In terms of work, and support from the state:  in civil law you are expected to support yourself in the same way as everyone else.  You can look for, and express a preference for work which enables you to work alone, but there is no special exemption which entitles you to benefits or financial support if you refuse to work at all, just because the work offered isn’t hermitage-friendly.  

    You may have the skills to earn a living from your hermitage – eg. book-keeping, accountancy, copy-writing, web design etc.  all of which which might be financially viable ways of earning a living from your front room.  Realistically, some of the more menial jobs like cleaning work and ground maintenance are usually plentiful and reasonably suitable as most cleaners/gardeners seem to work in solitude even if they are part of a team.  (I worked as a  solitary care assistant to a profoundly disabled woman for 5 years in her own home, which worked out very well).  You may find previous skills can be adjusted to become more hermit-friendly eg. my teaching experience still provides a firm basis for occasional private tutoring.

    From experience, the pursuit of the artisanal work traditionally associated with hermits and monastics, does not provide a reliable, nor sufficient source of income – not to an unknown hermit – unless you are at the top of your artisanal game and already earning a living this way.  Many of these types of activities which help support established monastic communities are reliant on the regular footfall of associates and affiliates to the communities, and the publicity which is inherent in their longstanding, their USP, and the loyalty of their local churches.  If it works for you – then great!  But if you are just setting out and hoping to make your living from weaving baskets all day, then I would advise you to have a plan B to fall back on.  Sometimes God’s providence makes itself best known in the guise of a bit of realistic and prudent forethought.

    Spiritual support

    If you are seriously exploring a vocation to hermitage  then it would be wise to enlist the support of a spiritual director.  The life of the solitary can throw any number of oddities and curve balls at you, and it is as well to have some one you can freely consult and who will be able to advise you. Try and find someone  with a mature and committed prayer life of their own, who will take you, and hermitage, seriously, who is not in awe of the solitary life, and who will not pander to your whims and fancies!

    And finally!

    This may not have been the sort of information you were hoping for.  Launching into hermitage  is not the same as entering an established religious order – there is none of the security and stability which might be found in other forms of consecrated life.  It is an adventure with God which will require of you every last wit and ingenuity.  I pray and hope for God’s blessing on you.

    In prayer, in God.

    Rachel (Hermit of the Diocese of Nottingham)

    Waiting in the Tabernacle of the hermitage

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    Written for the Merton Journal, Advent 2020

    I am a canonical hermit, originally of the diocese of Nottingham UK (professed 2006), currently of the diocese of Hallam UK:  Hermits are eclectic and catholic in nature – we each do our own thing! I write from my own experience of hermitage, though I hope there may be common themes here which will resonate more widely.

    Some questions from the beginning of the penny catechism:

    1. Who made you?

    God made me.

    2. Why did God make you?

    God made me to know God, love God and serve God in this world, and to be happy with God for ever in the next.

    3. To whose image and likeness did God make you?

    God made me to God’s own image and likeness. 1                       

    As we draw towards the end of this Year-of-Covid, I have been curious to notice the priorities of the Church in supporting her members and the wider populace.  Within local parish communities there has been much evidence of ongoing support for each other and for the most needy, finding innovative ways to celebrate and to support. But the ecclesial headlines appear to have focused quite specifically on the re-opening of church buildings for private prayer before the Blessed Sacrament, and thenceforward for the physical participation of the faithful in the celebration of the Eucharist.

    When I was consecrated as a canonical hermit, I was offered the privilege of having the Blessed Sacrament reserved within my hermitage.  I gave the invitation much prayerful consideration, but eventually decided against it. My understanding and experience of hermitage is that the whole of the hermitage is sacred space; the whole of the hermitage is tabernacle, the place where the hermit meets Christ.  Hermitage is, for the hermit, the sacred space of God-with-us. This understanding and experience is a step beyond the foothills of the God-is-everywhere theme of childhood lessons.  This is the confidence that, by God’s grace, simply to embrace and live out my humanity in the place and circumstance I find myself, is the fullest possible expression of my relationship with God during my life on this earth.  

