MGM2005

The Good News of the Lord that we have just heard is neither fortuitous nor coincidental. Rather, it is the fruit of Divine Providence, which makes use of human means to come to our help. What I mean is that the choice of readings for this Eucharist was premeditated.

What is the Lord saying to us through his gospel Word? The message seems clear, but we should mistrust our own sense of clarity when it does not come from the light of faith. The first message: The Lord is going to go away and his absence will be a cause of sadness for us, but it is also a condition for him to send us the Spirit-Paraclete. The Lord’s absence is something that depends on him; but the fact of being sad about his going is our doing. It would seem that both the sadness and the absence are conditions for the sending of the Paraclete-Defender. That is to say, there is a good sadness, the fruit of a love that desires the Lord to be present and to stay, without which the Spirit-Consoler cannot come. It would come as no surprise if during this Mixed General Meeting we experience sadness. Let us discern whether or not this is a good sadness, and, if it is, let us be thankful, because it can be a first sign of consolation and of the Spirit’s coming.

The Second message: The Spirit of Truth will enlighten us so that we might understand the full truth of the mystery of Jesus. Perhaps what interests us most during this meeting is to have a better understanding of God’s plan with regard to the subjects we will be discussing. There is no doubt that our decisions regarding a Single General Chapter, Monastic Solitude, the Authority of the Superiors ad nutum . . . and everything on the agenda has to be enlightened by the Spirit if we are to find solutions that are in conformity with the mystery of Christ and the work of salvation.

Finally, each one of us has a particular charism from the Spirit to be of service in this understanding and carrying out of God’s plans. These charisms need a certain atmosphere and a solid footing in order to act to the full: the atmosphere needed is the breath of the spirit; the solid footing is loving communion among us all.

Once again I would like to offer a contribution along anthropological lines, in the context of our monastic formation. What has made me reflect on this subject is the departure from our monasteries of six or seven young adult monks during the past two years. In almost every case there were two common factors, namely, the discovery of human love embodied in a particular woman and the total relativity given to everything the man had previously lived. It would seem that the discovery of human love had converted his former search for God into something unreal.

Obviously it is not a question now of judging the vocation of these young men. Rather, we should question ourselves about the formation we offered them. The following could be pertinent questions to ask: What human foundations was the spiritual skyscraper built on? What type of anthropology was implicit in their formation process? Are we really convinced that grace builds on nature? Are we fostering split personalities, even though we say the opposite? Why do young nuns not have similar experiences? Are women more realistic, while we men are more carnal? Do we perhaps repress what is instinctive in us, so as to favor what is rational? Do we give priority to the spirit in detriment to the body? Do we keep allegorizing the biblical texts on love and thus empty them of their human richness? And we could continue with more questions like this.

It is not my intention to answer such questions directly. However, the following paragraphs will offer an initial response. The theme we will treat can be stated like this: “anthropological notes concerning human desire at the service of monastic formation.” Therefore I will treat the theme only partially and incompletely, since these are simply “notes” and my approach will be principally anthropological, yet without forgetting that Christian anthropology finds its fullest and most adequate meaning in a theological context.

The following text from the Compendium of the Catechism of the Catholic Church (n.2) has been an inspiration for me and will be a good starting point:

God himself, by creating man in his own image, has written in the human heart the desire to see God. Even though this desire is often ignored, God does not cease to draw man to Himself, so that he may live and find in God that fullness of truth and happiness which he is constantly looking for. That is why man is, by nature and by vocation, a religious being, capable of entering into communion with God. This intimate, vital bond with God confers on man his fundamental dignity.

This text from the Church’s magisterium puts desire in intimate relation to the divine image in the human being. This primordial, structural desire moves the person to search for the fullness of the Creator and makes the person a religious being, worthy of all respect.

It is hardly necessary to say that this text from the Catechism has its roots in the tradition springing from St. Augustine. We are immediately reminded of the well known words of the Saint from Hippo, “You have made us for yourself, Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you” (Confessions, I.1:1). The Rule of St. Benedict and the writings of St. Gregory the Great were the principal means by which the spirituality of Augustine was transmitted to western monasteries during the Middle Ages. We are, then, at the life-giving heart of our own Cistercian tradition, where Bernard of Clairvaux discovered the foundations of his spiritual teaching.

The theme of desire is central to Cistercian anthropology. The mystical language of our Fathers expresses their experience of desiderium. There are six key words that refer to this experience: desiderium, affectus, amor, caritas, contemplatio and nuptiae. Moreover St. Bernard, in his Sermons on the Song of Songs, uses other synonyms, such as suspirare (to sigh, 59:4), appetire (to crave, 47:5), sitire (to thirst, 7:2), suspendere (to hang on, 17:2), clamitare (to cry out, 74:7), se afflictare (to be distressed, 31:5), inhiare (to be openmouthed with eagerness, like the baby pigeon waiting for food from its mother, 28,13), deficere (to faint away, 28:13), flere (to weep, 58:11). These many expressions show the importance of this theme and are another reason for discussing it with you at this moment of the Order’s life.

The present conference will deal with the following points: first we will consult Biblical revelation so as to point out the central place which desire occupies in Judeo-Christian anthropology. Then we will see the etymology of the word, its paradoxes and the continual presence of desire in human experience, especially in sexuality, religion, psychology and human cultures. We will conclude with some reflections on its relation to the theological virtue of hope. I will try to draw some conclusions from each of these subtopics and underline some aspects of them which have to do with monastic formation.

In Biblical anthropology there is a word whose importance is fundamental for understanding the human experience of desire. It appears early, in the first pages of the Bible: The Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living nephesh (Gn 2:7).

A simple consultation of dictionaries and studies on the biblical theology of the Old Testament shows that nephesh appears some 754 times in Sacred Scripture with a large variety of meanings: breath, soul, life, throat, appetite, desire, living being, person. For our purposes, it is enough to say that it can mean:

- A bodily organ connected with breathing or swallowing: the throat, neck (Is 51:23; Ps 69:2; Prov 3:22; 25:25), mouth (Is 5:14; Prov 28:25), and even the stomach (Is 29:8; Prov 6:30; Ps 107:9).

- The physiological function related to these organs: breathing (Gn 35:18; Lam 2:12; Job 11:12), thirst (Ps 78:18; Prov 16:26), desire for food (Dt 23:25; Prov 12:10; Ps 106:15).

- As a transferred meaning, the tension of longing or desiring (1 Sam 20:4; Prov 19:2; Ps 105:22).

In other words, nephesh can be used to designate the living person as a being of desire, structured for a relationship with the other/Other, which relationship is necessary for his or her self-fulfillment. In this sense, the text from Genesis 2:7 can be translated freely in the following way: and the man became a living subject of desires. When the spouse of the Song of Songs speaks about her beloved as the love of my soul, she would be saying, “the desired one of my desires!” (Song 1:7; 3:1-4; cf. 5:6; 6:12). And we read in Psalm 130:6: My soul (my nephesh) is longing for the Lord more than watchman for daybreak; that is: the structure of my person, as a subject of desires, is ordered to God like the watchman who waits for daybreak (Cf. Ps 42:2,6,12; 43:5).

These examples let us see that the noun, nephesh, is sometimes translated as soul, or life, or even by a personal pronoun. Thus, when it is used in relation to human feelings it generally points to the vital center of the person, where he or she feels things, breathes, reacts and decides (Jgs 18:25; II Sam 5:8; 17:8; Is 19:10; 38:15; Prov 11:25; 14:10; Jer 42:21; etc.). This Biblical teaching is taken up by St. Augustine, who states that desire is the bosom of the heart (Confessions 10:8). Some modern philosophers adopt the same perspective, with one of them even stating that desire is the essence of man (Spinoza, Ethics IV, Prop 18).

We humans live out of this primordial structural desire. We are continually desiring and multiplying our desires, which stir up a whole constellation of feelings in us, so that we live desiring and feeling. It becomes obvious, then, that this foundational reality of our human life must be given an important place in our programs of monastic formation. The monastery is a school of charity to the degree that it knows how to educate human desires and order human affections.

A human being behaves as such when it functions in a way that is “desiring,” affectionate, decisive, moral and intelligent. In other words, desire, affectivity, will power, conscience and intelligence are the basic psychological functions of behavior on the part of any human being, whether man or woman. Desire is a basic structure before being differentiated into various types of desires. This primordial desire underlies our affectivity and our will power.

But what does the etymology of the word, “desire,” teach us about the experience which it refers to? From among its several possible derivations I think the best is the following one: the word, “desire,” comes from the Latin, de-siderare, which is composed of a privative prefix (de) and a noun (sidus, -eris: star, heavenly body). Thus we have the expressions, chasing stars or a star in one’s life.

Chinese culture also teaches us something interesting on this point. The character for “hope” (wang in Mandarin Chinese) is composed of two other ideograms. In the lower part of the character is a man standing on a platform looking up. In the upper part is a crescent moon. In other words, hope is characterized by a human being wanting and waiting for the arrival of the full moon. This same character is used in Japanese to signify desire (nozomi) and the action of desiring (nozomu).

Therefore, when we talk about desire we are speaking metaphorically. We are referring to the movement toward some absent thing or person that we perceive as good and attractive. More specifically, desire implies a feeling of absence due to a lack of satisfaction with what is presently available. Bernard of Clairvaux describes this experience of desire in a concise way by saying, “All rational beings, by their very nature, are continually longing for what seems better to them and they are not satisfied as long as they do not have what they consider to be better” (Dil., 18).

There is an important lesson for the process of personal maturity in what we have been saying. The world and other persons as different from ourselves, with all their intrinsic wealth of meaning, including a personal mission for us to accomplish, can only be perceived when we recognize our own structural “lack” of completeness.

The acceptance of this absence, of this need, with the existential solitude it implies, which is so characteristic of our human condition, is an indispensable requisite for establishing relationships with others. In fact it is only when we recognize that we are beings in need that another person, precisely as other, can become a companion on our journey. We are not everything for anybody, and nobody can be everything for us. This is the necessary condition for the success of any married couple, any friendship, any group of brothers or sisters, any community, any effort towards unity. There will always be an essential distance, separation and distinctive difference. Everything is both presence and absence, even in the most intimate forms of communion.

When our desire has been configured and limited by separation, difference and absence, it becomes possible to avoid the following three temptations:

- Fusion with the other person, which ends up annihilating love. This is a fairly common danger in the process of initial monastic formation. - Manipulation of the other person for one’s own benefit, thus reducing the person to the status of a material object. This is possibly a danger for superiors who lack adequate human maturity. - Elimination of self at the service of what one supposes to be the desire of the other person. This is a danger for not a few young persons in formation who want to please their formators.

Desire is a paradoxical reality in human life that is always present. Starting from a lack, with its need for satisfaction, it puts us in motion so that we search for someone or something beyond ourselves. To desire is to know oneself as incomplete, needy, aware that something is missing, the possession of which appears as satisfying and enjoyable. This is an important principle, namely, that every desire stirs up one’s feelings; underneath all awakened affectivity lies desire.

Someone has said that because of desire we experience a certain uncomfortable anxiety and that this experience of unease is the basis of all human activity. However, someone else replied that, if we did not have anything to desire we might be happy, but would be deeply unfortunate. Many of the paradoxes of desire have become popular sayings or maxims, such as these:

- Do not try to make things as you want them to be, but want them to be as they are. - If you were to get half of what you want, you would double your worries. - The more you want, the more you will find wanting. - Impatient desire is more stimulating than a glut of delight. - A goal hard to attain is doubly enjoyed. - Desire wanes when opportunities abound or when success is easy. - Plenty becomes little when you desire a little more.

