OFFERING THE PAIN OF DISEASE AS AN ASCETIC PRACTICE

 

Part of a Christian's spiritual program has, for centuries, usually included the imposition of some sort of painful, uncomfortable or inconvenient practice that imitates the suffering of Christ and thereby draws us closer to Him. Christ's pains were taken on purposely, willfully, in reparation for the sins of the world. He certainly did not merit the terrible punishments he received. He offered them to the Father in order to atone for our sorry selves.

Also, to the Catholic mind, humans are body and mind BOTH. We are not spirits who occupy a body for a time and then dispose of it when we die. IN FACT, we are promised that we will rise in our glorified bodies at the second coming of Christ. Our bodies are not awful things. We were all made in the likeness and image of our beautiful Lord but, due to the fall of mankind, the body's demands have become disordered and require tempering and balance.

Thus, part of the purpose of penitential practices is to gain control over the selfish and pleasure-loving body and ego and keep it in proper balance with our spiritual selves. Ascetic practices require and build the discipline necessary to the task. In fact, the instrument with which one whips oneself with cords, made from leather or rope, that is still used in some monastic communities, is itself called "the discipline."  Also a "scourge." 

John the Baptist wearing a garment of camel hair.

In the Middle Ages, pious people might wear a hair shirt under their clothes so that all the day long their skin would be pricked and irritated by it. Some of the saints recommend praying for hours with arms outstretched, in imitation of that agonizing position that Christ was made to take while nailed to the cross.

If one does not know the purpose of these practices and instruments of penance, it can seem odd to the modern mind, but I am not prepared to launch into a detailed explanation of the need for ascetic practice because I am usually writing for a community of people who are generally aware of the basics of Catholicism and monastic life. If you have stumbled across my blog, however, and you are not familiar, I will be happy to refer you to some excellent articles that explain these things. Just send me a comment here or find me on Facebook and I will be happy to speak with you. It need not be a public conversation, as I do not publish the comments I receive.

All sorts of things are considered penitential. Giving alms to the poor, for instance, is considered a penitential practice. Any time we give of ourselves, it involves some sacrifice on our part, and it can be considered to be a penance, especially if done intentionally.

20 years ago, when I became so disabled that I was no longer physically able to work outside the home, I decided to live as an independent monastic, in the tradition of a hermit, since my circumstances forced me into a semi-solitary state. My hermitage has to be located in a fairly urban area because my disabilities require medical supervision and care. The situation of an "urban hermit" is not the traditional setup, obviously, but the location of my apartment is somewhat rural, and it works for me.

Being physically disabled is not considered to be an ideal state in which to embark upon monastic life. It is a difficult life that requires a lot of discipline and a degree of penance, depending on the order one joins. I would never be accepted into a monastic institution in my current state or age of life, as I would be an increasingly inconvenient member of the community. 

In fact, 40 years ago, before I converted to Christianity, I was already beginning to experience some physical problems when I was a nun in a Hindu convent. Even then, I found it extremely difficult to carry out the many daily hours of physical labor that were required. I was often on the cooking schedule, for instance, making the one daily meal for the community of 12, with little or no help, and I remember having to endure quite a lot of physical pain because of all the standing. In fact, it injured me, and I spent a few weeks in a wheel chair, simply from the stress of it, as the disabilities from which I currently suffer were making themselves known at that time. This was inconvenient to the community and caused some of the women to become irate. It was a distressing situation that most monastic institutions are careful to avoid, when they can. 

Me, on the left, when I was in the Hindu Convent,

sitting with friends and the swami

If I had not left to get baptized and convert to Catholicism, I do not know how long they would have allowed me to stay, considering my poor physical condition. My intellectual and spiritual gifts were not in high demand. Half of the nuns were already seniors who were occupying the few jobs that were primarily of an intellectual nature. Their need was for young, physically able people who could keep us fed and the house clean and everything in good working order. This is not an unusual state of affairs for a monastic institution of any religion.

