Products of the time

I must admit to amusement when I receive e-mail or see popular books which express the assumption that everyone in history was 'typical of their time.' (It is funnier still when a correspondent will refer to Augustine of Hippo and Francis of Assisi in that fashion, as if the two were contemporaries.) Aside from that saints (and other prominent figures) are not typical of any era - and, indeed, often live in contrast to the values of their day, the underlying assumption that everyone in a certain time and place is identical is absurd.

Recently, as part of my 19th century studies, I was reading some intriguing studies of Roman Catholic approaches in France during that period. The scholarly works made plain that the treatment was of trends which some embraced, yet those aimed at a popular market would give the impression that such approaches as sacrificing oneself to atone for the national sin of killing the monarchs were prime concerns of all married ladies who had received RC baptism. I smiled (stopping short of a grimace) at one work's hint that Zelie Martin (Therese's mother) was typical of her day. I doubt too many brides spend their wedding days sobbing at the grille of a Visitation convent, crushed by the recognition that a dream of convent life is now never to be realised.

Yet, as I hover at the half-century mark, I can see how popular ideas of any time can influence one's actions - even if one is inclined, as I myself am, to scoff at such concepts as 'peer pressure.' Within the past few months, I have been going through my book collection, disposing of various works that long outlived their usefulness. In looking through some of the books, such as were popular thirty years ago (my university days), ideas that were popular then, and the avenues of their expression (workshops, popular books, lectures, approaches in convent life), came back to me very vividly.

One book was written by a priest who had all sorts of marvels occur (and magical solutions to his life problems appear) through his involvement with a charismatic community. Another was of the early 'pop psychology' genre (mercifully pre-dating the current era, when people love to play at being mentally ill and think the rest of the population has no motive except manipulating them or violating their 'boundaries.') The latter book had a thesis that openness, sharing one's pain, and otherwise being 'real' would lead to love, communication, and mutual compassion.

There are valid themes in both works, yet who, then, would have seen the gaping holes? I well remember my charismatic days, when weekly prayer meetings often meant hearing testimonies on the line of "I knew God wanted me to do this - it seemed impossible - and then everything necessary to make it possible fell into place." (For example, one would hear of a chance meeting with someone who needed exactly what this person had to offer, and could provide the opportunity and backing.) I certainly would see value in being genuine, yet being 'real,' in that time and place, too often involved gestures which could come across as self-centred. As well, the concept of 'I am real - I have shared my pain and my history - therefore the others shall respond with support and love' made no allowance for the inevitable, varied reactions others could have to this. It was treated as if it were 'cause and effect.'

In religious settings, such as the parishes in which I served, I blush to recall how very self-absorbed, self-pitying, and even childish many of the stories which Sisters shared must have appeared to some of the others. How could most parishioners have known that Sisters, who were just emerging from a 'culture' where one never revealed personal details, let alone complained, had influences (workshops, books, community gatherings) which set forth that sharing one's struggles and pain would make one more 'real,' and equally lead others to feel comfortable in sharing their own situations?

No one who has lived in consecrated life would have any illusions about its lacking struggle and sacrifice. Yet, looking back, the parishioners in these working class churches, many of whom constantly struggled just to support their families, would most likely have seen the inherent sacrifices of their own lives as merely part of 'the package,' and accepted the challenges as part of their personal responsibility. (Yes, the view would be limited - people who are working the hours which my dad did, and who think their children most fortunate not to have had the extreme poverty of twenty years earlier, could hardly have conceived of spiritual struggles, injustice from superiors, 'job satisfaction,' or intellectual needs.) Those unfamiliar with religious life would see nuns as free of responsibilities (since their own responsibilities were largely connected specifically with providing for one's home and children), never needing to worry about housing, and privileged in the opportunities they'd had for education and professional outlets.

Nuns would speak of their struggles and frustration, seeking to 'build a bridge' to those around them. Yet, while people may not have responded out of politeness, many of the hearers must have been quite puzzled! When survival takes all of one's strength, one would have little understanding of needs outside of one's scope of personal experience.

The 'pop psychology' book which I mentioned indeed was correct that people ache to be loved. (Though how many people would admit to this today I cannot say. Such an admission could be classed as making one 'needy' or lacking in 'self-esteeem.') Yet there is no concept of prudence or discretion in the author's examples.

One of the situations mentioned involved a university student (who was acting on the principles in this book.) She lived in a building where one tenant was generally avoided because she had a very nasty way about her. The young woman somehow learnt that it was the 'nasty tenant's' birthday and brought her a cake. The birthday girl then burst into tears at being remembered, and confided the reasons she'd been in such pain.

Such happy endings are moving - yet I can think of varied possible reactions people could have were a stranger to show up at their doors with birthday cakes...

Yet, oddly enough, reading these two books once again so called forth the 'climate' of my young adult (religious) years that it was rather like receiving absolution. :) I may be no holier today than then, but the perspective of middle age makes me shudder to think of how proud, self-centred, and even unrealistic I must have appeared. Looking back, for example, I was one of many young religious who entered relatively strict Orders, valuing the centuries-old life yet thinking it would be tailored to our own needs were we to only make them known. :)

I certainly was not alone in this - and my memories here are of dedicated, devout, sincere young nuns, not of those who lacked a high regard for the life. We had come to adulthood in a time when God's call meant God's equally being 'on call' to provide whatever means - including an occasional miracle - we saw as necessary to our being his instruments. (It was a time when this concept was highly personal. Little would we have fully grasped that the convent ethos was based on being community minded.) If anything was contrary to what one needed to do, surely revealing this would lead to a reaction of 'we love our dear Sister - what must we do, change, or add that will help her fulfil her potential?'

The normal reaction of superiors, of course, would have been far more likely to be 'if our Sister cannot conform to this - or needs to do that - which is contrary to our custom, why does she stay?' Those of us in the early years of religious life would know that the contributions of Sisters might be highly valued by a community. It did not occur to us that what we saw as eagerness to share our own talents, gifts, and education would not give a positive impression - at least, not yet! One's main concern was supposed to be having the community form one.

Returning to the present... Some of the correspondence I receive about my site topics is rather odd. (I have received mail from those who never heard of 'mysticism' in relation to Christians, or who think Julian of Norwich was a New Age practitioner.) Specific to my 'blog musing' today, I have noticed that people see the mediaeval mystics as having been prominent, well known, and eagerly sought (perhaps as if they had appeared on international television...).

The bare fact was that their lives were filled with love and dedication, but hardly with glamour or fame. Those whose writings are preserved are known far better today than they ever were, during their lives and often for centuries to follow. The spiritual life seldom is exciting - more often, it is rather banal. Most of the great directors would have seen the calling that, for example, an anchoress had, yet had the pragmatic attitude of 'this is the life - now we just live it.'

Yes, the Middle Ages, as far as religious beliefs were concerned, was a most colourful period! Legends of saints and miracles - the dark side of pilgrimages to appease God and let him take the Plague away - Hosts which bled - whatever - all are interesting topics to treat, and I undoubtedly shall get to them eventually. Yet there is an element today, which can blind us to spiritual growth, which seems a product of the modern era. However loving our motives, we can end up making ourselves into idols when our own circumstances become too fascinating in our own eyes!