We grow anxious when failure looms, because we could fail and not obtain what we want, but the opposite can also happen. Nevertheless, there is a long distance between our desire and its achievement, because our achievements are often less than our hopes. Nothing fully satisfies us. Satisfaction is passing. Desire leaves us this side of what we want: it always leaves us hungry. A million kisses do not extinguish the desire for a kiss! Desire seems to be satisfied only with what is infinite and eternal.

If the painful inability to be satisfied were the final result of desire, the world and we humans would be absurdly meaningless. That is why we must always remember that desire enables us and pushes us to become beings of hope. Waiting and hoping are radically human experiences. If I wait with hope, I am alive. In the last resort, desire exposes us not only to anxiety, but also, and above all, to hope.

Desire invites us to live outside of ourselves. It puts us in contact with others and establishes relationships. It is the experience of our finiteness and limits, but also of the possibility to be more and better. Since it relates us with others, desire lets us become subjects, in the sense that the look of another on me awakens my own awareness. Attention to our desires lets us know ourselves and say who we are. Here is a fundamental task in the formation process, above all in its initial stages: find out what and whom you desire and you will know who you are.

It is true that desire starts us moving. It makes us search for someone or something that is missing. It is tension toward something more. However, this “something more” in the last analysis, can only be received as a gift. Therefore desire is also space, openness, and receptivity to the gift. Above all, it is receptivity to the giver.

It is also true that among the paradoxes of desire we must recognize its goodness or its evil. Desire can be misplaced. The verb, “to desire” (hamad), is used positively in Genesis 2:9: Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is desirable to the sight and good for food. In the next chapter, however, the same verb is used to refer to the desire from which sin is born: When the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was desirable to the eyes… (Gn 3:6). However, in the Song of Songs we find a reference to this situation, but prior to any sin, when sexuality was still a source of pleasure, joy and happiness in God: As an apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among young men. I desire to sit in his shadow, and his fruit is sweet to my mouth (Song 2:3).

Paul the Apostle is very clear when speaking about this ambivalence of desire: Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. For what the flesh desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to the flesh; for these are opposed to each other, preventing you from doing what you want (Gal 5:16-17). Anyone, woman or man, who has embraced the following of Christ through the inspiration of the Spirit will have to practice an asceticism of desire in order to direct desire to what is good and away from what is evil. This asceticism needs to be given the highest priority during the years of initial formation, but it has permanent importance throughout one’s whole life.

The primordial desire, which structures our human existence, generates a whole series of different aspirations, anxieties, longings, drives, appetites, wishes, ambitions, fancies, whims… which take shape with the passage of time in the life of each one of us. This all gives rise to a most complex assortment of desires closely related to the ups and downs (pleasures, fantasies, relationships) of one’s personal life story.

It can and does happen that the real objects of desire are repressed, and therefore unknown. Dreams are one way of helping these unrecognized desires to come to the surface. The wider the field of unknown, excluded desires, the less authentic will that life become, since the person does not know what he or she wants! Vague wishes are confused with sincere intentions; passing whims with deep desires. Thus it happens that totally mistaken decisions can be made, resulting in all types of frustrated vocations.

In the same way, the ignorance of our desires, combined with their self-contradiction, can paralyze our life and give rise to an unbearable conflict among our many attractions. This may be one of the most common causes of our “neuroses”, whether the latter are passing or permanent. On the other hand, dispersed desires which lack a concrete object are often the cause of vague, indefinable anxieties.

The deeply rooted structure of desire and the infinite variety of objects which appear to satisfy it make desire to be present in almost all the dimensions of our life. It is important to have inner clarity about this so as to choose well, renounce well, put order in our life and thus live with integrity and harmony. Let us look in a summary fashion at how desire shows itself in some dimensions of human existence.

- The biological dimension shows itself in appetites, attractions and sexual union. - The affective dimension wants tenderness, affection, falling in love, romances. - The playful dimension is expressed in the desire for humor, jokes and sports. - The pragmatic dimension looks for industriousness and service. - The interpersonal dimension wants paternity, maternity, fraternity, friendship, sociability. - The hierarchical dimension leads to the desire for authority and politics. - The possessive dimension is expressed in desires for property, business and commerce. - The intellectual dimension shows itself in research, information, discoveries. - The aesthetic dimension produces the desire for beauty, art and music. - The altruistic dimension expects generosity, almsgiving, sacrifice. - The religious dimension desires the absolute, the infinite, transcendence, God.

Thus desire is a basic structure of the human being in relation to a lack and/or an absence. It is open to a wide gamut of interdependent dimensions and experiences, some of which are more common than others. Among the more common experiences are the two following ones:

- Above all, desire is present in the area of our sex and affectivity. Here is its origin and the widest field for its growth. Sexuality is the dimension of human life offering the greatest promise of achieving a union which can break through the limits of differentiation, absence and distance. Affectivity, of course, feeds and enlivens many types of interpersonal relationships, such as motherhood, fatherhood, fraternity and friendship.

- However, it is probably the religious dimension which offers most possibilities of satisfying the deepest needs and longings of human life, since in religion desire finds love, protection, survival, transcendence, transformation. In all major religions, monks and nuns are people with an irresistible desire for God. God is for them the dominating attraction. God’s beauty fascinates them. It is on this foundation that a Christian, Gospel-directed monastic vocation can rest.

We have already pointed out that the dynamic source of human desire is the fact of being created in the image of God. Depth psychology teaches that its more existential origin is the fact that we are born in an act of separation from our mother. As it grows from that two-fold point of departure, desire tends towards a double goal: full satisfaction in the beatifying communion with God (its divine goal) and complementarity in the joyful union with another (its interpersonal goal).

We can refer to spiritual desire, whose goal is communion with God, as a longing for blessedness. To bodily or affective desire, whose goal is interpersonal relationship, whether heterosexual or not, we apply the terms “sexual appetite” and “personal eros.” According to this terminology, we can say that sex is biological desire, eros is personalized desire and longing is divinized desire.

We can also see that the satisfaction of the sexual appetite causes pleasure, that of interpersonal eros produces joy, but only longing for blessedness opens someone up to incomparable happiness.

The following table gives a clearer and more synthetic vision of what has just been said:

Two Basic Dimensions of Human Desire
	Religious	Bodily - Affective
Origin	- Creation in the image and likeness of the Creator	- Separation from the mother’s womb at the time of birth
Name	- Longing for Blessedness	- Sexual Appetite (sex) - Personal Eros (affectivity)
Goal	- Comunion with God	- Complementary Union with Another
Result	- Happiness	- Sexual Pleasure - Affective Joy

Personal eros and sexual appetite have something in common in that they are two powers which let us go out of ourselves and thus root out the deep-seated egoism of our being. Nevertheless, eros and sex are different, so it is important to understand where the difference lies:

- Sex produces bodily tension and its release, whereas eros gives a personal meaning to the experience by shedding its light on it and guiding it. - Eros fosters intimacy between persons, while sex only fosters a relation between their bodies. - Sex without eros terminates in one’s own body, whereas eros, even without sex, goes out to the other person. - The sexual act is the most powerful symbol of relationship between two persons and eros is the intimacy within that relationship. - Eros goes far beyond sex; if sex is the doorway, eros passes through it.

In so far as eros is a desire for interpersonal fellowship, fullness and joy with someone we love, it lets us both feel fulfilled and give this fullness to the other. Looked at this way, eros is both attractive and frightening. It is attractive by its promise of fulfillment, but frightening because it requires loosening the controls or giving up all control. Eros is awakened by affectionate intimacy, which is attractive, but at the same time the intimacy fostered by eros asks the person to keep loosening the controls, which is frightening. Celibates and those who have chosen virginity often do not know where to draw the boundary line so as to be faithful to their chosen options. In the relationship between a man and a woman, eros usually produces the following sensations:

- Pleasure, felt from being together. - Impulse, to create intimacy by lessening the degree of separation. - Silence, for the sake of “contacting” and feeling. - Joy which, if left on its own, can run in search of pleasure.

The renouncements and self-control implied in an option for virginal celibacy should not be an obstacle preventing men and women from spending some pleasurable time together. Those who do not know how to live these moments of healthy cordiality with gratitude often compensate in their daydreams for what they give up or repress.

Western culture, which now is also invading other cultures, has enslaved eros under the tyranny of sex. It is true that we are no long tied to the sexual revolution of the 1960’s, when there was a shift from forbidden pleasure to required pleasure. Sex was made obligatory. A dictatorship of the forced orgasm was imposed and required. However, most of our societies now live a sexuality which knows no moral norm whatsoever. Sex is often reduced to a game, one in which all the players lose. Our young people, both men and women, come from this type of culture.

On the other hand, some disembodied spiritualities with an excessive emphasis on what is supernatural and no support in what is natural, have produced the same effect as the secular sexual revolution, namely, the death of eros, that is, the death of interpersonal desire. As pious men and women pretending to subdue the flesh, we actually end up killing flesh, affectivity, appetite, eros and the like.

Maybe we should organize and proclaim another revolution, in order to give back to interpersonal eros all the charm of its openness to what is absolute and transcendent. This “erotic revolution” would not be a reclaiming of erotism as a disguised exaltation of the genitals. It would be a promotion of eros to make our sex more truly human and more noble.

It is well known that religion is the source of satisfaction for the most fundamental human desires. The language of God is the language of deep feelings, which are rooted in the fundamental desires of the human heart. This is where we find the source of conversion, faith, justice and love. Scripture offers many examples of these deepest desires: Lord, you enticed me, and I was enticed (Jer 20:7); Lord, you search me and you know me (Ps 138); Were not our hears burning within us? (Lk 24:32) By this type of language, God seduces our hearts so as to open them to Jesus Christ and to his Good News. Seduction by God is liberating and calls for our free response.

In this context we can ask whether the longing for God rests on the foundation of sexual desire. Put another way, is there an uninterrupted continuum between desire’s biological dimension and its religious dimension?

Many psychologists do not hesitate to reply to this question affirmatively. Some theologians have their doubts, saying that there is a qualitative leap between nature and grace. Other theologians, while not denying the gratuity of divine grace, teach that there is continuity between the human person, as a body-soul composite in the image of God, and union with God. They agree with the medieval theologians who taught that the human being is capax Dei! Grace does not destroy nature, but presupposes it and perfects it!

For St. Bernard, the human being does not have a “specific desire” which directs him or her toward God. It is the single human power of desire, which starts from the biological appetite guided by free will and leads the person to search for and to find God. In his Sermons on the Song of Songs, Bernard’s use of erotic sexual symbolism refers to the soul’s desire as it searches for God and longs for union with him. For Bernard, appetite and eros are at the service of charity.

Looking beyond this theological discussion, however, it is clear that without personal desire and eros the search for God becomes artificial, inconsistent, an empty mental game which falls apart like a house of cards when there appears a concrete relationship with someone who touches our heart and stirs up our deepest feelings. I think that we men are more vulnerable to this than women are, since we are more inclined to abstract theoretical thought.

We have pointed out from the beginning that the desire for God is constitutive of human nature. In all human beings there exists an innate capacity for God and an orientation to God that precedes one’s own choice. It is in this sense that the created human person has been made in the image of God.