The nuns, eating our main meal of the day

(with the swami visiting)

We meditated a minimum of 3 hours per day, which was a delight, but the newer nuns were also required to do all the menial labor jobs, such as house cleaning, cooking, and that sort of thing. We also performed the daily worship services, which involved some gardening, hiking, and flower preparation. These positions were avoided by the senior members, but I enjoyed the quiet physicality, even if it did hurt my body.

I have always been a voracious reader, and while I was in that convent, I read all the books that were sold in the book store and our catalog by mail. The books by and about the  Catholic mystics and contemplatives, such as St. Teresa of Avilla and St. John of the Cross, Jane de Chantal and St. Francis de Sales tugged at my heart strings.

Saint Jane de Chantal

I read the Desert "fathers" and "mothers," as well as the modern writers, such as Thomas Merton. I couldn't get enough of the mystics! I realized that Catholicism had struck my heart in a way that Vedanta never could. So I left the convent, became Christian, and went back to work in a secular job as a legal secretary. But I always missed monastic life.

Therefore, when I had to retire early, it quickly occurred to me that I could replicate convent life for myself in my little urban apartment and live as an urban hermit, dedicated to God, and live a contemplative life, similar to what I had experienced in the Hindu convent, the schedule and setup of which had been modeled on Catholic contemplative orders. I missed monastic life very much and was thrilled at the idea that I might return to it, in my own fashion.

Saint Anthony the Great - Hermit

My inability to do physical labor would not inconvenience anyone but myself. Keeping a monastic schedule would prove to be difficult, of course. The older I became, the worse the illnesses grew. My Rule of Life had to adhere to the spiritual principles and aims of a monastic hermit life while at the same time accommodating my increasingly inconvenient physical condition. It took some time to come to grips with my limitations and to accept the fact that, like Brother Lawrence, who practiced the presence of God, I am not one of those "high class" monastics whose practice appears to be perfectly regulated to the typical standard.

With regard to my prayer schedule, I adjusted that to accommodate the fact that simply caring for oneself, without help, takes a terribly long time. My solution for that was to be flexible about the timing of my formal prayers and to "pray without ceasing" at all times of the day, through various methods. (I have dealt with this in my blog post about MY RULE OF LIFE, which you may find HERE)

The Jesus Prayer is dear to my heart, and I pray it throughout the day:

"Lord, 

Jesus Christ,

Son of God,

Have mercy upon me,

a poor sinner."

In the early stages of organizing my hermitage, I realized that, rather than having to artificially create pain or inconvenience to fulfill the penitential aspect of the life, I could simply make use of the terrible chronic pain and disfunction which I suffer naturally. I offer it to God in reparation for my own sins and the sins of the world. 

Since I live in an urban setting, albeit close to a rural area and the Rio Grande River, I do have neighbors and, although I do not seek them out for entertainment, I work hard to be helpful to them, when needed. These are small offerings, but they are intentional. 

In these ways, I have transformed, in my mind, what could be considered a personal disaster into a blessed life for which I am grateful. I am a living offering to the Lord, even though my living space has few of the accoutrements enjoyed by monastics living in traditional monastic quarters.

In the beginning of my hermit life, I was more physically able, and I regularly attended mass, but I am not longer able to do that, so I stream the Mass from various providers on the internet. I have no real spiritual support from my parish. I was finally able to get someone to bring me the eucharist at home, but it took a couple years of calling them and begging for it. 

UPDATE (5/26/25): Receiving the Eucharist at home did not last long. A few months into reception of the Eucharist, the woman who brought the Eucharist turned out to be suffering from something which caused her to experience bouts of terrifyingly violent explosions of anger. While driving back from an errand one day, with me in the car with her, instead of talking to me, she screamed and yelled and "talked to" other drivers on the road. She was irate at the way everyone else was driving. 

