Leopold Glueckert, O.Carm.
The second Seminar on Contemplation in Carmel took place January 17-19, 2013 at Rome’s Centro Sant’Alberto. Members of the international Institutum Carmelitanum were joined by invited guests, scholars, and others for a series of stimulating presentations.
One of the first difficulties was defining or explaining “contemplation” since our earliest authors do not generally use that word. Describing contemplation, the soul of Carmel, requires latitude as well as precision. We need to view all of these samples of thoughtful writing through the prism of faith, as we reflect on our own experience. We must listen to them all, without attempting to judge which might be the most accurate, or the most perceptive. The understanding of contemplation has developed and evolved over the centuries that we looked at in this seminar.
It’s a difficult balancing act to describe our Carmelite ethos as being active contemplatives, or contemplatives in action. We continue to ask ourselves in every generation whether our ministry is actually a stimulus for our prayer. Or is it rather a distraction from our prayer, and therefore something to avoid? The contrast between these two mixtures, these two styles of intense prayer, is a source of never-ending discussion and argument. Sometimes I think we argue about this issue so vigorously that we begin to lose the balance we want to attain.
As we look back with nostalgia at our eremitical roots, we need to honestly ask whether eremitic prayer is the only way to touch the face of God. We could follow some of our extremely active people, like Gerard of Bologna or Baptist of Mantua, who were busy about many things. They were extremely holy individuals, worthy of our imitation, even if we can’t always keep up with their frantic pace. Let’s remember the sometimes neglected end of chapter 10 of the Rule, which tells us to watch in our prayer day and night, unless engaged in some other activity. And let’s not forget that the same Rule tells us to work.
The seminar’s keynote address was given by Professor Gert Melville, who traced the passage from the Medieval to the Early Modern era. He stressed that Carmelite identity continued to evolve during these busy centuries. At the end of the beautiful 13th century, our foundational age, we were just getting settled in Europe amid all the bumps in the road. That golden time was immediately followed by the 14th and 15th centuries, when everything fell apart! There were endless wars, the cynical time of the Avignon Papacy followed immediately by the horrid Western Schism, and the Bubonic Plague in the middle of it all. If the Plague killed half of the population of Europe, then it killed an even larger percentage of the Carmelite population. In spite of all that trouble, we still had the great universities, the writings of some of our earliest scholars, the development of our prayer and spirituality, and several great saints.
Professor Melville pointed out that there were some contradictory currents within our own ranks. We see an interchange between decline, distraction, and debauchery on one hand, and renewal, growth, and spiritual vitality on the other. During the 14th century, we had several vigorous reform congregations coming into existence, as well as the robust presence of John Soreth, our tireless reforming general. As Professor Melville pointed out, Soreth managed to generate a reformed section of the Order without letting it split from the parent body. And even the separate congregations, which were only nominally under Soreth’s control, still served as a strong example for the other communities, and never did break away on their own.
During the 14th century, we observe a general decline in the observance of poverty, the quality of community, and the fervor of prayer. Yet during the same identical period, we see a growth in the “myth” of Carmelite identity. About 1380, Felip Ribot composed his Book of the First Monks, comprising what we might call the “fable” of Carmelite origins. It’s not exactly an un-true story, but is valued more for its teaching function instead. It is clearly NOT history, but something far more important. Ribot’s writing is a clear glimpse of what Carmelites think of themselves. After the Bible and the Rule, Ribot’s book was the Carmelites’ most popular spiritual reading until the time of Teresa.
Simon Nolan gave a stimulating presentation on Gerard of Bologna. While he was a very busy prior general, Gerard also appreciated contemplation as something associated with the beatific vision. However, as Simon pointed out, he had very little to say about contemplation directly, using that vocabulary. He shares that characteristic with our next several thinkers. Mario Alfarano pointed out that Michele Aiguani did not specifically name contemplation either. He associated contemplative activity with the Holy Trinity, and the meditation on the scriptures as a manifestation and a “magnet” for gazing upon God’s presence.
Carlo Cicconetti showed that John Baconthorpe concentrates on God’s presence, again without calling it contemplation. He uses Mary’s life as the paragon of Carmelite living and the model of the Carmelite Rule. We remember that Mary was above all a woman of prayer and a Christocentric witness to everything Jesus stood for. We appreciate the reality that Mary in the gospels was anything but a chatterbox. She speaks very little, but we know that she was always there in the background. She always tried to support Jesus’ teaching, encouraging people to listen to him. Her statement “Do whatever he tells you” at Cana, where she proved that she was truly a Jewish mother, also bears witness to her single mindedness in following her son’s teaching. Although she speaks very rarely, one of the most eloquent things which we have on record is the Magnificat. This sort of “ministry” is a profession of faith which any of us would be proud to imitate.