Some medieval authors, especially the Cistercians, depart from the Augustinian tradition on a concrete practical point. Augustine’s tradition seems to draw a clear boundary between the “exterior man” and the “interior man,” between flesh (sexuality) and spirit. The former is the cause of perdition, while the latter results in salvation. Such a spirituality can establish a dichotomy which does not correspond to the inner reality of human existence.

Several of our own Fathers cross over the boundary between the inner and outer man, and appropriate some land belonging to the flesh. Eros and its spontaneous affectivity, rooted as they are in sex, are called to play an important role in the search for God. Here is what William of Saint-Thierry says in his Exposition on the Song of Songs:

The Holy Spirit, when he was about to deliver over to men the canticle of spiritual love, took the story which inwardly is all spiritual and divine and clothed it outwardly in images borrowed from the love of the flesh. Love alone fully understands divine things; therefore the love of the flesh must be led along and transformed into the love of the spirit so that it may quickly comprehend what is similar to itself. Since it is impossible that true love, pining for truth, can long remain satisfied with images, it very quickly passes, by a path known to itself, into that reality which was previously perceived only through images. Even after a man becomes spiritual, he still shares in the delights of fleshly love which are natural to him; but when these delights become the possession of the Holy Spirit, the person devotes them all to the service of spiritual love. That is why the heroine brazenly bursts forth from a hiding place and, without even telling her name or where she comes from or to whom she is speaking, cries out: “Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth!” (Exposition, no. 24).

William is speaking from within that wide spiritual tradition which proposes to start the search for the face of the Lord with what we are by creation, so as to arrive by grace at what we can become.

I am aware that this doctrine, with its practical consequences, can have its dangers. It can cause some fear due to the fact that the boundaries are not as clear and the inner world not so simple. Thus some questions remain. How deep can one go inwardly so as to find solid ground from which to climb safely back up toward the world of the spirit?

The basic question, however, both for monks of the Middle Ages and for us, is this: how is eros transformed into charity? The solution to this problem may be different for men and for women. The latter could unduly eroticize the love of charity, while we men could “genitalize” it or not know what to do with the carnal vibrations that can sometimes occur.

The transformation of interpersonal eros into spiritual longing is not easy, but it is possible. It requires, above all, consciously and peacefully integrating one’s own sexuality, starting with one’s genital desires. Then it means centering this experience on eros, understood as the desire for joyful fullness in interpersonal communion. Finally, it implies letting eros transcend all types of permanent attachment to any creature, in order that it be changed into a longing for unified blessedness in God.

The alternation of presence and absence, consolation and desolation, plays a very important role in the purification of eros and its transformation into a divine longing.

It is in this context that we should include in our formation a solid emphasis on Cistercian devotion to the humanity of Christ, on contemplation of his pre-paschal “mysteries,” leading to a deeper following of this divine Person and a richer communion in his glory. We also need to bring spousal spirituality up to date, understanding it as “reciprocal self-gift in fruitful fellowship.” It is certainly a rich spirituality, even though not free from its own difficulties which, however, can be overcome by adequate formation. How much more healthy, happy and fulfilled we would be if the words of the ascetic John Climacus were verified in our lives: “Blessed the person whose love for God is like the eros that a man in love has for his beloved!” (Ladder, 30:5).

Contemporary psychology in its more humanistic tendencies speaks of “human potential.” The latter phrase tells us that a human being has a natural capacity to grow into a fully personal mode of behavior. The teaching on human needs or tendencies was developed in this context. We make this teaching complete with the anthropological reality of desire.

A need has the particular characteristic of enclosing us in the present moment and in our own little world. Desire, on the contrary, opens us up. It thrusts us towards the future and towards others. Needs can be easily satisfied. When the adequate object is obtained the tension previously unleashed in one’s organism is eliminated: water satisfies thirst. But no single object can completely satisfy desire, because desire, in the last analysis, refers to the past and the future, to which nothing in the present can give a fully precise answer.

Both our needs and our desires are “tendencies” toward satisfaction. Their goal is to escape from a state of privation which can be physical, psychological or spiritual. It is easy to see that this tendency toward satisfying one’s needs plays a paramount role in any theory or practice concerning human motivation.

Let us try to classify synthetically these tendencies, both as needs and desires. They fall into three groups:

- Biological needs: air-breathing, water-thirst, food-nourishment, sleep-rest, sex-bonding-reproduction, house-dwelling-clothing…

- Psychological needs: security-protection, love-belonging, self-esteem and esteem for others, living and associating with others…

- Spiritual needs: beauty, goodness, truth, justice, order, fullness, meaning, freedom, perfection, religion, spirituality, mysticism…

It is easy to see that the “biological” tendencies are needs more than desires, whereas the psychological and spiritual tendencies belong to the order of desires.

These tendencies – both needs and desires – do not come to the surface all at the same time, or with equal demands. There is a certain hierarchy among them. Generally speaking, each of the different levels makes itself felt to the degree in which the preceding level has been satisfied. Obviously, the concrete situation of a society or group can affect the satisfaction of the needs of its members, the multiplication of such needs and their confusion with desires.

Experience teaches that it is very difficult to satisfy spiritual desires when there is a serious lack of biological needs or a frustration of psychological desires. Someone suffering from lack of sleep can hardly give any fruitful attention to the search for the meaning of God’s Word. Similarly, low self-esteem impedes liberty of action or adequate appreciation for what is good in life.

These principles have a practical importance in the area of monastic formation. In the majority of our monasteries, the biological needs of the members are taken care of, but I am not sure that the same can be said concerning psychological desires, which often act as supports for spiritual desires. One might also ask whether our communities are skilled in the art of developing the spiritual desires which lead to the mystical experience of communion with God, and whether everything in our life is ordered to this goal.

The greatest human cultures have had – and still have – different approaches to the reality of desire. Eastern culture tends toward freedom from desire, with certain currents of Buddhism considering that the person who is free from desire is free from “self” and thus achieves full freedom. One of the names of nirvana is, precisely, “annihilation of thirst” (tanhakkhaya): when the thirst of desire is eliminated, all suffering and misfortune come to an end.

Classical Greek culture will teach the control of desires. Thus Aristotle praises Plato for having stated that education consists in teaching how to desire what is truly desirable. We find this line of thought in Saint Thomas Aquinas, in his commentary on the Our Father contained in the Summa Theologica: Prayer interprets our desires before God. That is why it is right to ask for something in prayer only when it is right that we should desire it. Now in the Lord’s Prayer not only do we ask for all the gifts that we may rightly desire, but we do so in the order in which we ought to desire them, so that this prayer not only teaches us to ask, but it also directs all our affections (sit informativa totius nostri affectus) (II-II, 83,9).

During the Middle Ages, Western culture was pregnant with Christianity and thus, as we have seen, put human desiring at the service of the search for God. We can even think that some commentaries on the Song of Songs were pedagogical tools written with a view to this transformation of human desire. In contrast, contemporary Western culture on both sides of the North Atlantic moulds human desires to the service of its commercial economy. Let us look at this briefly.

The capitalist economic system is dominating today’s world for the following reason: it is producing a global “culture” by creating an anthropology for the masses which features a system of values and needs corresponding to its economic model.

In order to achieve its goal, capitalism deals with desires in a particular way. It intentionally confuses them with needs and then attempts to mould them into a particular form. As we have already pointed out, needs can be satisfied, since they are linked to social interaction, whereas deep desires are insatiable, because they are linked to the interiority of a person’s deepest, most original center of being.

Capitalist theories are elaborated in terms of satisfying needs and desires, not immediately the needs and desires for profit on the part of the business people, but rather the needs and desires of the customers. Profit is the consequence of satisfying the needs and desires of the consuming client.

However, besides the goal of satisfying needs and desires, there is also the tactic of creating and manipulating these needs and these desires. Since needs are uncountable and desire is unlimited, the possibilities for profit will be infinite. Capitalism does not educate one’s desires. Instead, it confuses them with needs, produces them, reproduces them and molds them artificially. This is why the consumer – a person with the power to acquire something – assumes and consumes what he or she desires, as well as what they do not desire, but firmly believe that they need!

In the capitalist world, the means of communication are governed by the law of maximum financial profit. They are therefore not neutral. Even though they may claim to be “independent,” they are connected to the political and economic establishment. Their profits come from advertising. The viewer, listener or reader has a value measured by the time he or she spends every day at the television, radio or reading newspapers and magazines. The owner of the respective means of communication sells to the advertiser a number of readers, listeners and viewers with the hours they spend doing this. In other words, the audiences are sold. This explains why the purpose of the program or publication is to captivate the largest possible audience for the longest possible time. The mass-media, especially television, are geared to keeping the spectator’s desire glued to the screen or speaker by means of carefully programmed stimulations. That is how their needs and desires are manipulated and converted into financial profit.

Within a monastic context, the education of our desires cannot ignore this manipulation of human desiring. Discernment is needed so that free, correct options can be made. On the other hand, the shift in many of our monasteries from manual work to commercial work obliges us to enter, in one way or another, into this world of capitalist advertising with its manipulation of human desires. Moreover, it is possible to change from being a manipulated subject into a manipulating one. It is not easy to discern the boundary line between what is financial and what is apostolic, between what is profitable for our industry and what is pastorally prudent. The business ethics of a monastery cannot use the same criteria as secular business ethics. This is a question that needs more reflection on our part, as some monks and nuns have already done, in order to avoid ambiguities which can undermine the foundations of any formation program and thus harm the transmission of the monastic charism to younger generations. It would be difficult to pray the Our Father, with its ordering of our desires and its norms for our affections, if at the same time we are involved in the manipulation of other peoples’ desires and affections.

The virtue of hope corresponds to the desire for happiness which God placed in our hearts when he created us. This hope expands the heart as it waits for eternal beatitude. Saint Augustine expressed it this way: The whole life of a good Christian is a holy desire, but you do not see what you desire. Yet by your desiring you expand the limits of your soul so that it will be wide open when the time of vision arrives. (On 1 John, tract.IV:6).

This hopeful desire, open as it is to eschatology, should be a very powerful force to help us live in persevering fidelity. Hope is not avoiding the world or launching ourselves heavenward. Rather is it a commitment in time and space to base one’s life on heaven and eternity. The Church walks and works on earth as a contemplative citizen of heaven. There is no doubt that, “For this we toil and struggle, because we have set our hope on the living God” (1 Tim 4:10).

The source of our hope is the presence of the risen Christ in the heart of the Church and in the heart of the world. This presence incites us to desire with groanings the glorious manifestation of the Lord and to work with eagerness for a better world.

One of the features of monastic life is doubtless its eschatological openness combined with its earthly realism based on desire and hope. The secular history of monasticism witnesses to this two-fold reality: the desire for God, with a deep longing for heaven, rooted in remarkably creative cultural achievements.

Some of our communities in the northwestern world are undergoing a deep trial of hope at the present time. Progressive aging, the lack of vocations, reduced numbers, diminished personal competence and an uncertain future certainly constitute a difficult trial to pass through. But they are also a fruitful opportunity, a chance to live a transparently evangelical monastic life stripped of additions which have now lost their meaning. It can be a life which has become freer and more flexible in its daily rhythm, more of a family home in its buildings and finances, centered on its essential search to meet the Lord in the communion of charity.