Suddenly, she stopped the car - in the middle of the street, with me in it - so that she could walk to the car behind us, stand outside it and yell at the driver of that vehicle! It was nerve-wracking for me, especially since I am particularly sensitive to unrestrained or savage scenes.

At my home, she set in on me with that same anger. I was sitting in my recliner, and she loomed above me - standing over me and yelling at me. I was afraid she was going to hit me or do something else violent. I did not allow her to return after that.

When I told the Deacon manager of homebound ministry what had happened, he told me he did not believe me because he knew she would never do something like that and that he would not be sending anyone else. His manner was cold and unfeeling. 

Telling me that I am a liar does not seem like a wise or Christian thing to do. It demonstrated to me that he is yet another person who is faking his religious sentiments. There is a lot of that sort of thing in America at this time. For some people, religion is a social construct and/or a manner in which some people find a position of power or prestige. Others find social connections by which they telegraph legitimacy and respectability. The love of Christ is absent.

The hard-bitten and cruel attitudes of Donald Trump and his minions are reflected in the attitudes and behavior of these people. If you are poor with no family and have nothing to bring to the parish, or if you are not a devotee of Trump, you are shunned.

But the more I am mistreated by these people, the kinder The Lord is to me. The vast lacuna of Christian friendship that the parish leaves behind is filled to overflowing with God, the Blessed Mother, the angels and the saints. I am especially blessed with many sainted ancestors in my family tree, such as Saint Margaret of Scotland and Saint Olga of Kiev "Equal to the Apostles."

Not all parishes are cold and hostile places - but enough are there to present a challenge when trying to make a connection with The Church when one is disabled and homebound.

"Anger is a kind of temporary madness"

~ St. Basil the Great ~

Some Catholic parishes shun and mistreat the poor and needy, disabled and senior who reach out to them, while at the same time they express wonder at why their membership is dwindling.

At any rate, you cannot live this life and be emotionally needy. As a modern-day hermit, one has to be confident in one's connection with The Lord and His love for you because the parish will not likely reach out to you unless you were well known to them prior to becoming disabled and/or you have a lot of family that belongs to the parish. Every community has its own personality, of course. I am just saying that lack of spiritual support from your church family may be one of those painful things you will have to offer up, if you embark on this life, and, even if you have no interest in becoming a hermit, disability and isolation may force you into that position, so you might as well find a way to enjoy it and embrace the vocation that has been thrust on you. God brings all things to the good for those who believe.

Saint Melania the Elder

as a Hermit

Another challenging situation to offer up is that growing disabilities make it more and more difficult to make one's hermitage look like a place of prayer. I have no help at home, even though approved for 28 hours of housekeeping services a week by Medicaid because there are simply not enough people available to do this kind of work. Every once in a while, someone is offered by the agency, but I have had to eventually reject these people, as most of them have had domestic problems that interfere or they were drug addicts, alcoholics, or generally unreliable.

I am learning to accept things as they are and to be grateful for everything, even though there are dishes piled up in the sink. Art projects and rosary makings, meant to supplement the income, present a colorful, happy mess on the art table. The mail has piled up because I am now blind in one eye, and it takes a long time to slog through it. The floor needs sweeping. But, in my mind and heart, I am in Heaven with God, our Blessed Mother, and all the saints and angels.  I am surrounded by the entire Heavenly Court, singing the Lord's praises and enjoying the consolations that being near The Lord bestows.

I predict that we are going to have a growing number of senior Catholics turning to this kind of life, as they grow older. Baby boomers are retiring at the rate of about 10,000 people PER DAY, many of them in fragile or ill health, and it has occurred to me that all of those who are Catholic could do the same as what I am doing. There are SO MANY resources in the forms of books and videos, YouTube talks, and  streaming mass that the guidance is available, even if you do not have a single human person leading you down this path. The ascetic practices become a natural outgrowth of one's normal life as a senior person.

Living as a hermitess is also considered to be, in itself, a penitential type of life. Many baby boomers find themselves alone at the end of their lives. Perhaps this vocation is meant to be.