Paul Chandler spoke about John of Hildesheim, author of the popular Legend of the Three Kings, a wonderful reflection on the mystery of the Incarnation. John is heavily focused on scripture, and gathers stories, visions, and ruminations on the mystery of God’s dealings with the human race. His approach of gazing with rapt attention reminds us of Moses and Elijah, as they experienced the highest vision of God in their respective lives, and also on the Mount of the Transfiguration. John speaks of the mystical activity of the soul, which dovetails nicely with Ribot’s search for the meaning of Carmel, not as history in the strict sense. In the long run, having that understanding is far more important than having tiny historical details that don’t matter.
Emanuele Boaga talked about Jean de Beetz, someone completely new to me. Beetz was the first of several compatriots who encouraged the practice of simple activities which might later lead to contemplation. He speaks of how to sanctify a feast. What a wonderful connection! Carmelites rarely speak about adding the element of joy to our spiritual activity, but we understand it instinctively. We’re not strangers to the happiness and wonder of what God does for those who love him. Outsiders look at us, and that is often what they see. Joy is what attracts more people to the Carmelite life than our finest vocation literature. Beetz concentrates on little things, pious practices which might prepare us for contemplation at a later time. He emphasizes a liturgical spirituality, following the feasts of the year, and using their fruits to help those in need. He also speaks of meditation, as distinct from contemplation, though one helps prepare for the other. Jean de Beetz uses common things which we don’t normally consider to be spiritual, as means to an end. Practical, comfortable spirituality helps us prepare for something much deeper by using contemplation “as an adverb.”
Giovanni Grosso spoke of the very pastoral Bartolomeo Fanti, a great example of this “adverbial” approach. Fanti liked using common practices like the rosary or devotional prayers as stepping stones. He promoted these familiar devices among unsophisticated people, knowing that many of them would never advance any farther. He counted on the likelihood that a small percentage could actually proceed beyond mere prayerfulness to a true state of contemplation. What I said about using contemplation as an adverb means that we do basic things, like walking, driving, washing dishes, or saying the rosary “contemplatively” or “in a contemplative manner.” We try to reach beyond the common as far as God allows us to go.
Then Johan Bergström-Allen presented several English writers, including Richard Misyn, an extraordinary person who began as a hermit and ended as a bishop. It was especially ironic that Richard supported enclosure and anchorites at a time when the second mitigation of the Rule in 1432 set the Carmelites free from such restrictions. But of course the Rule does not forbid enclosure, any more than it forbids abstinence from meat. After 1432, the enforcement restricted meat to certain days, and tightened up on the purposefulness of leaving the cloister. Once the strictness was relaxed, a person leaving the house really did have to have a valid reason, and had to go with a companion.
Edeltraud Klueting spoke of the prolific Battista Spagnoli, who does not speak of contemplation in so many words either, but everything he writes has a strong Marian and contemplative dimension. I very much like the three phases that he uses: the prophetic/Elian stance, the Carmelite/Marian condition, and the eremitical/contemplative approach. They seem to function as stages of development. Maybe not all of them are within the grasp of everyone, but they are useful signposts.
Hein Blommesteijn and Jos Huls combined forces to introduce Jan van Paeschen, another wonderful discovery. Paeschen has a very detailed program of how to approach contemplation in a very natural, and indeed very poetic way. His idea of a 365 day pilgrimage, including his Way of the Cross, is positively eloquent in the way it takes devotional practices long popular in the Church anyway, and puts them into a broader contemplative context with a truly awesome terminus. Finally, Elizabeth Hense talked about François Amelry whose Dialogue of the Soul of 7 days so beautifully mirrors the Song of Songs. It’s hard to not just fall in love with him and his work. Like Paeschen, he promotes the increasing loss of self, and the gradual merging lovingly into God, where the self is almost lost.
For Carmelites today, it’s valuable to look back with gratitude, but also to realize that the God who loves us so dearly is calling us into the future. It is our mission to study and appreciate the growth in our understanding of contemplation. Then, hopefully, if we appreciate the reality that we aren’t living in a world where all the golden ages are in the past, and the present times are running out of energy, the promises of the future will be the best times yet. We must remember that we are still climbing the mountain, and going beyond our ancestors. Our spirituality is not a unitary vision, and shouldn’t be. Each age, including ours, has its own contribution to make. Our past saints demonstrated that they could balance contemplation and activity, and do a good job of it. As we continue, let’s remember that our spiritual vision is developmental. If it’s not getting better, then we need to reevaluate our part in the story.