So that this can happen, it may be necessary to go beyond just patching and mending. We need to desire a new monastic life in a new heaven and a new earth, where new men and new women can be reborn. We need to choose what is most impossible, most difficult and most utopian. We need to be able to say, “Yes, but not yet.” We need to be changed into midwives of hope, who show that the mother wolf will suckle the lambs, that war will be an archaic word found in old dictionaries, that armed weapons will be museum pieces, that spoken promises will be more valid than a thousand documents signed by a notary public, that everyone will give up their power in order to serve, that the deaf will compose symphonies, that all human cities will be paved with green gardens, that the deserts will be filled with a divine presence, and monks and nuns will be the yeast of communion wherever there might still be a vestige of discord.

Keeping to our climate of utopia, we might dare to think that a monastic life renewed like this could prove to be attractive to the young people of today who, like those of yesterday, are searching for God. With even less hesitation, we can be sure that this monastic life would be an excellent way to communicate the charism of our Fathers to new generations.

In any case, if nothing like what I have described takes place, if we remain alone and faced with death despite our desires to live, we can believe that all peoples will remember us with gratitude and no one will forget that we were hopeful pilgrims in this life, who knew how to sing to heaven while building monastic community on earth.

Our monastic pilgrimage is fed by the “prayer of desire,” which lets us persevere at night in the desert. This simple prayer life is a cry of hope in a world searching for the meaning of its existence. God grant that we can all raise our eyes and unite our voices to sing: O true noontide, fullness of warmth and light, dwelling-place of the sun; noontime that blots out shadows, that dries up marshes, that banishes impure odors! O perpetual solstice, day that will never be over! O radiance of noon, with your springtime freshness, your summer charm, your autumn fruitfulness and your winter of restful feasting! (St. Bernard, SC, 33:6).

1) The feast of St. Ignatius of Antioch. In him we find all the fervor of the first post-apostolic generation. In his seven letters, written during his journey to Rome where he will suffer martyrdom, his heroic soul is passionate for Christ. He is the witness of a Church focused on the Eucharist, center of the Church’s unity and harmony.

2) Your vocation is holiness, the lively affirmation of the primacy of God and the transcendent destiny of the human person.

The search for the Absolute, the passionate longing toward sanctity, the desire to live a life in conformity to the Gospel – there is your essential task, the effort to pursue this day after day without respite. This is the core, the essence of the consecrated life, of your vocation.

3) This witness to the primacy of the spiritual, you bear it at a time when people are losing their way and many men and women seem disoriented and uncertain. Pope John Paul II spoke of Europe as a “silent apostasy”. The most remarkable fact today is no longer an aggressive negation of God, militant atheism, but rather apathy, indifference, the blasé acceptance of a pagan mentality and life style, enclosing oneself with purely earthly horizons.

On the other hand, thanks be to God, there is also a new spiritual restlessness, a passionate search for meaning, the will to leave this “materialistic prison” (Paul Claudel), the aspiration toward true freedom and joy.

4) In this situation of waiting for a new holy creation, a new Christian presence is emerging. The condition of this new presence is the interior renewal of the Church and first in this renewal are religious men and women. We must recover our spiritual strength with a more firm rootedness in Christ and revive the sense of responsibility for being witnesses and bearers of his word forever new. In short, to aspire ardently to holiness.

5) Holiness is to give oneself to God without reserve. It is to die to self every day to be reborn with more life and richness. “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone, but if it dies, it bears much fruit”(Jn 12:24).

There it is: to consent to die in order to bear much fruit. What counts in the end if not to bear fruit in this short season that is our life! A fruit that will last. We do not have the right to ruin our life by egoism and laziness.

Holiness is to lose one’s life. “Whoever would save his/her life will lose it, but whoever would lose his/her life for my sake and the Gospel’s, will save it” (Mk 8:35).

We must dare to lose ourselves, to lose our foothold and let ourselves be carried away by the love of God, when so many things hold us back.

To do this there must be a kind of audacity. Jesus even spoke of violence: “The Kingdom of God has been subjected to violence and the violent are taking it by storm”(Mt 11:12).

To die like the grain of wheat, to die to oneself, to give oneself to God is basically to find one’s true self; it is to find one’s truth; it is to find one’s self. Also we can say, to become holy is to find one’s true image, beyond deceitful appearances and false illusions. It is to be in the truth. The most authentic men and women are the saints.

6) The way to get there is, according to the Cistercian tradition, cenobitic solitude.

In this perspective, the normal way to attain the ideal of Christian holiness is the cenobitic community (koinonia – life in community).

Also, the Trappist or Trappistine enjoys peace and solitude, without lacking the consolation of a loving and holy community, where nothing is preferred to Christ. You are surrounded by many brothers or sisters and nevertheless you do not live in the midst of turmoil.

What is important then, is “solitude of heart” (St. Bernard). This is the condition for an intimate exchange of love and joy with the Lord. It is in solitude of heart and interior silence that the soul listens to God.

This balance between solitude of heart and community life has its price: one must love one’s brothers/sisters and allow oneself to be loved by them, to be kind and friendly, supporting with great patience their physical and moral weaknesses (St. Benedict). For solitude of heart is totally different from the pride of the solitary who scorns the common life and encloses him/herself in singularity. The life of the one who does not love the brothers/sisters with whom one lives would not make sense. Now, the love of God cannot come to maturity if it is not nourished by and does not grow in the love of neighbor.

7) Who does not understand the timeliness of the Cistercian tradition as to prayer and mystical union with God?

Secularization can also penetrate our dialogue with God. Surely, religious communities continue to pray, some with much regularity, others with a certain relaxation. But it is often a prayer without silence. I am thinking of interior silence, of recollection, of the solitude of heart of St. Bernard.

Today, this silence is terribly threatened by the noise of the world, by the numerous obsessive images that penetrate our spirit through television, magazines, advertising, through the sounds transmitted by radio, the telephone and other recent means of social communication such as internet, etc.

Yes, silence, recollection and solitude of heart are necessary if we want to have a real relationship with God, if we want to truly listen to God’s Word. St. John of the Cross gave this counsel to one of his penitents: “The Father pronounces one Word which is the Son and it is always spoken in eternal silence, and in silence it is heard by the soul”.

8) In 1924, the young theologian Romano Guardini, recently named to the Catholic Weltanschauung Chair at the University of Berlin wrote: “If we remain on the level we are today, we will not resolve the problems of our civilization. These problems will not be resolved unless they are confronted by new people with a purer regard, a freer soul and a stronger hand. People who live at a deeper level of being, who act with soul energy, character, fidelity, sacrifice, spirit energy, unconditionally, with the energies of the Divine. Briefly, people who know how to pray, to contemplate, who interiorly stand before God” (Scritti politici, Opera Omnia VI, Morcelliana 2005, p. 159).

In reading these lines, who does not think of men like Benedict, Bernard, the Abbot de Rancé? These men confronted the problems of their time, bringing answers, because they knew how to pray; because they walked before God.

For the other 16 monks of Viaceli and for the 2 nuns of Algemesi, we are waiting for the judgment of the theologians, but it is certain that we will have to wait our turn, that is, quite awhile, before the Declaration of Martyrdom which corresponds to Beatification.

3. For Fr. Romano Bottegal, monk and hermit, I have received the vote of validity from the diocesan process with no trouble and I have worked two years with the recorder charged with causes for the Eastern Church. The Positio has just been printed. A few words of explanation for those who do not know what a Positio is: it is a critical study which, for example in the case of Fr. Romano, includes a Summary, which is the essential from depositions of witnesses in the 4 diocesan processes; then an Informatio super virtutibus, which proves in detail that the theological and cardinal virtues were lived to an extraordinary, heroic degree; a Relation of the Historical Commission that gathered the documentation and another Relation of the theological censor who examined his writings: his letters and notes; a Documented Biography, (15 Chapters long) which very carefully follows the life of Fr. Romano, based on the autobiographical and biographical proofs, documentary and iconographic testimonials. With this study we have been able to show the exceptional consistency and sanctity of Fr. Romano; we have also clarified certain difficult circumstances of his life and proven that the accusation of disobedience brought against him was not well founded.

St. Benedict says that the life of a monk ought always to have a Lenten character, but few have the strength for this. Fr. Romano was among these few who lived Lent and Easter. He felt called to go to the depths of the desert of humility, austerity and poverty in response to the gift of innocence which he had kept from baptism. After 18 years of exemplary cenobitic life, the great difficulties of his time and his community convinced him he could do this better in a solitary life in the shadow of his monastery. Providence did not allow it, perhaps to permit him to be stripped even more effectively, in xeniteia, among the Moslems, in a country at war. From a juridical and affective point of view, he remained a monk of Tre Fontane, and I think that this has been a gift of God for the Order, for he is an exceptional figure, a great mystic and at the same time, a very simple man, joyous and radiant. His whole life was praise of God and a transformation into God. A theological study of the Letters of Fr. Romano has been published in Italian by the San Paolo Editions and numerous articles in the Cistercian Revista, published at Casamari.

4. As for Blessed Rafael, there is an important development: since the month of April the diocese of Palencia has begun a process to witness a rather important cure – a presumed miracle – attributed to Rafael. During 2003-2004 we have gathered detailed documentation and given medical specialists preliminary reports which they judged positive. This has allowed us to open the diocesan process with a certain probability of success. It involves a 31 year old woman who was in her second pregnancy; her first one had gone well but the second one had caused problems from the beginning. In her 32^nd week, that is, before coming to term naturally, the doctors had to do an emergency cesarean because something was wrong with the fetus. The infant, a girl, was born very small (1.2 kilos or 2.6 pounds) but perfectly healthy. The mother, to the contrary, had everything a woman in her condition could have: eclampsia, hepatitis, ischemia, grave respiratory distress, cardiac arrest…A friend prayed and had others pray to Rafael (the sick woman who had already prayed to Rafael in other circumstances, could not do it at the time because she was in a coma…) and she improved quite rapidly without any consequences or damage to the brain. Now there are a few difficulties as usual in the cases of presumed miracles: while the gynecologists and the doctor in charge of resuscitation say that the situation was desperate and that the very rapid improvement is inexplicable scientifically, the doctor in intensive care thinks that - even though the situation was very serious – his medical intervention saved this woman from death. There have been exchanges between the doctors and the situation is in favor of the inexplicable, but we will see what the “Consulta medica” of the Congregation, which is composed of 5 specialists, will say. If the miracle is approved by the “Consulta”, by the theologians and the Congress of Cardinals and Bishops, Blessed Rafael can be canonized.

A few words on the difference between Beatification and Canonization: Beatification is the permission for a local cult of a servant of God because – after much research, investigation and inquiry – it can be affirmed with prudence that this man or woman is in heaven, that he/she lives in God and is blessed.

Canonization makes this local cult normative and canonical and extends it to the entire Church. In order for a Blessed to become a Saint, a second miracle is necessary and his/her renown must be universal or very widespread. It is not only the cardinal virtue of prudence that is at stake, but faith, and that implies the infallibility of the successor of Peter.

For what concerns Rafael, if the miraculous cure is approved, we can easily show that in Spain and Latin America he is very well known. He is less known in other countries because of language, but the community of San Isidro is doing all it can to make him know through translations and other initiatives.

For Br. Zacarias of La Oliva, who D. Francisco presented to you at the last Chapter, the Diocesan process is beginning, supported by the diocese of Pamplona. He was a lay brother from 1929 until the unification of 1965. If he is beatified we will be linked again with the former tradition of the Blessed lay brothers of Villers and so many others of whom our menologies speak.