    Deep within the paragraphs of Vita Consecrata (an encyclical on the consecrated life which is adopted by canonical hermits on their profession) there is hidden a quite audacious phrase.  It describes Jesus’ life on earth, his humanity, as the expression of his relationship as the Only-Begotten Son with the Father and with the Holy Spirit 2 .  

    We have been taught, perhaps too often, that Jesus’s humanity is a belittling, a humbling of his deity, as if it were second-best, dragging him down to our own “wretched” state.  But if we ponder the statement above prayerfully, we can perhaps begin to trust that being human is, in and from the beginning, the most perfect way that Christ participates in being God – that Christ being the Word, Christ being human is the event of God speaking; as the encyclical states, it is “the expression” of Christ’s love within the Trinity. In the desire to most fully express the love of the Trinitarian Godhead, in the Word being spoken, Christ wondrously brought about, for Christ-self, the state of being human.  Christ is human first, before anybody else was even imagined, right from the beginning!

    And for ourselves, being human is Christ creating us upwards into the ecstasy of the Trinity.  Christ’s undiminished humanity is the ecstatic love that we, and all of creation (because it is all spoken), are invited to share in our living today.  Each one of us is created in the image of Christ’s humanity – in the image of the fullness of this unbounded expression of Trinitarian love. As a hermit, I witness that I am called to make manifest Trinitarian love, through my own humanity – of Christ – in my daily life; that the call to being human in Christ, and in imitation of Jesus, makes manifest in me, too, the fullness of our relationship, in Christ, in the Trinity.  

    So how does that work in practice?  The heartbeat of my hermitage is its sacred ordinariness.  It is an experience, in silence and solitude, of total immersion in the humdrum of daily life. A hermit is one who has, perhaps, become so overwhelmed by the immensity of the privilege of sharing Jesus’ humanity that she chooses to spend her whole life contemplating the mystery and manifestation of that gift in the most simple and ordinary form of living.   A hermit lives out the mystery of the Incarnation in her own body, her own blood.  A hermit says, “Christ, from the beginning of time, and in the fullness of time, chose being Jesus, being human, as the best way of expressing the love of the Trinity. Living in Christ, under the action of the Holy Spirit, and totally dedicated to God who is supremely loved 3,  I will now do likewise”.  

    Because of the relentless ordinariness of her life, there is very little of worth that can be written about a hermit and her hermitage which cannot be written about every individual and community on the earth. That participation in the mystery of Christ’s humanity in Jesus is the focused privilege of the hermitage, but it is the lodestone of every human life.  The hermit inhabits the tabernacle of her hermitage, but all people wait and attend in the tabernacle of the world. Christ is close to us when we are kneeling directly in front of the Blessed Sacrament in a church, but just as close when we are sitting in the pews at the back, or standing at the boundary wall outside locked doors, or at any moment in any place when we attend inwardly to the presence of God.

    Lockdown in the hermitage was not a time of greater separation, but a time of dwelling deeper within the mystery. Now, as the churches tentatively regroup and are re-inhabited, as people kneel directly in front of the tabernacle, and celebrate Eucharist together in each other’s company, we are able to express more publicly again the community which is Christ’s self-manifestation and revelation to the world.   In this time of Advent, of waiting, of expectation, and from the solitude and silence of my hermitage, I like to stand with the Church and the whole of humanity, bereaved, grieving and masked, together-yet-apart before the altar of God.  

    God is with us.

     1. Opening phrases of the penny catechism.

     2. Pope John Paul II, 1996, Vita Consecrata. 18

     3. Code of Canon Law: Part III Institutes of consecrated life.  Canon 573 i

    Covid 19 and Solitude

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    As a hermit, I have had a few requests during lockdown for ideas on how best to live in imposed solitude.  I have generally tried to avoid responding – I like to be on my own, so it is difficult to put myself in the position of those who don’t!  But during a recent conversation about prayer in lockdown, I was encouraged to share some of the experiences which initially coaxed me into hermitage, in the hope they might be of use to those who are less comfortable with the situation.