Saint Marina

as a Hermit

Whether you construct your life as an "urban hermit" or a wife and mother, or a single working person, the method of adopting the intentional offering of life's sufferings as a spiritual practice can be used by anyone. You don't need a hair shirt or a scourge. Offer up all of the naturally occurring sufferings! In this way, all of it becomes spiritual currency. 

The emptiness of your life will be filled by Christ, His Blessed Mother, the angels and the saints, as it is mine.

God bless us all. 

Silver Rose

COMMUNING WITH SAINT EANFLEDA ON THANKSGIVING

 

The First Thanksgiving, 1621

by

Jean Leon Gerome Ferris

(1863-1930)

I am such a dummy at times. I am sure we have all had realizations which, on their occurrence, make us want to smack ourselves on the head and say, "here it was, in front of me all the time, and I did not see it!  DUH!"

When I went to sleep last night, I prayed for two things: (1) that I would be able to sleep at least 6 hours to get the amount of sleep I am told we "need." Plus, I wanted to be fresh enough to go to my cousin Bobby's house for Thanksgiving dinner, and (2) that The Lord would give me some insight into His intentions for me with regard to my contemplative monastic vocation because I am making a hash of it and clearly I have gone off the rails somewhere.

Well, I woke up after only 4 hours and, no matter what I did, I was unable to lure myself into any more sleep. I was simply awake. PERIOD. So much for prayer number 1.

(As an aside, we all know that if we have told him we want to know His will, He will not give us what we pray for if it is not within the orbit of that will (unless there is a lesson in there that will bring us back around to it) - and especially if we have not recognized A GIFT HE HAS GIVEN US.)

I have lately been complaining about how my environment is not conducive to spiritual life, how it is noisy and the people disruptive, and how, in addition, I have all these physical problems which I do offer up, in a general way, but have yet to really incorporate into my spiritual disciplines or my understanding of what God wants from me.

But one of those very maladies that has appeared over the last decade, as mentioned before, is a "terrible" case of insomnia in which I am absolutely unable to sleep any longer than 4 hours at a time (at which point I wake up ready to take on the world) unless I dose myself with melatonin and marijuana, and a Benedryl chaser. (P.S. I have a prescription for the marijuana exactly for this purpose, just to be clear. I had never been a cannabis imbiber until that doctor suggested it. I am FAR too square to be a druggie. Hey, I don't even drink.)

When I first embarked upon my solitary contemplative monastic vocation, the first thing I worried about was that I would not be able to fulfill the vision I had of this vocation because my entire life I had been unable to interrupt my 8 hour sleep cycle.

Please don't laugh at me. I am as dense as anyone else at times.

I was watching a video that I just "happened" to find this morning on YouTube, while having my morning coffee, after my 4 hour sleep, of a man giving a talk about converting from Judaism to Catholicism and how his trip to a Carthusian monastery impressed him so very much. He recounted the schedule of the monks, who must rise at midnight and chant the office until 2:30 a.m. or thereabouts.

He mentioned a film I have seen, not once, but at least three times, about the Carthusian contemplative orders, and I suddenly felt a prodding from within:

"Ummmm...Silver Rose...you COULD just use this gift of 4 hour sleep cycles to incorporate chanting the Holy Office - in the middle of the night - when it is dead quiet," The Lord seemed to be saying to me. "Seeing as how you've been complaining about your inability to do all the prayers and supporting practices that I like to hear from my monastics." You can just hear the smile in His comment, can't you?

Of course I laughed at myself, which I end up doing quite frequently these days. Thank goodness there are no humans about to see all my mistakes, but I sometimes wonder if human beings are akin to God's form of television entertainment, in which case, I am a funny reality show, complete with pratfalls and stupid utterances. (It's not a perfect metaphor, I know, because God is probably both the watcher and the director, as well as the production crew, all in one.)