Already last year we came to a total agreement and were able to begin the preliminary investigation for the cause, as the risk of losing the testimony of certain older witnesses is becoming more real from year to year. One reason for waiting, at least for our monks, was that at the time there was a lot of commotion in the French and Algerian press regarding the monks of Tibhirine because of the suicide of a journalist who was interested in the question and many declarations of President Bouteflika. It was not opportune – even while acting with much discretion – to increase the confusion of opinions. I had proposed going ahead temporarily without the group of Trappists, waiting for a little more clarity, but the other Congregations did not accept this. All 19 were martyrs of the Church of Algeria and they must not be separated.

This year we met twice at the White Fathers and chose as General Postulator, the Postulator of the Marist Brothers, who had been officially named by Bishop Tessier. The White Fathers insisted that the process take place in Algeria, with discretion but in total openness. We had another meeting with the Congregation, with the Prefect, who strongly reassured and encouraged us. Yes, even for the Congregation there is no doubt: we can have confidence ie the faith that has always been in our hearts, that all 19 are true martyrs, even if for the last ones there were probable manipulations or causes that are not those declared officially. The Cardinal and the reporters who habitually treat the complicated cases of martyrs, in which motivations are very mixed, were already a little aware: they asked us questions but encouraged us to proceed. In substance, they told us the following:

1. We must exclude no one from the list, but treat the cause in several lists (for example the first eleven, the Trappists, Claverie). The members of the diocesan tribunal can discern if it is more prudent for them to go to listen to certain witnesses instead of making the witnesses come to them.

2. Certainly, the martyrdom of our brothers and sisters should be inserted into the great martyrdom of a people. It should not be a provocation, but a proposal, very humble and discrete, of the values of love, friendship and fidelity for which these men and women lived and accepted to die. This proposal is very important for inter-religious dialogue: it is our duty to keep and diffuse the memory of the martyrs of Algeria.

3. If, on one hand, the sense of justice makes it totally legitimate and even requires that the perpetrators of the murders be sought out, and if these inquiries can help to clarify the witness of the martyrs, on the other hand we must distinguish well: in the midst of a process such as the one we wish to introduce, there are the martyrs and the values for which they gave their lives, and not the assassins.

Up to now, nothing official has been done; Bishop Tessier is coming to the end of his mandate and he can only take preliminary steps. All the Congregations have accepted the cause having taken votes in their General or Provincial Chapters. For us, given that it is not the Order who is the Petitioner of the cause, to take a vote is not necessary, our Constitutions do not ask for it. However, I am suggesting that we take it, as a material and moral support, since we have the most important group in number and renown. The formulation of the vote could be as follows:

In the event of an official introduction on the part of the Diocese of Algiers of the Cause of Declaration of the martyrdom of the 19 witnesses to the faith in Algeria – among whom are our 7 brothers of Atlas – would you accept that our Order takes its modest part in sharing the costs, and above all, in technical help?

The costs will be very limited since everyone wants to do things economically: we have suggested to the Marist brother who will be the General Postulator of the future cause, to establish a monetary fund from the beginning, but he didn’t want this, saying that for the first steps the costs are minimal. Regarding technical aid, I am thinking of the work in gathering the documentation, classifying it, evaluating it, and in the future, perhaps collaborating in the drafting of the Positio.

We have biographies of certain ones but nothing of a synthetic or complete nature, at least at the level of the Order, to give our observers, postulants and novices; nothing to put in our shops, guest houses and eventually in Catholic book stores…I have seen what Catholic Action is in the process of doing for its saints: a series of very well made booklets in a small case, with an intelligent portrayal, a chronology and a bibliography for those who want to know more. It costs 5 Euros! Why not copy this initiative in the principal languages of the Order, at least for our 4 Blesseds, for the Viaceli martyrs, Consolation, Liesse, Tibhirine, the Loeb family and Fr. Romano? I believe that we have a heritage to transmit to the young, and not just to keep in our libraries or in the hearts of the seniors. I repeat: it is just a proposal…

One more suggestion that someone gave me: a reporter, of whom I had asked explanations about the documentation to give to the Historical Commission for the martyrs of Tibhirine, said to me: “Do you pray to your martyrs?” “Yes”. “Do pray to them for vocations?” “No”. “Pray to them: the blood of martyrs is the semen christianorum…et monachorum; formerly Europe was Cistercian from Sweden to Cyprus. You still have many things to say to the Church, to Europe and the world”. I am simply offering the suggestion. As for me, I have found it good and have begun…Now, if there are any questions, I am ready to respond.

My purpose in this conference is to return to a subject I treated at the last General Chapters, that is, precarious or diminished communities. But I would like to do so from a different perspective: concretely, how these communities are called to bear witness to God in the present-day situation of the Church and the world.

There is no need to point out again the characteristics of these communities. Each person can judge whether my words apply to him or her, whether they are of some use, and whether they are helpful for growth in hope.

First, I will try briefly to identify the causes of the present-day precariousness of consecrated life. Second, we will ask ourselves what is the face of God to which we want to bear witness. Third, we will deal with monastic life as a witness to this God in the midst of the present crisis. I will conclude with an invitation to hope.

Causes of Our Existential and Spiritual Precariousness

Many authoritative voices are affirming that consecrated life in the Catholic Church and the North-western world are in a situation that can be characterized in such terms as seeking, crisis, chaos, winter, exodus, night. Without dramatization or delusion—even though with some reservations—we can accept this diagnosis and apply it to the particular form of consecrated life we call monasticism.

Concretely, then, what are the causes of our monastic night? In my own opinion, the cause is not that monastic life has lost its identity. As monastics we know very well who we are, even though in our actions we do not always live up to our word.

Nor is the cause a lack in our “theology of monastic life.” Even if we lacked such a theology, I do not think its absence would necessarily be a cause for worry or anxiety.

Although I fear to say so, I do not think monastic life today is particularly under attack by the demon of mediocrity. The virus of mediocrity makes itself felt in times of historical and cultural stability, which does not seem to be the case for our times. But this is not to say that we have no need to continue growing in human quality and spiritual depth.

Nor does it seem to me that we monks and nuns are suffering from a “dark night of faith,” granted that we are not always fervent and hopeful believers in the human desert of unbelief and indifference.

We could continue reviewing various causes, but in the end we would need to admit that, to some degree, a convergence of many causes is at work to bring about the phenomenon of our night, a more or less dark night, with its traits of precariousness, fragility, instability, diminution of personnel, lack of vocations, little perseverance, lack of capable officers, etc.

In spite of all these considerations, I would now like to dwell on one cause that I consider crucial: concretely, the impact on monastic life of the profound transformation taking place in the culture and societies of the Western and North Atlantic world and its sphere of influence.

In this larger context we can say that European society and culture is at a new crossroads in its millennial history. Rather than speak of an epoch of change, we can speak of a change of epoch. Agrarian culture is in the last of its death throes, and modern culture, now losing its hegemony, is coming into a new globalized technological cultural context that is dominated by the means of social communication and is as yet difficult to characterize. The following table, ingenuous in its simplification, illustrates what we are saying here:

It is difficult to characterize the transmutation we are undergoing and enjoying, even though there has been no lack of descriptions of it. On the other hand, it is easy to point out the impact of this phenomenon and its consequences for our monastic communities. The impact in question has occasioned a concrete reality we can baptize with the name “existential and spiritual precariousness.”

I would like to point out something important: this epochal transmutation affects the “First World” above all in its cultural dimension and the “third world” in its economic and social dimension. First World precariousness can reach out and embrace the misery of the Third World. Our monastic communities immersed in precariousness can place themselves in solidarity with the masses of those who are impoverished by the rapacity of the global economy.

In conclusion, then, what I have meant to say is the following. Many of our communities are going through a peculiar moment in their histories. This moment can be experienced as a tragedy, as an evil that will pass, or as a marvelous opportunity to renew ourselves and live to the full. Only in this latter case will we be able to bear witness to the God of Jesus Christ.

Let us begin by saying—by way of self-criticism—that there are many theologies that would appear to know everything about God, which proves their total ignorance, a lack of knowledge that would be wise if only it were admitted. Many conceptual and theological skyscrapers create distance from the living God and turn us into believers in our own knowledge.

At the heart of theological reflection is contemplation of the mystery of the triune God. We gain access to this mystery by contemplating the mystery of the incarnation of the Son of God: the mystery of becoming human and walking on toward his passion and death, the mystery that leads to the resurrection, and ascension to the glory of the Father, from where he will send his Spirit of truth to build up and enliven his Church. In this panorama theology must seek to understand God’s kenosis: his self-emptying and descent ending in glorious exaltation, his supreme humiliation that shows a self-giving love that asks for nothing in exchange.

Without falling into the temptation of a “washerwoman’s faith,” we can accept that the little people, the poor, the diminished, and the weak (even more so if they are believers) can know and bear witness to God with greater authenticity than the great, the rich, the powerful, and the strong (as devout as they might be).

Jesus’ question to his disciples Who do you say that I am? (Mk 8:27–33) continues to be repeated in the heart of each Christian and of each local community. This question also reechoes in hearts of monks and nuns, in every monastic community, and in monasticism in general as a universal Christian phenomenon.

Our witness of God consists precisely in the response we give to the Lord’s question Who do you say that I am? And if our witness is to be convincing and motivating, it needs to be backed up by one’s own life. What, concretely, will we say in answer to Jesus so that all might hear him from within the night we are immersed in? I propose the following answer: You are the only Son of a revolutionary God who raises up and brings down, who humiliates and exalts.

By way of illustration, we will consult a biblical text that is on our lips and in our hearts each day, the Song of Mary (Lk 1:47–55). We present it in a way that brings out its two-fold structure:

I. My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has regarded the low estate of his handmaiden.

For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed; for he who is mighty has done great things for me,

he has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree;

He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, as he spoke to our fathers, to Abraham and to his posterity for ever.

Along with contemporary exegesis, we can affirm that this canticle comes from the Judeo-Christian community of Jerusalem. Its original source, as Saint Luke attests, could be Mary of Saint Joseph herself.

The general meaning of the text can be resumed in a few words: joy in God’s revolution and witness to his preference for the poor and simple. Or again in other words: thanksgiving and hymn of praise to God our Savior, who, through the great things realized in Mary, definitively overturns the relationships of grandeur and strength that rule the world. In the final analysis, it is the most tender (the Merciful One who looks upon the lowly) and strongest (the Mighty One who overturns relationships) canticle of the New Testament.

Our attention now turns to a pair of verses that exemplify the divine revolution as a paradigm of God’s action: he has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent empty away.

The most serious problem with the mighty and powerful of this world is that, not only do they oppose the humble, but they also oppose the one and only Mighty One. The lowly and the poor, as opposed to the powerful, can be defined as “those lacking power.” Mary situates herself among these latter.

Let us note that, in this divine revolution sung by Mary, any kind of revenge is excluded: the poor and the humble do not take over the thrones of the strong and powerful! Not even Mary, whose Son was promised the throne of David (Lk 1:32), aspires to take over a throne (which belongs to her as the Queen Mother: cf. 1 Kings 2:19).

Wealth is a blessing (Dt 28:1–14), but it usually becomes a danger (Lk 18:24–27). The Bible denounces the rich (plutûntes = “plutocrats” = those who hold power by virtue of wealth; cf. Jm 5:1–6). The plutocrats will have nothing to do with the most miserable the poor (those who do not even have enough to eat) and forget God (Lk 14:15–24), for which reason God intervenes and reverses the situation. The story of the rich man and poor Lazarus is a moving illustration of this situation (Lk 16:19–31; cf. 1Sam 2:5).