    Many people, I know, have surprised themselves by the ease with which they have embraced lockdown. I am not sure this writing is really for them – they have found their own way into being at home in solitude, and one of the lessons quickly learnt about being alone is that everybody does it very differently. My snippets might well not resonate. There is no “right” way to do solitude.

    Raphael Vernay (OSB hermit) wrote: The hermit is simply a pioneer … in the way of the desert which the whole of humanity must follow of necessity one day, each one according to their measure and desire.  This eremitical vocation, at least embryonically, is to be found in every Christian vocation, but in some it must be allowed to come to its full flowering in the wind of the Spirit.  It is not enough to affirm that the thing is good in itself, it is necessary that the Church and society do something, so that this life may be realizable, so that each may at least touch it, be it only with the tip of their little finger.

    Hermitage is a lot about being grateful for very ordinary stuff,  savouring the detail.   Here are 4 small dishes,  a smorgasbord of hermitage highs, in which to dip your little finger …

    1. Beginning with something concrete, a refreshing absence:  I know many people are using their lockdown to clear-the-clutter in their homes.  There is a great sense of space and freedom in the newly ordered kitchen cupboard, the pared back wardrobe, the empty spaces on the bookshelf.  

    The temptation is to begin collecting again, to find more, better stuff to occupy the freed-up space.  But rather than looking forward to filling it up again, we can choose to inhabit the space ourselves, transform the emptiness into an entity to celebrate – a positive, definitive “thing” in its own right.  

    We can spend time contemplating an ordered sock-drawer, a newly emptied shelf, a blank wall – appreciating its form and beauty – enjoying its own unique integrity.  God is with us. This is prayer.

    2. Extrapolating from the empty wardrobe, like those puzzle images which interlock dark and light to give different pictures depending on perspective, we can sometimes more easily recognise presence, when we reflect on absence. As we can find substance within an empty space, so too we can embrace and explore our aloneness as a mirror and reflection of the company that we crave.  

    As a friend put it, “For me personally, solitude is always tempered by the fact that I discover I am not really alone. God is there of course, and the great cloud of witnesses who have gone before us, but so too are all the people I carry in my heart.”  Absence can reawaken us to the people that we love.  God is with us; God loves with us.

    3. In a similar way, instead of dismissing the sense of loss we might experience at the end of a party, or a visit from the grandchildren, or the end of a zoom meeting, we can dare to wait there a little longer and explore the unfamiliar landscape. Suddenly alone again in space, perhaps surrounded by the detritus of celebration, perhaps just standing in the kitchen sipping a glass of water before bed, slightly unnerved by the emptiness, the sudden vacuum of sound; there can be, if we leave ourselves open to it, a thrill of potential within that space.  It might feel initially like anxiety, or regret, sadness or even fear, but we need not avoid these reactions. Stick with the sensations a little longer and relax into them, try to taste them, savour them even.  

    That edge, that point of liminality* between society and solitude can be a creative space if we are prepared to let ourselves be absorbed into the moment and not rush on to the next thing.  God is with us in the void.

    4. But it is not always possible to stay and wait in the liminal* space, the edgelands.  The good news is that once we learn to recognise and nurture that sensation of presence-in-absence,  we can relocate that sensitivity into activity as well.  

    Too often whilst we are doing one task, we can find ourselves planning for another which suddenly seems absurdly pressing. Mindfulness is an increasingly familiar concept, the notion of being in a place, rooting ourselves in the present, “resisting the urge to the next moment” (Quaker spirituality). It is not always easy to achieve, and we might benefit from an idea or motto, to anchor us.  