Today' saint, my cousin, Saint Enflaeda, may be sitting in Heaven enjoying the farce also. "HOW long did it take this woman to figure it out?" she may rightly say.

I have a LOT of ancestors and cousins who began life as a normal sort of householder, or even a royal one, but because they came from a long line of saints, by the end of their lives they were firmly ensconced in the monastery, praying for the rest of the world, and usually RUNNING the darn thing because God was prompting them from within and everyone else could see it.

Saint Enflaeda, (3rd cousin, 39 times removed) was the daughter of King Edwin of Northumbria and Queen Aethelburh of Kent (or Leminge) (my 2nd cousin, 40 times removed). She lived between 601 and 647 A.D. Their marriage heralded the beginning of the conversion of the northern part of England to Christianity, since a condition of the marriage was that King Edwin had to convert. Aethelburh was Christian, and if he wanted to marry HER, he had to do this.

 

Whitby Abbey's Ruins, today

Their daughter, Enflaeda, (today's saint, whose feast day it is) in turn, married a minor king Oswiu, and after HE died she retired to Whitby Abbey, where she guided the nuns as co-Abbess with her daughter Aelfflaed, who had been raised in that place, under the original Abbess, Hild, from the age of one year old! (These people were serious about their religion and it was not uncommon for very young girls to be given to monastic institutions to be raised as a nun from very early years.)

Oswiu had been married before, and because this was so far back in time, we are not positive which children belonged to which wife. There is general agreement of probability, but that's the best we can do. All I know for certain is that Eanfleda was both queen and mother and had an active worldly life until her husband died. Aelfflaed, who was given to Whitby at the age of one year old, was certainly her child.

A sketch of Whitby, as it used to be

Generally speaking, if you want to join a Catholic convent, then as now, you pretty much have to be either a virgin or a widow. (And sometimes you had no CHOICE about it.) Otherwise, you must remain at home and conduct your spiritual practices there. (Many saints, such as Rose of Lima, naturally gravitate toward the home base anyway.)

Catholics nurture a horror of divorced persons, even if the divorce was made prior to baptism. That's been my experience. I stopped fighting the prejudice long ago, despite the official position being something else entirely. There is a Catholic culture perpetuated by cradle Catholics, for the most part, in which Catholics treat converts as if they were supposed to behave as Catholics their entire lives - even when they were heathen. It makes no sense and, like I said, it is not the official position of the church because it discounts the importance, function and implications of baptism. But I'm too sick to fight it at this stage of life, especially since I am now fully disabled and going blind. I am my OWN abbess at my OWN monastery. I call mine "Silver Cottage Hermitage."

The Shrine in the Main Room

at Silver Cottage Hermitage

This brings up the topic of praying for something and hearing "no" as an answer, only to discover that God was watching out for me with His "no." Perfect example is my inability to get support for my monastic vocation. Two decades after dedicating myself to God, I've become so disabled as to become useless to any institution and, on my bad days, would have been a positive drain on whatever place that had found itself stuck with me. In my case, I can clearly see that The Lord was simply turning trouble into transportation to where I needed to be, even if the reasons given initially were poppycock.

I still think I am due for a change of monastic atmosphere somewhere in the future, but I am not sure where or under what conditions. I have already lost the central vision in my left eye, so when I lose the vision in my right (if that does, indeed, come to pass) then a LOT of the activities that I do now will become obsolete, and the space for them will no longer be required. I can envision giving away my library of physical books, as I won't be able to read them. Also my art supplies, my craft supplies, and various other possessions. I will be traveling light, once more, as I always used to do. I wouldn't be driving, that is certain. That may be another decade down the road.

My depth perception is already very bad, and I am bumping into things and dropping things constantly. Every day I must learn a new technique to keep from destroying the world around me. Only God knows what this life will look like before long. We shall see what He has in mind for me.

In the meantime, I do the very best I can, with my limited resources, understanding, and supports.

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Mine was very quiet, as I was not feeling well enough to travel to someone's house and spend hours there. I've eaten simply and enjoyed my time researching today's saint.