In synthesis, from her own experience Mary sings about God’s usual way of acting. There is nothing spectacular about god’s revolutionary activity; the saving incarnation of his Son takes place in silence and hiddenness. Mary rejoices in the defeat of the rich and/or powerful in their pride, for only in this way can they receive God as Savior and Lord. Before God the effectiveness of the proud is turned into ineffectiveness in order to cure them of their pride (1Cor 1:25; Jm 1:9–11; 5:1–6). God fills the poor with the hope that he will be on their side and favor them: his providence moves other people to perceive their need and provide for it so that no one will be wanting (Acts 4:32–35). Moreover, he shows that there is greater happiness in giving than in receiving (Acts 20:35) and that power and authority are services (Lk 22:26–27).

There is no doubt that Jesus, Son of this revolutionary God and of Mary the Singer, was always in conformity with this divine way of acting (Lk 10:29–37; 13:30; 15:11-32; 16:19-31; 18:9-14; 24:10-11). In this sense, and in this sense alone, Jesus was a revolucionary: Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted (Lk14:11; 18:14; Mt23:12; cf. Ez.21:31). It is for this reason that the letter to the Philippians bears witness saying: [He] who was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men...he humbled himself...Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name... (Phil 2:6–11).

In the final analysis, the reversal of situations so characteristic of God’s revolutionary way of acting within history has as its end to show his preference for the poor and to free captives from the power of wealth so that we can all become true human beings, that is, sons and daughters of God and of all people. Our witness allows God to be known, not as a God of the dead but of the living, and as one who pours out his merciful love wherever he finds any kind of misery, miseries of the oppressors and miseries of the oppressed.

It remains now to see how we can translate and communicate our witness of the “revolutionary God” that casts down and raises up, humbles and exalts.

As I see it, Christological orthodoxy is of little value if it is not accompanied by gospel orthopraxis: solid and carefully reasoned convictions must be followed up with carefully discerned, flexible, and daring action. We know and bear witness to Christ to the degree that we give of ourselves. Consequently, the witness of our monastic life must be vital rather than verbal, by example rather than by words. In other words, we witness as we live.

But for this witness to be possible there are number of prerequisites, requirements that can be understood as operative convictions if we translate them into subjective terms:

-To embrace the darkness of the night as a marvelous opportunity to grow in faith, hope, and charity, the pillars of both mysticism and cenobitic communion.

-To avoid useless and superfluous complaints. Eighty percent of humanity is in a more precarious, poor, miserable, and dark situation than we are.

-To recall that a Rule is a measuring stick because it is straight and leads directly to the end proposed; literal observance diverts the course from the goal and twists the one observing.

-To mistrust intellectual, juridical, and institutional schemas that stifle the embers that are still burning beneath the ashes.

-Never to sacrifice persons for the sake of traditions and customs, structures and projects that have lost their meaning and validity for today.

-Not to confuse spirituality with ideology: the first is a bearer of life; the second is a mutilator of the living.

-To be in deep communion with the life of the universal and local Church and also with the joys and sorrows of men and women of today.

-To be critically open to dialogue between cultures and generations, recognizing that the young are also creators of culture.

-To dream communally of the utopia of a monastic life that is anchored to the foundational mystical experience of monasticism and that reaches out toward the encounter with Him who each day comes to meet us at the heart of the community.

-To ask the Spirit to make us capable of taking risks so that we can venture to take unknown paths and experience the great adventure of letting ourselves be led and carried by him.

-To have plenty of patience in the present in order to have an abundance of hope in the future.

-To enter the night school of the art of dying well, knowing that graduation will depend on the daytime art of living well.

-To have plenty of humor, especially when the smoke gathers, the eyes tear, the air runs out, the fire burns, and there comes the desire to cry for help.

If these conditions and convictions are a reality, even in part, we will already be bearing witness to God’s work among us from within the poverty of our own precariousness. These convictions, rather than coming from human choice are a gift of God and a clear sign of his presence and action.

Gospel radicalism is a basic and inescapable demand for every Christian. This radicalism flows from Christ’s call to follow and imitate him by way of intimate communion of life with him brought about through the Spirit. The various evangelical counsels that Jesus proposes in the Sermon on the Mount—and among these counsels, closely related to each other, are obedience, chastity, and poverty—are a privileged expression of this radicalism. The call to the perfection of love is not reserved exclusively to an elite.

Monastic life, in all religious traditions, has always been considered as a radical form of living rooted in the Absolute. For our part, monks and nuns, we want only to follow Christ as the Gospel proposes. Our contemporary monastic life, from the night of its precariousness, is invited to follow Jesus by embracing the radicalism of the Gospel in the spirit of the Beatitudes. Our future will depend on our response to this challenge. It is not a matter of having a monopoly on radicalism, but rather of being faithful to our own identity.

Jesus’ words challenge us: For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and the Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven [...] You therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Mt 5:20; 48). The Master is telling us that our life does not consist of traditions, usages, permissions, observances . . . but of the perfection of love that we identify with the Father who is in heaven. This demand of love takes us to the very roots of Jesus’ teaching: the reign of God as Father of all human beings and the consequent universal ties of brotherhood and sisterhood. The radical nun and monk are those who are rooted and grounded in love (Eph 3:17), rooted and built up in Christ (Col 2:7).

Indeed, if we want to be more concretely radical, if we want to sink our roots even deeper, we will have to attain to the absoluteness of the person of Jesus Christ. This cannot be done with borrowed faith or socio-cultural faith, but only through a purified personal faith that has experienced the stripping away of many representations and is left naked in its purest form of receiving and giving. If it be true—and I know that it is—that he loved me and gave himself up for me, there remains only one possibility: to die in order to live in him and serve others.

Monastic life takes on a great variety of forms. Monastic life can be spoken of as a basic human archetype that is found in all the great religious traditions of humanity. We might also remember the variety of forms that Christian monasticism has taken on in the traditions of the East and West. Nevertheless, there is an underlying commonality among all these forms, as a medieval Christian monk once expressed:

“This is the generation that seeks the Lord” (Ps 23:6). Does it seek him or does it already possess him? It both possesses and seeks, for it is impossible to seek him without already possessing him beforehand. [...] My brothers, if this is truly and certainly the “generation that seeks the Lord, that seeks the face of the God of Jacob” (Ps 23:6), what can I say except what the prophet has already said: “let the hearts that seek the Lord rejoice. Consider the Lord and his strength; constantly seek his face” (Ps 104:3–4). Or what another says: “if you seek, seek” (Is 21:12). What does it mean “if you seek, seek”? “seek him in simplicity of heart” (Wis 1.1); him above all and nothing else beside him. He who is simple by nature demands simplicity of heart. (Bernard of Clairvaux, Div 37.4; 9)

We monks and nuns are Christians who have dedicated our whole life to seeking and meeting the Lord. It is true that we are not the only ones who seek God, nor do we claim to do it better than others. Nonetheless, we can say that we are aware of being called to make this seeking an absolute in our lives. Thus, we want to seek God truthfully, frequently, constantly. We do not want to seek something else instead of him, nor something else along with him, nor leave him to return to other things. If we did not seek God in this way, we would cease to be monks and nuns.

Since the search for God is the meaning and ultimate end of our existence, our life is one of great simplicity. This simplicitas, i.e., the fact of having only one concern and one end, is the first and deepest meaning of the word monachos.

The reason for and the goal of this quaerere Deum is obviously loving encounter with God. Our whole life is a path to this end, and this monastic path is characterized by a certain number of means. Among the main means, the following need to be numbered: silent, continual prayer, liturgical prayer centered in the Eucharist, lectio divina, the ascesis of fasting, vigils, work, voluntary poverty, and the various renunciations (chastity and obedience) that are conducive to conversion and purification of the heart—all of which is carried out in a climate of solitude and silence.

We Cistercian monks and nuns find all these means clearly presented and codified in the Rule of Saint Benedict (as a fleshing-out of the Gospel), and the Constitutions of the Order (as an experiential interpretation of the Rule). We find in these same documents something of even greater importance, namely, the end that must encourage us in our daily pilgrimage.

We know that these means are nothing more than means. They are constitutive of monastic life and necessary for it, but they are neither the essential element of monastic life nor the soul that enlivens it, i.e., the search for and the encounter with God. A television star fasts, sleeps little, and sings, and an inmate of the state prison lives in solitude and is given to reading, but—with all due respect—I do not think we can consider either to be a monk or a nun. We are monks and nuns, but if we lose sight of our end, we run the risk of becoming stars or convicts.

These constitutive means of our monastic life are embodied in concrete practices. These practices can differ from one tradition to another and can even evolve over time. It is obvious to all of us that the practice of silence in the Benedictine tradition is not the same as that of the reformed Cistercian tradition. In like manner, it is easy to notice the evolution these practices have undergone in recent years—one need only study the evolution of our Constitutions to be convinced of this. I offer the following table by way of illustration:

Means are relative to ends, and practical embodiments of the means are all the more relative. These practical embodiments vary according to traditions, places, and times. If they are varied and have varied, they can continue to vary, always in view of the end of our monastic life. We might ask if a more gospel-centered model would not bear better witness to the God we seek. I believe, for example, that a loving chastity, a serviceable poverty, and a communion-oriented obedience would be better news for the world of today and bear more eloquent witness of the God who revolutionizes and liberates.

Our search for God, then, is lived out in the context of interpersonal relationships. Community life in loving communion is also essential to our cenobitic monastic tradition. God is sought and found in community: “May he lead us all together to eternal life” (RB 72.12). What is more, the brother and the sister inhabited by the Lord are also a “place” of encounter with God.

In short, it is clear that, for any seeker of God, the most important thing is encounter with him. It is precisely that encounter that pays back with interest all the grief and toil of the search. In other words, monastic life lacks meaning without mystical or contemplative union with the God who calls, purifies, strips away, and transforms.

Thus, just as the convictions mentioned earlier were a sign of the Lord’s presence and action, gospel radicalism and a monastic life anchored in the essentials have even greater sign value. Communities that live this way bear witness to a revolutionary God who humbles and raises up, who takes delight in our smallness, poverty, and precariousness, even though it be night. These communities bear witness to God with their lives more than with their words, by living more than by speaking.

Our monastic precariousness is an opportunity and a gift of God. The most appropriate response to this gift is thanksgiving. Thankful for our existential and spiritual precariousness, let us bear witness to the God of Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies who raises up by casting down and crowns with glory by humbling. If we live rooted in Jesus by means of a translucent and gospel-centered monastic life, we will also be good news for a world starving for happiness, and good news for a Church thirsting for the God of love.

I conclude with three sayings—each of a different kind—borrowed from others: a word of wisdom, a prophetic word, and a contemplative word. These three words, from different angles, are an invitation to hope.

Here is a word of wisdom from someone who spent forty days and nights floating in the waters of a flood. Finally God sent him a dove with an olive branch as a sign of peace and reconciliation. Good old Noah, from his ark, tells us the following:

-Always be ready; I was six-hundred years old when the Lord decided to turn me into a ship builder and pilot.

-Do not forget, we who built the ark were a small group of beginners who paid attention to God’s instructions; the Titanic was the work of experts.

-The furor of the storm and the tossing of the waves are of little importance; if you trust God you will see a rainbow

Next comes a prophetic word from a revealer of mysteries, Julian of Norwich: “I understood that, by the grace of God, it was necessary to remain steadfast in faith and to believe with the same steadfastness that all things would be for the good...” (Revelations, 32).