    One such idea is to take seriously the worth of our ordinary everyday humanity.  From a Christian perspective, Jesus chose being human as the best way of loving God. His humanity is the full expression of his being Christ.  Our own humanity is formed in the image of his, so the fullness of our Christ-ness is expressed in our humanity too.  Whatever we are doing that is human (which, for the most part, is whatever we are doing – weeping, worrying, laughing, dancing, catching up on emails, washing the dishes etc. etc.), is the fullness of Christ, the best thing to be doing, the best way to be loving God.  We might remind and reassure ourselves of this with a little mantra, “this is what I am doing”, or “this is how I am being human right now”.   God is with us in our humanity.

    Hope this has been helpful.  God bless you in the adventure of your isolation!  God is with you.  

    *Liminal:  at a boundary or transitional point between two conditions, stages in a process, ways of life, etc.

    Job’s Wife

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    Job’s Wife: the ordinariness of God.

    (Prepared for Woman’s World Day of Prayer 2008)

    For those of you who don’t know me I am a professed hermit of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Nottingham.  People often ask me what that means: basically I live alone, in silence for the most part, & I don’t get out much!    & I spend part of my day in prayer, & the Church has consecrated me to continue living like this for the rest of my life.

    My hermitage is an old council house up at Owersby & like the homes of many of you who live outside town, it is heated from a coal & wood stove.  We have read today from the Book of Job & I often think of Job sitting on his ash heap as I empty the stove of the previous days ashes before stoking up again.  I think of him a lot at this time of year!

    So I love the book of Job, but when I was reading through the service booklet in preparation for today, I was struck by the comment of one of the women in the study group: “Job’s wife is more interesting to me.  She speaks plainly …”;  so I got out my bible & went back & studied it at greater length.

    As we have already been told the Book of Job is basically a conversation between Job & his friends following a catalogue of disastrous events which have destroyed his livelihood, killed all his sons & daughters, & left him with some hideous & disfiguring skin condition.  So he sits on his ash heap & scrapes his sores & bemoans his fate.  His wife’s only comment, throughout the whole book (I did check) is, effectively, “why not just give up?  Curse God & get it over with!” … her actual words: “Do you persist in your integrity?  Curse God and die!”  I couldn’t help wondering if she could foresee the circus already on the horizon & heading in their direction, & was dreading all its pedantic paraphernalia – & the demands on her housekeeping! Curse God & die might well seem the preferable option!

    Anyway, Job ignores her advice, & his friends turn up.  These are knowledgeable & eloquent men, well used to expressing their opinions; they are experienced in the ways of God & they enjoy the sound of their own voices!  At first they gently empathise with Job & encourage him to confess the fault that has brought these disasters on himself.  Job is puzzled because he doesn’t think he has done anything wrong.  “Well there you go,” accuse his friends, “the sin of pride …thinking you have done no wrong … God must be punishing you for that”,   “No”, insists Job, “there must be a mistake, I really haven’t done anything wrong”, “Blasphemy!”, shriek his friends, “God doesn’t make mistakes!”, & they get up & leave him to his damnation.   

    Then steps forward a young man; a young man who is very sure of himself & who has a message which it is imperative that Job hears.  A young man who knows all the answers … “I have been waiting, now I shall have my say, I shall utter words of wisdom”,   and then  “Pay attention Job, listen to me,” and then,  “Keep quiet, I have more to say”,  and then  “I shall tell you, and your friends as well”,  and then  “Be patient a little longer while I explain”, and then, “I have more to say” … and so on & so forth.

    Meanwhile, Job’s wife presumably trots back & forth preparing meals for these self-made gurus, pouring the drinks, sorting out beds (judging by the narrative, they probably stayed for several weeks), & not a word more is recorded as coming from her lips.  It could have been of course that her comments were totally unprintable, even by biblical standards!  But even after God has intervened & restored Job’s fortunes, there is still no more comment from his wife.  She keeps silence.

    Legend has it that she herself did curse God at some point (& die).  I like to think that it was whilst she was making yet another tray of sandwiches for her insufferable houseguests that the wrath of God began to seem so much more attractive, but as Job went on to have another 10 sons & daughters to replace those he had lost, & there is no mention of a new wife, this seems unlikely.