Tonight I will see if that movie about the Carthusians can be streamed without charge on Amazon or elsewhere, and I will start to research their schedule and open up my imagination to how I may simplify something for myself, here at home, that is flexible enough to accommodate my disabilities.

By the way, I am still campaigning to get some food into the cupboards. Inflation has wreaked havoc with my food stores, there are certain things my doctors want me to eat, and some money-making attempts have failed miserably while sucking up my resources at the same time. Amazon has my address and will mail to me direct. Any and all help is very much appreciated.

HERE IS THE GROCERY & FOOD STORAGE WISH LIST ON AMAZON - CLICK HERE

May we all be blessed!

Silver Rose

SAINT LUTGARDIS AND LOVE OF ENEMY

Saint Lutgardis in prayer

Today marks the death anniversary of Saint Lutgardis, who was a nun who died on this date (June 16) in 1246.  I admit that this lovely saint has little to do with the topic of loving one's enemies, but she is the saint I've chosen for the day, while the Gospel Reading of the day deals with loving one's enemies and praying for those who persecute us.

There is a whole long list of saints who are honored today.  That's the way it is for most days of the calendar year.  There are far more than 365 saints, so they all have to share.  I picked St. Lutgardis (sometimes Lutgarda or Luthgard, depending on the language of the country in which you live.) I had not heard of her before, and I am making an effort to broaden my knowledge of the saints, so she was my choice.  She was also a nun from the age of about 12.  I love to learn about other nuns, as it inspires me to cling more fervently to my own unique vocation.

The holy people we remember today are:

St. Benno
Bl. Guy Vignotelli
St. Aurelian
St. Berthaldus
St. Tychon
St. Colman McRhoi
St. Felix & Maurus
St. Luthgard (Lutgardis, Lutgarda)
St. John Francis Regis
St. Aureus
Bl. William Greenwood
St. Cettin
St. Curig
St. Ferreolus & Ferrutio
St. Quiriacus and Julitta

If you have some curiosity about the other saints, Catholic.org has a wonderful website with extensive information and a great search feature that allows you to find the saints either by date or by name.  The link for that page is HERE.

There was a time in history when ladies had only two choices in life.  You either married or you joined a convent.  Generally speaking, it was rather shameful to be a spinster living at home, but, as with all generalizations, this was not always true.  Lutgardis's father had managed to squander her dowry in a bad investment scheme which meant she could not marry.  At the age of 12, he sent her off to a convent, despite her having no monastic vocation to speak of. In fact, she came and went as she pleased and entertained all visitors she wanted, both male and female.  Then something happened in the way of a vision which set her firmly on the path to heaven.  She grew more and more devout, had visions, a type of stigmata, and levitated during prayer.

You will find her entire story HERE.

The thing I found most inspiring was that she began with no interest in God whatsoever, but ended up becoming a great mystic and saint, which speaks to the importance of teaching one's children the faith.  Often times, a child will express disinterest in a topic, skill, or way of life, but they have no way of knowing if they are interested until and unless you introduce them to it.  Exposure to a thing is necessary.  I think it very odd when someone says that they are not going to teach their child about God but will "let them choose" when they're 18.  Let them choose based on WHAT information, I want to know!

Saint Lutgardis gives me hope that, even if we start out as vain, superficial people, we can grow and improve and "become perfect" as our "father in heaven is perfect," which brings me to today's Gospel reading.

Matthew 5:43-48

(43)  You have heard how it was said, you will love your neighbor and hate your enemy,

(44)  But I say this to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you;

(45)  so that that you may be children of your Father in heaven, for he causes his sun to rise on the bad as well as the good and sends down rain to fall on the upright and the wicked alike.

(46)  For if you love those who love you, what reward will you get?  Do not even the tax collectors do as much?

(47)  And if you save your greetings for your brothers, are you doing anything exceptional?