I conclude with a contemplative word, a word that should remind us of that supper of self-offering, farewell, and betrayal when it was already night (Jn 13:30). That night did not prevent and will not prevent his Eucharist from being a sign of hope and a foretaste of the glory to come. Let us say together with the poet and saint John of Yepes, whose birthplace was Medina del Campo:

REPORT ON THE MONASTIC INTER-RELIGIOUS DIALOGUE

The Abbot General’s Council asked me to give the General Chapters a short report on the Monastic Inter-religious Dialogue.

I think you are all aware of the existence of a joint Benedictine and Cistercian organization called M.I.D (D.I.M. in French), whose purpose is to raise the awareness of our monastic communities concerning the importance of dialogue between Christianity and the other great religious traditions of humanity. It will perhaps be useful briefly to recall the beginnings of this organization.

Vatican II’s declaration Nostra aetate emphasized the fact that dialogue with the other great religious traditions of humanity was an aspect of the Church’s mission of evangelization. Along these same lines, the two great pan-Asian monastic meetings organized by A.I.M at Bangkok in 1968, and at Bangalore in 1973, gave importance to this dialogue. It was as a result of these meetings that in 1974, Cardinal Pignedoli, President of the Consilium for dialogue with non-Christian religions, in his letter to the Abbot Primate of the Benedictines, asked monastic Orders to take a leading role in this dialogue, since monastic experience is something all the main religions have in common. In response to this request, in 1977, the NABEWD (North American Board for East West Dialogue) was created in America and MID in Europe. At first, both of these organizations depended directly on AIM. Later, an international MID secretariat was set up, along with national secretariats in several countries and on various continents.

MID’s activities have always been carried out in collaboration with the Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue and, in fact, the secretary of MID is a consultant on this Pontifical Council. One aspect of DIM/MID’s work was to set up a program of monastic hospitality to allow Eastern monks and nuns, Buddhist or otherwise, to spend some time in American and European monasteries, and vice versa. These visits contributed a great deal to better mutual understanding. Each time a group of Buddhist monks came to Europe, they were warmly received at an audience with the Holy Father.

In a recent report given at a MID meeting, Bishop Michael Fitzgerald, current president of the Pontifical Council for Dialogue with Non-Christian Religions, warned that sensitivity for interreligious dialogue should not be a sort of hobby for one or the other monk or nun of a community, but should be the concern of the whole community.

I would like to make this last point the focus of my report. The main goal of MID at the time of its creation was not simply to gather together the monks and nuns of our communities who were already involved in interreligious dialogue, but rather to raise the awareness of all our communities, first of all regarding the richness of the other religious traditions, and then regarding the importance of an attitude of dialogue with them (even if, obviously, not all monks and nuns need to be involved in dialogue activities). It seems to me that our communities still have a long way to go in this area of providing information and fostering a collective attitude of dialogue. We need to find ways to help our communities as a whole better to know and appreciate the richness of all the great religious traditions of humanity, especially—but not exclusively—in their monastic dimension.

A second point that Bishop Michael Fitzgerald emphasized in his above-mentioned talk at the MID meeting was the following. Up until now, the dialogue supported by MID was especially with the Eastern religions that have an ancient monastic tradition, and particularly with Buddhism. However, it is becoming important and even urgent to develop dialogue with Islam, for several reasons.

On the one hand, Westerners today tend too easily to identify Islam with the violence displayed by certain Islamic fundamentalists (not true Islam), which violence is often in response to the fundamentalism of groups that claim to be Christian but that do not represent a truly Christian stance. It is therefore important to know and respect the other face of Islam, where are found compassion, tolerance, and respect for others.

On the other hand, at a time when, in the context of debate over the European Constitution, there is much talk of about the Christian roots of Europe, we must not forget that Europe also has deep Muslim roots, first through Averroes and Avicenna and then through the rich cultural influence the Ottoman Empire had on Europe.

In a world where some people want to see—and, if need be, start—a war between civilizations and cultures, it is important for monks and nuns—whose whole life has a communion dimension—to work towards communion among religions, cultures, and peoples by means of their life and dialogue.

As Dom Bede recalled the day before yesterday, many of our monasteries are now surrounded by populations in which both Islam and Asian cultures are widely represented.

Although organized dialogue in the shape of formal encounters and meetings remains necessary, dialogue through everyday life is all the more necessary. Much has been said about the dialogue of Christian de Chergé and a few of the Atlas brothers with the Sufis of Medea in the El Ribat group, but of equal and even greater importance was the constant dialogue lived out between the Tibhirine community and its Muslim neighbors.

It is to this form of respect, friendship, and dialogue that we are all invited in one way or another.

On November 13 of this year, on the feast of all the saints who have done combat under the Rule of Saint Benedict, Fr. Charles de Foucauld will be beatified at Saint Peter’s in Rome. This much-awaited event was delayed because of the death of Pope John Paul.

Charles de Foucauld entered at Neiges on January 15, 1890. He lived most of his seven years as a Trappist at the monastery of N.-D. du Sacré Coeur in Akbes, Syria, which was first conceived as a possible refuge house for Neiges during a period of religious persecution in France.

He left the Order in 1897, with the permission of Dom Sebastian Wyart, but always maintained close ties with Neiges, where he received the principles and structure of his religious life. He came back there in 1900–1901 to prepare for ordination, and celebrated his first Mass with us. We keep as relics the chalice and chasuble donated by his family at that time. He died on December 1, 1916 at Tamanrasset.

He was a man of desire who knew in whom he had placed his hope. He could not separate his love for Jesus from the love that pushed him toward the most poor. The fruitfulness of his life was that of any contemplative lived as a “gift given all the way.” Numerous religious families take their inspiration from his prophetic way of living the gospel by imitating Jesus in the mystery of Nazareth.

An icon of the new Blessed was recently placed in the church at Neiges. You are welcome to take some of the cards with a reproduction of it to give to the members of your communities.

-To transform a small, unused, but solid building into a chapel where his relics will be preserved. In conformity with Blessed Charles’s strong intuition, we want to have perpetual exposition of the Blessed Sacrament in this chapel so that it can shine on all those who are willing to open themselves to God’s merciful love.

-To renovate the three rooms where the life and spiritual genius of Charles de Foucauld are presented.

If any of you are inspired to help us with your financial generosity to complete these projects, especially the chapel, I would be grateful.

May Br. Mary Alberic remember our Order and awaken in each of us a taste for adoration and for the missions.

Ever since “we dared to talk about precariousness in 2002” (Commission 10), the Order has been engaged in reflecting on it, absorbing its implications and seeking to transform it into a point of departure for the revitalization of our communities. This dynamic acceptance of their fragility is a constant theme in the summaries of the House Reports and manifests the strong continuity between the last Mixed General Meeting and the present one.

In their syntheses, the mixed commissions stated that the majority of communities have faced their situation with honesty and sincerity, as well as with a genuine measure of serenity. Rather than becoming sidetracked by “exaggerated concern for the future or morose regrets over the past” (3), the confrontation with precariousness has led many communities to reaffirm their fundamental decision – the “desire to keep alive” (14) – and to put this desire into practice. The implementation of this decision has not been limited to structural alterations, such as in the buildings, economy or liturgy, but concentrates on attempts to reinvigorate, and even to “re-found” (12), fraternal life through improved communication, dialogue, and the creation of a climate “emphasizing personal responsibility and mutual care” (3).

This does not mean that all difficulties have gone away or that every community is engaged in this renovation: “At times there are elements that… provoke the community’s closing in on itself and a too passive acceptance of the situation” (7). Nevertheless, the commissions took note in their diverse ways of the emergence of “a new dynamism… an élan” (7), a “compelling vision” (12), “a burst of life” (8). “We see new situations emerging” (10). Communities are discovering within themselves the energy to “confront the challenges of aging and diminishing numbers while still working to renew their monastic lives and attract new members” (5).

In this new beginning, it is hard to exaggerate the importance of the local superiors. “In those situations where a seed of renewal is appearing, superiors play an essential role” (6). Their contribution begins with their commitment to the well-being of the community: “We have been touched by the profound love and pastoral devotion of the superiors for their community” (7). This manifests itself in their ability to “adapt themselves with love and intelligence to the needs of the brothers and sisters” (10). Such creative adaptation, fruit of spiritual maturity, is decisive; it makes or breaks the situation. Where it exists, the brothers and sisters are “moving to greater collaboration and respect among themselves as well as greater interiority and freedom.” Where it does not exist, because of the superior’s personal dysfunction, the community is being “impeded in its progress” (10).

In most cases, the movement of new life has come through the abbot or abbess, inspired as they were by a more positive vision of the community’s precariousness. Yet the superior is not a solo performer. The commissions emphasized that the effectiveness of the superior depends on well-formed monks or nuns: “To fulfill their mission, often difficult in the concrete context, the abbot or abbess must be surrounded with competent brothers or sisters rooted in their monastic commitment and on whom he or she can depend” (6). Evidently, the superior needs to be open to receive such support, and not be overly centralizing. In numerous cases, this openness to the help of others is exactly what is occurring: “The superior has an ability to delegate to others in the community… and the community can carry on peacefully,” even in his or her absence, “because there is good organization, communication and information” (2).

Recognizing the intense efforts being made by many superiors, the commissions expressed their concern at the possibility of burnout. Two commissions spoke of the need of the superiors to adequately attend to their own “spiritual health and personal balance” (15), noting a certain fatigue among the superiors. The proverb which the commission cited – “God takes care of those who take care of themselves” – represents an important caveat.

Ultimately, the superiors are leading their communities by modeling monastic life for them: “Authenticity in the superior leads to greater openness and transparency in the community” (5).

The communities are united with their superiors in a shared forward movement, above all by engaging in the ongoing task of forming genuine Christian monastic communities. “We have met… communities in transition which have become aware of the value of the fraternal, cenobitic life and which try to better fraternal relations, communication and dialogue” (14). Throughout the Order, efforts are being made to improve the quality of dialogue and community interaction. In some monasteries, the fruits of this process have already begun to appear: “It is wonderful to see a community make progress from one Chapter to the next. The dynamic of dialogue is growing” (9). An “authentic fraternal life” is being fostered, and “in several cases, the beginning of community dialogue and small-group exchanges has turned out to be very efficacious and even a source of joy” (6). Superiors and their communities are actively seeking to benefit from resources in their own house, in the Order and beyond the Order – particularly through the use of trained professionals – so as to mature into communities in which all are involved in “growth in love, liberty, simplicity and reconciliation” (4).

Such effort is not only to be recommended; it is indispensable. Various commissions pointed to the phenomenon of individualism in a number of communities. Those “persons who do not know how to renounce their personal projects or have difficulty managing their affectivity” (10) are blocking the dynamism of the community and obstructing the efforts of the abbot or abbess in helping the community move towards communion. Perhaps more seriously, they sometimes create confusion in newcomers by making it difficult for them to experience a “clear orientation within the monastery” (13). It would seem that a formation beyond individualism would be one of the principal aspects of the renewed formation requested by several commissions.