    But then I thought a little longer about this silence of hers; the silence of the ordinary; the silence of getting on & coping with the day to day.  It is something most of us here are familiar with I am sure.  

    When I talk about hermitage, which isn’t very often, I seem to spend a lot of time explaining to people who are thrilled by the exotics of it all, that it really is very ordinary; intensely ordinary; it is if you like, a profound commitment to the ordinary & the mundane, and so it is probably indistinguishable in very many respects from the lives that so many men & women living alone today seem to enjoy, or maybe to suffer.  The main difference you might notice if you were to visit, is the silence. The hermitage, tries, at least, to be silent; the silence is the point of meeting with God, with humanity, with the hermitage of the whole world. So the ordinary and the silence are both things which are very important & very dear to me.  I like that Job’s wife kept silent.  I like that she kept on doing the ordinary things.

    I spoke at this service a couple of years ago, up at Caistor.  The theme that year was about change, & I spoke about how change, effective change, is seldom brought about through momentous earth shattering events, or by the drama & emotion of life moving decisions; really effective change is far more often eroded out of us, it is a gentle, persistent leaning, it is about approaching the ordinary with honesty & reacting the best way we know how. That is how we grow everyday, and that is how we change.

    So, whilst I was writing this talk, at about this point, I began to get a real sense of deja vu – the ordinary, the everyday … I was heading in exactly the same direction, & out of compassion to you, my listeners I almost tore it all up … except that today I am not talking about change.  Change may well happen, but I am not looking at it directly; I am not asking for it.  What I am looking at is the status quo; the silence & the ordinary as it is now for each one of us; What I am looking at is God with us in the silence & the ordinary, at Emmanuel, at God’s wisdom here & now.

    So what is so special about the ordinary that I keep on going on about it so much?  Nothing!  Precisely.  The ordinary is not special at all, it is not Sunday best, & it is not winning the lottery; it is not the ecstasy of the mountain top & it is not a life changing decision.  I am sure (I know!) all these things have a part in God’s plan, that they can all be good & even holy, but they are extraordinary, not ordinary.  What is so special about the ordinary, what makes the ordinary so much more complete than the extraordinary, is that God chose it; God gave it to us, in fact God created it! Ultimately, of course, God chose it for his Son, Jesus, who spent the first 30 years of his life in a very ordinary way; And he chose it for Mary, who spent the whole of her life being ordinary – if you look at the Gospel accounts, Mary barely gets a look in once we are past the infant narratives: a wedding, a family reunion & the death of her Son; presumably the rest of it was too ordinary to mention.

    So God chose ordinariness for his Son & for his mother.  We usually imagine (& to some extent the scriptures encourage us to imagine), that in his great plan, God created man from some sort of blueprint & loved what he had made.  Plan A.  But then man went astray  & made a total hash of things; this, naturally, upset God & so (from Galatians), “at the appointed time, God sent his son, born of a woman, born subject of the law, to redeem the subjects of the law”.  Plan B. If we read this in isolation, it can give the impression that when Jesus became human, he was becoming something less, something uncomfortable, something contrary, for our sakes.

    I would like to suggest we look at it another way, the opposite way in fact.  Imagine that Jesus was always human, “In the beginning was the Word, & the Word was made flesh …”; that being human was, if you like, another name for being “the Word”, an intrinsic aspect of Jesus’ divinity; that being human was the best & only way for Jesus to love his Father, for his Father to love him;  that Jesus being human was not the rescue plan, that it was not plan B, it was not even plan A; that Jesus being human predated even plan A; that Jesus being human was the blueprint.   

    And then (as St Paul says), we were created in the image of Jesus’ humanity; we were made human, because Jesus already was.  Then we made a hash of it & “at the appointed time, God sent his son …”

    If we start from this point, then we can see Jesus’ life on earth from an entirely different perspective – not shoe-horned into an unfamiliar nature in order to fulfil a very specific & spectacular mission, but a totally natural expression of God’s life.  For Jesus to be human was an entirely cohesive expression of his Godhead.  & for 30 years, for Jesus to be human, was for Jesus to be very, very ordinary.  