(48)  Do not even the gentiles do as much?  You must therefore be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.

It occurred to me that I have, in the past, prayed for people who have done me grave harm in one way or the other, but it has been quite a while since I prayed for those people.  I have forgiven them and I did pray for them for some time, at least until it was fixed in my brain that those people had been forgiven, but I wonder if Jesus intended that we continue to pray for our enemies, over and over again?  How much is enough?  I am unsure about this aspect of things.  I am grateful that this reading came to me today so that I would have that little nudge that would inspire me to examine an important aspect of my prayer life.  I'll have to ponder this one a bit.

In the meantime, I offer this translation of St. Lutgardis's Heavenly Court: ST. LUTGARDIS'S "HEAVENLY COUR"

The doctor called today.  The latest tests reveal that my illness is still a mystery.  He will call again tomorrow with information about the next steps to take.

Despite being in the middle of an intense pain episode, I made a big pot of vegetarian soup today, with organic tomatoes, kidney beans, red onion, garlic, olive oil, celery, new spring potatoes, and just enough cayenne to warm the mouth.  I put a little brown sugar in there also, to put a damper on the tang of the tomatoes.  I fed a couple neighbors in an impromptu, casual supper: me with my legs propped up on a big box with a pillow on top (my recliner is broken), one neighbor on my couch with a tray and another at the tiny white table in the middle of the living room.  I've lost the ability to socialize in a group, for the most part.  Having spent the last 11 years as a solitary, with very little company, silence has become my friend.  I do enjoy a conversation of substance, but those are sometimes very hard to find or generate.

Now that there is a dog in the house again, I am forced into a walking schedule, which I am assuming is good for anything that ails me.  I have yet to hear of an illness in which they tell you NOT to walk, even if walking makes you feel like someone is sticking hot pokers up your spine and in your kneecaps.  Anyway, it is time to walk the cutest dog in the world.  I'll pray for you while we stroll.

God bless us all.

Silver "Rose" Parnell
(c) 2015

SCIENTOLOGY, HINDUISM, BUDDHISM, CATHOLICISM, AND ME

Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo

location in Carmel, California

Many women find themselves, in middle or late age, longing to realize a strong monastic vocation that, for various reasons, they have been unable to pursue in their youth.  In my case, I was raised without any religion whatsoever.  In fact, my parents were hostile to religion in general and Catholicism in particular.  They were generally narcissistic people, who divorced when I was about 5 and spent the rest of their lives chasing sex, money and glamour.

Their children, my sister and I, were left to our own devices, to learn about life on our own. Consequently, I began to develop the inclination toward art, music and religion - all the beauties of life.

Me, at about age 8

We had a Cuban babysitter when I was about 6 or 7.  My mother was working at one of just a very few jobs she ever had.  The babysitter spoke no English, so we had to learn Spanish to communicate with her.  One day she took us out of the house and down to an enormous Catholic church to attend mass.  We were mystified by it all.  At one point, a man in a long robe at the front of the church was passing out cookies to lots of young children who were kneeling at a railing.  I was hungry.  I asked Iday if we could go get a cookie, but she didn't understand what I was saying.  I grabbed my little sister's hand and ran up the aisle, dutifully kneeling as I saw the other children doing.  When the priest got to me, he asked me, "Have you had your first communion?"  I said, "huh?" and looked at him, mouth agape in confusion.  He laughed to himself, cast a glance at me and then my sister, and walked past us with the cookies.  Red with embarrassment, I dragged my sister back to our seat.  We were hungry, darn it! (Food was typically scarce in our house. My body became conservative, and I got fat. My sister was thin as a rail. Go figure.)

When I was about 11 years old, my mother moved us to the beautiful Carmel Valley in California.  I was a lonely child and spent many hours riding around town on my little Schwin bicycle with its colorful "banana seat", long handle bars and plastic streamers flowing from the handles.  The Carmel Mission, though a long ride from my home, was my favorite haunt.  It was open every day and there was no fee to enter.