Another challenge facing many houses at present is the need to re-evaluate manual labor as an essential element in Cistercian life. There is “a shift in the type of work by which monastics make their living, e.g. the prominence of retreat houses and stores and the diminishment of agriculture” (5). The danger is that of approaching monastic work as simply a necessary economic means of production, and therefore alienating, rather than as an intrinsic part of the Mystery of Christ. “The Paschal Mystery celebrated in the Liturgy is not lived out by us only in lectio divina, but even more in the service, sacrifices and self-donation of manual labor” (1). It is not a question of returning to the past situation of the lay brothers and lay sisters, but of something new, a “reorganization of community work” (11 and 13), especially to include the older members of the community and to avoid “losing the spiritual dimension of monastic work”, since work “is one of the basic pillars of our Benedictine-Cistercian spirituality” (14).

It seems that growth is found where there is a healthy openness to help coming from structures outside the community. A good relationship with the Father Immediate and trust in his pastoral solicitude, “putting into practice the Charter of Charity” (12), continue to be significant supports for both the community and the superior. One commission “noticed the important role of Visitors and Fathers Immediate in these processes of growth, even helping to give birth in suffering” (9). Another commission expressed it this way: “Having an honest and open relationship among the Father Immediate, superior and community is a goal that can bear much good fruit. We were shown how the opposite can occur with unfortunate results. When there is not a common culture between these three, difficulties and conflicts are more likely to arise if the differences are not acknowledged” (4).

Yet Fathers Immediate may themselves be overly burdened, since “some have such a numerous filiation, that it impedes their service” (1). The establishment of “Commissions of Help for the Future” can be seen in part as a creative response to this difficulty. They are a “hopeful expression of collegial assistance” (5) and “have been valued as an efficacious help by the communities which have had them” (13).

Communities have shown themselves particularly grateful for the sharing of resources within their Region and for superiors who “show great generosity to other communities in their need, giving personnel, financial help, equipment, formation/education to the young” (2).

As we look at the overall situation of the Order, it is impossible not to be struck by the demand of the 6^th Commission: “The communities await a new, creative word.” Such a word can only be given after discerning the Order’s point of reference, both in its tradition and its current experience. There is a particular value, a grace, a movement of the Spirit who orients, corrects and motivates us as Cistercians. This grace seems to us to be expressed today, not in one, but in three words – creative words – that sum up what is happening among us:

Wake up. Grow in fraternal love. Be formed anew. May Our Lady of Cîteaux turn these into living words, for us and for the communities we serve!

Dear Abbots and Abbesses gathered together at the General Chapters of the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance,

Recently the third International Encounter of Lay Cistercians met at Clairvaux. We bring you greetings from the nearly 130 people who were present at that meeting as well as from the 34 international groups represented from around the world.

We wish to thank you for your kind and encouraging reply to our last letter. Indeed, it does seem that “an hour has come in the Order” in which the breath of the Holy Spirit is felt ranging across the world and touching deeply lay people who feel an invitation to the Cistercian Charism. We look forward to the future with great hope—and to our on-going discussion of “how each of us will participate in the same charism”. We place ourselves in the hands of the Holy Spirit and ask again for your prayers.

The Encounter at Clairvaux has strengthened our sense of solidarity both among ourselves and within the Cistercian family. We continue to find that much of what we share includes lectio divina; individual, communal and liturgical prayer; simplicity of life; conversatio morum; interior silence and contemplation, and work as a way to holiness. In addition, we find ourselves and our groups enriched by our devotion to Our Mother Mary, Queen of Citeaux; a growing sense of community among associates; stabillity in our vocation and to the monasteries with which we are associated; Eucharist as the center of our life as Catholics but in communion with our non-Catholic brothers and sister as well, and our active apostolate in the world.

At the Encounter at Clairvaux, a new Steering Committee was elected and charged with strengthening Lay Cistercian groups around the world as well as establishing a working relationship with the Order as a whole. As with the Lay Cistercians groups themselves, as the international community grows we are confronted with the need for more rather than less structure. We hope to identify as many Lay Cistercian groups as possible around the world, to recognize essential elements within our communities, to discuss those elements in which we differ, and to provide resources for new as well as older Lay Cistercian groups. Our goal at this time is not to give the same shape to all the groups, but to find the foundation that is shared in common by all the Cistercian groups.

At this time, we have identified and are in contact with 44 Lay Cistercian groups around the world. However, we are aware that there are other groups, some just forming as well as some that have been in existence for some time, of which we are unaware. If the Abbots and Abesseses of the General Chapter have groups associated with their monasteries but which are not listed on our web site (http://cistercianfamily.org), we would like to receive information from you so that we may make our list complete.

In order to accomplish our goals, we feel that it would be advantageous, both to the International Lay Cistercians and to the Order as a whole, to establish lines of communication with you. We believe that this could be accomplished if the General Chapter would identify one or two, perhaps a monk and a nun, who would be our liaison with the Order. Initially, the purpose of this link would be to provide communication from and information about the Lay Cistercian groups around the world to the Order as a whole. In addition, as individual groups have often found, input from monks and nuns in our discussions helps us in exploring the manifestation of the Cistercian Charism in the world.

Once again, we would like to thank you for your words of wisdom and encouragement in the past. We are indeed grateful to those monks and nuns from all over the wolrd who sustain us by their prayers and assistance. And we pray in thanksgiving for all the members of Cistercian Houses around the world whose vocation is a source of spiritual strength to the Church and to us.

Ø ‘Laudate e benedicete Misignore’,
these are the words of saint-Francis
at the end of his ‘Canticle of the creatures’.
These words of the Poverello, the ‘brother of all mankind’,
who 800 years ago began his ‘conversatio morum’,
are also the words of the delegates
at the end of the MGM 2005 in Assisi.

Ø Laudate Misignore,
for the invitation each delegate received
to have a unique experience of the Order and its varied houses
ànd of the universal Church embodied
in all our experiences of being capitulants.

Ø Benedicete Misignore,
because we experienced the reality of concrete monastic life,
i.e. joy and pain.
The joy of meeting brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers
in whom we met all races, cultures and languages.
But also pain:
because some of us felt that they were not well-enough prepared,
others were confronted with their precariousness
in the difficulty of speaking one another’s language,
and others felt the sadness of which Dom Bernardo
said in his opening homily ‘that it would come as no surprise
if we experienced it’.

Ø Laudate Misignore,
we are grateful that something important happened for the delegates
in this Chapter regarding the vote.
With your grace may we continue to seek ways to express
the complementarity between superiors and delegates,
so that we may bear much good fruit
for our brothers ands sisters in our communities.

Ø Benedicite Misignore,
that we delegates were able to live a real ‘carta caritatis’,
written during these three weeks in our hearts,
with the ink of common prayer, multi-coloured Eucharistic celebrations,
intensive sharing, hard secretary-work, interesting but sometimes
endless plenary sessions, warm-hearted friendship, respectful silence,
sometimes feeling as needy "bambinos",
but profoundly grateful in this Domus Pacis.

The Lord Jesus bids us farewell from Assisi with a clear, strong, gospel word. Once again we return to our communities bearing good news. This good news has to do with us. In our study of the house reports we emphasized the important role of the superiors, and the next General Chapter will address this issue. And now, in the readings of today’s Eucharist, the thirty-first Sunday of the liturgical year in cycle A, are laid out for us the basic features of authority according to the mind and wishes of God.

Let us begin with what authority is when it has become bad news. The false superior says but does not do, exhorts and witnesses falsely, and thus gives an example that makes no sense. Worse still, such a superior likes the stage and applause, seeks the best place even when arriving late, likes to be greeted and treated with honor. In a word, such a one seeks more to lord it over than to serve, and forgets that he is merely the brother of all. Superiors of this kind will be humiliated because they have exalted themselves, although God’s mercy is great, even for them.

And then let us look at what authority must be according to the gospel. To have authority is to minister, serve, and stoop down. The superior’s place of honor is at the feet of his brothers and sisters. Those who act this way have no teaching of their own; rather, they convey the teaching of the one Teacher. They do not beget children for themselves but for the Father of all who is in heaven. And when they lay down the law, they subordinate everything to the precept of Jesus the Messiah: Love one another as I have loved you. Such as these, like Paul the apostle, hand over their lives as they hand on the Gospel, spend themselves so that others may live. In their exhorting and motivating they represent God the Father, and in their affectionate and motherly care they make God’s spirit present. It is clear to them that the common goal is the Kingdom and the Glory in the one and triune God.

his teaching of Jesus the Teacher applies also to the Abbot General. Over the next three years I hope to grow and convert in order to make up for past sins. I trust that my successor, merely by his presence and example, can be for us all the true and beautiful news of Jesus and his Kingdom.

Our General Chapters and Mixed General Meeting have come to a close. For several reasons they have been historical Chapters. I would like to point out two of these reasons. First, the presence of our brothers of Our Lady of Consolation after more than 50 years of absence. Second, the choice for a single General Chapter of monks and nuns, along with all the consequences that choice entails. These two events lead me to say a word on a phenomenon that is unavoidable. Our General Chapter is called to become a school of interculturality.

I already brought up this subject at the last Central Commissions meeting at Scourmont. on that occasion I pointed out how, for cultural reasons, approaches differ in such matters as decision-making, the experience of time, the service of authority, conflict resolution, procedures for meeting goals, the perception of reality, the sense of tradition, and group dynamics. I now come back to this subject of interculturality, but from a different perspective.

Our Order is present in various cultures and nations. In a certain sense, each new foundation is a type of “re-foundation, renovation, and re-creation” of the cistercian charism, that is to say, the new communities allow the original charism to be born anew and make the body of the Order grow. In this context, as I have already said on several occasions, the Order does not have one center but many centers; we have gone from being mono-centered to being pluri-centered. This brings with it an obvious consequence: we are all invited to open ourselves wholeheartedly to the phenomenon of interculturality. And this phenomenon makes itself more keenly felt in a General Chapter.

If our Chapter is a school of interculturality, we have to learn in this school the following lessons from experience.

· The abolition of borders and walls, whether of gender, generation, culture, social status, history, and origins, in order to facilitate communication and communion.

· The effort to step out and step beyond one’s own cultural horizon, in order to think and feel in an other-centered way, situating ourselves in relation to them in a reciprocal, complementary way.

· The acceptance of cultural plurality of whatever kind it may be, freeing ourselves from one-track- and absolute-mindedness, banishing all intention of homogenization.

· The harmonious inter-working of differences in all areas of our life from Cistercian spirituality to the various structures of service and association. This will lead us to distinguish what is essential and common to all, from what belongs only to some, whether in regard to communities, regions, genders, generations, filiations, etc.

It is my hope that, in this way, we will all acquire a renewed vision of the world and a broader perception of reality. It is thus that the cenobitic ideal breaks open the narrow limits of one’s own community to embrace other communities, giving rise to that community of communities that is the Order.

Evolution of the Practical Embodiment of Some Monastic Means
Period	From 1900 on	From 1960 on	From 1975 on
Model	Ascetic (observances)	Personalist (individual values)	Communal (common values)
Poverty	Permissions, scarcity, disappropriation, hard work, alms...	Administration, profitable work, use of goods in service of the community, work cooperatives...	Goods in common, economic administration, financial management, solidarity with the Third World...
Chastity	Protection, modesty, undivided heart...	Help for emotional integration, inhabited heart...	Affective community climate, friendships, openness to heterosexual friendship...
Obedience	Normative observance, renunciation of one’s own desire, submission of one’s own judgment...	Encouragement of talents, personal responsibility, respect for personal autonomy...	Dialogue, community discernment, decision by consensus...

Causes of Our Existential and Spiritual Precariousness

Evolution of the Practical Embodiment of Some Monastic Means

REPORT ON THE MONASTIC INTER-RELIGIOUS DIALOGUE