    * The extraordinary events of the final 3 years of his life – the preaching, the miracles, the crucifixion, were, I would suggest, provoked more by our own warped perspective on being human, than by any extraordinary intention of Jesus – if we had been fully accepting of our humanity, our ordinariness, then those 3 years need never have happened – but instead, beginning with that fatal apple in the Garden of Eden, we avoid the ordinary; in Jesus we did it big style!  We killed him!  And we do it still today, in seeking after thrills & experiences & extraordinariness for its own sake: anything to take us away from being human, from being ordinary.  Ordinary is boring & ordinary is mundane & ordinary is dull.  Jesus tells us, ordinary is to love God; that simply in eating & breathing & sleeping & working & walking & sitting we are being ordinary as Jesus was being ordinary; we are being human as Jesus was being human; we are expressing our love for the Father as Jesus expressed his love for the Father;

    I recently returned from a retreat up in Scotland.  It was called a “silence & awareness” retreat, & as silence & awareness is the sort of thing that I do, I went up without much research into what I might find there.  In fact it was a retreat using Buddhist methods of meditation for Christian prayer.  But this wasn’t prayer as in lots of words, not even lots of nice thoughts; it was prayer in terms of just being aware – aware of your breathing, aware of your walking,  aware of your sitting, or eating, or even, after sleeping, aware of your awakening, aware of your ordinariness in fact, aware of being human, and always in silence.  

    The silence of the retreat; the silence of the hermitage, the silence of Job’s wife, the silence of the ordinary; To be silent is to experience our ordinariness, to welcome it, to embrace it,  because it is only in silence that we can be truly present to ourselves, to all that is ordinary in us, to all that God created us to be; and it is only when we are present to ourselves, to all that is so wonderfully ordinary in ourselves, to our humanity, that we can be fully present to God.

    I checked on that last talk I gave, it was 5 pages long which seemed about right & at this point I have only made 3 ½ pages.  A bit short, I thought & prepared to expand a bit more on what I had written, and then I thought of Job’s wife.  … God bless us all.

    * This is a dodgy paragraph: I have not explained myself well.  My only defence is that I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the talk & go off on a tangent … far better to totally confuse everyone instead.  So to clear up a couple of potential misunderstandings:

    1. What I am not saying is that the events of Jesus’ 3 “mission” years were not extraordinary, clearly they were.  What I am saying is that this extraordinariness was provoked by our need, (to counterbalance, and undermine, and overthrow our warped perspective), rather than by any inherent desire on Jesus’ part to be extraordinary.

    2. Following on from that, I am also saying that in presenting himself “extraordinarily”, that Jesus was not setting a new benchmark for what it looked like to be in relationship with God.  The fullness of his relationship with the Father had already found perfect, lived-out expression in the 30 “hidden” years and it is there that we need to look to see God’s perfect and loving intention for each of us.

    3. However, just so as to not have the last word … the following comment was made by a friend & he is probably right: he usually is.  I repeat it verbatim:

    A truth that your talk takes you towards but perhaps which you don’t want to admit, is that through this, first acceptance of, then immersion in, the ordinary, a person enters into that extraordinary life in God for which they are always searching, and almost unknowingly prepares themself for extraordinary acts of love.  Jesus’ 30 years of ordinariness prepared him for his 3 year mission, Gethsemane & Golgotha.

    Welcome to St Cuthbert’s House, home of a canonical hermit: diocese of Hallam, UK.

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    The hermit is simply a pioneer … in the way of the desert which the whole of humanity must follow of necessity one day, each one according to their own measure and desire. This eremitical vocation, at least embryonically, is to be found in every Christian vocation …  it is necessary that the Church and society do something so that this may be realizable,  so that each may at least touch it, be it only with the tip of their little finger.

     (Benedictine Raphael  Vernay: On the Desert Place of the Inner Sanctuary, 1974).