Warming up for Shrove Tuesday

I know I undoubtedly should be saying that everyone should be in church every week - but, valuable though I find common worship to be, I'm glad to see when 'family' drop by, even if it is only on special occasions. One element which is always left out of what I'll loosely call pastoral training is the fact that, even when people are believers, they either are churchgoers or they are not. Full stop - save to add that some are temporary churchgoers because they see it as good background for their children.

Next week, of course, many of those who have not been to church since the last major occasion (however they would define this) will be queueing up everywhere to have the mark of the penitent smudged on their foreheads. (And how very appropriate this generally is... but I digress.) I love to see this, actually. There is an element of knowing the church is there for them, even if they rarely think of this - and that the church will still be there if they need Her later.

I participate on a forum where matters of faith (sometimes by broad definition) are the topic, and the usual questions about fasting, self denial, and preparation for sacramental confession are once again appearing, as they tend to do before Lent. One question related to 'examination of conscience.' It led me to recall that many books about 'self examen,' particularly those written during dreary interludes of the Counter Reformation period, may well have been valuable in their context, but need to be treated with caution today. In fact, many spiritual classics, including some of the excellent fourteenth century works I reference on my site, can be confusing because one may forget the context. They were intended for, and assume, situations where people were receiving individual guidance (often from the author of the book.)

I worked for the Church for decades, and know well the sort of schedules the clergy often have - and know better that, even amongst the best of them, few have the background and charism (largely discernment) for spiritual direction. I mention this because what follows is in no way a 'slur.' Yet it is unfortunate that relatively few people, even those quite dedicated to the Christian vocation, are likely to have access to solid direction, and that the idea (developed a good deal in recent centuries) that it should be very infrequent and brief can often be detrimental even where it does exist.

Some years ago, I came into possession of a book entitled "Spiritual Guidance," penned by a Franciscan friar. Interestingly, his book assumes that friars have personal, regular direction, so I'll assume this was so in his congregation - that would not have been true for many religious. He makes a very fine point: that one should share not only one's sins and failings, but all details of one's life - including those of one's virtues, undertakings, and good works.

I would imagine he was a wise man indeed - because, though he does not say this outright, one finds, easily half of the time, that the traits and loves which are accompanied by the best of intentions often 'need work' even more than those which one recognises as sinful or likely to lead to same. Unfortunately, and just using my convent life as an example, the closest thing to guidance we had available was sacramental confession - and the rule "be brief, be gone" was unwritten but strictly enforced.

I well remember one superior I knew (I'm going to call her Paula, because it in no way resembles her real name. I certainly cannot see into another's heart - but, allowing for that my observations may be off the mark in the individual's case, understand that I am using her as a 'type,' such as one might find in a text book.) Paula is the only Sister I have ever known who constantly was praising herself, even going so far as to say outright "see how I am - that is what comes of a deep relationship with Christ." When it comes to 'blowing one's own horn,' Paula was an entire orchestra.

Anyone who knew her could see that, for whatever reason, she was a vicious, bitter woman, who missed no opportunity to be cutting to others, even gentle sorts with whom it would take unusual talent to find a source of ire. She'd become enraged at perceived 'disobedience' or slights - and, if one tried to explain the actual circumstances, she'd sneer "well, that might have happened." Her favourite tactic for tearing others' apart was to begin sentences with "Some people (do this, this or this," undoubtedly so that, if the other responded, she could accuse her of 'taking things personally,' personal though they clearly were.

I would have had more sympathy with Paula, since I myself deal with a fiery temperament, save that she always bragged about her ways. I heard her speak of her approaches as if she were setting a wonderful example, fostering virtue in others, and so forth. On one occasion, when a few of us had travelled to a nearby monastery for sacramental confession, I took a bit longer than Paula considered acceptable - and she tore me apart (sorry - not me - 'some people') in front of everyone for 'telling priests too much.'

My mention of Paula is to underline a point. Her commitment was clearly genuine, even if her charity and prudence were falling short of the mark. Paula spoke all the time of the vows and of prayer, and perhaps the underlying passion and zeal she must have had, properly harnessed, could have developed into great virtue. Yet she had no guidance (and, being a superior, could not be contradicted by those whom she abused as well.)

All Paula or any of us had available was sacramental confession, as I have described. Yet no one who considers her ways to be illustrative of an unusually deep relationship with Christ and concern for others' souls would be accusing herself of the very ways that made her such a penance to others. Paula would have needed the opportunity to speak of her 'virtues' in order to be 'guided along the right path.' This cannot be done in three minutes in the confessional, nor even in spiritual direction that is half an hour, twice a year. In such cases, there is no time to so much as mention what needs to be treated.

When it comes to printed booklets of 'examination of conscience,' I would say that some are more distracting than helpful - they would lead one to examine the consciences of the entire world, or, in some cases, be so filled with peccadilloes that one will beat one's breast over dropping a tissue on the pavement (and concurrently recognising just how holy one has to be to have such a delicate conscience... and proceeding to miss the essential weakness that, in the devout, always tends to masquerade as virtue.)

I have had the good fortune to have regular, expert direction, for which I am extremely grateful. More often than not, the areas which I need to face and towards which I must find remedies were those I could never have identified on my own.

Which brings me to my final point. Valuable though many spiritual classics may be, one must be cautious about applying those about self examen and meditations on this area to oneself. Since many were written in a context of personal direction (and, even if this was not literally true, assumed such guidance), they can be quite confusing if one's circumstances are very different.

I well remember, when I read DeCaussade, finding some of his letters to be (so it seemed) very insensitive and cold, even brutal. Yet, when I'd taken a moment to think, it occurred to me that he wrote these words to people whose situations he knew well, and with whom he had continued contact, which had been extensive long before the words were written. Some of the most valuable guidance I myself have received, in a similar context, might seem 'cold' were a sentence to be extracted and read by anyone who knew nothing of other discussions or of elements in my situation of which the reader was unaware.

... now, off to answer e-mail from those who, not realising that the Cloud of Unknowing was written for an anchoress who did not need to be told that prayer, Church, and sacraments were important, think it is an independent approach, or possibly a new take on Zen.