I loved to wander through the book store and admire the pretty medals and rosaries, knowing nothing of their use or meaning.  But I had a fascination for it all.  I sensed the mystical message behind the beautiful artistic presentation. The man behind the counter felt sorry for me, I think.  Every once in a while he would give me an inexpensive little book mark or a colorful medal of Saint Therese or the Virgin Mary.  I was an avid reader and I would hide the medals in my books at home.  I am still a collector of medals and holy cards, to a certain extent.  I like to keep the holy cards at my primary prayer corner and take a moment during the day to ask for the saints' intercession.  Holy cards also make great book markers!

One day, the nice man gave me a pamphlet about the Carmelite nuns. In it, there was an address to write to them.  Enchanted by the descriptions of the life of peace and silence, I sent them a letter.  This began a short period of correspondence that was brought to an abrupt halt by my mother, who cuttingly announced to me, "do you think they will want you when they find out your mother is DIVORCED?"  She pronounced the word with a distinct air of scandal. This would not be the last time that my love of God and my mystical bent would be crushed under the weight of worldly considerations and the pettiness of a woman with her own selfish agenda.

"We know the goal: union with God. You may ask,

'what is union with God and how do I attain it?"

Union with God means seeking to do the will of

God with every choice we make.'"

website of the Carmelites

Carmel, California

Indeed, the nuns did stop writing me.  I realize now that, in all likelihood, my mother had written them and told them to bug off, but I was left with the impression that she had been right, that I was somehow tainted by my mother's divorce.  Later in life, I would learn that Catholic people DO have a "thing" about divorce, and many Catholic people, lay and professed, use their own misunderstanding of it to discriminate against people, even where the faith itself does not. More about that later.

Carmelite Monastery of Our Lady and Saint Terese

Carmel, California

"Our life with God draws us to the deepest empathy

with the sorrows, the joys and the hopes so confidently

entrusted to our prayers each day."

At the tender age of 17, I left my abusive home and struck out on my own, with nothing but the clothes on my back.  My mother had hidden my car keys.  I had received the car as my high school graduation present.  It was a hand-me-down from my father's new wife who, he said, "deserved better."  It later went to my sibling, like nearly everything I had ever been given.  (It had been a bizarre home life in which my mother had labeled me the "bad" daughter because I was fat, mostly, but also because I really WAS different. I WAS the "outsider" in a home of bigoted and cruel narcissists.)

Life was very difficult, but despite continuing survival issues including a brief homeless stint, I continued to yearn for God, for peace, for a life of prayer, and a life that meant something.  My search was not what I would call successful.  I fell in with some Scientologists and spent some time working for L. Ron Hubbard on his "flagship" that traveled between Lisbon, Portugal, to the northern regions of Spain, in Basque country.  Franco was still in charge in those days, and Spain was more than a little tense.  In the end, L. Ron Hubbard made me tense, with his odd habits and very strange personal aura. I had originally fallen in with these people because of my feeling of love for mankind and a desire to devote my life to the betterment of the human race. I very soon lost confidence in this cultish group of well-meaning people, once I had interacted with its founder.

Scientology flagship "Apollo"

(I lived on this ship in 1974)

From the obvious drawbacks of the Scientologists, I flirted with a form of Buddhism that involved a lot of chanting.  An actress friend of mine was wild about this Nichiren Shoshu Buddhism, and pushed me to try it. That's all I remember about it, except that all the women I knew who practiced this religion were using it as a way to get things out of life...like cars and boyfriends.  It hardly seemed worth the effort and was obviously not a genuine pursuit. Using religion to obtain worldly things is pecuniary, when God is offering us so much more! Surely, there is a bit of The Lord in everything but it is not the THINGS in which He resides on which I set my sights. It is He alone that draws me.  In any case, there was no peace or joy for me, and it lasted a very short time.

To be fair, I did very little reading in connection with this religious sect, and the superficiality with which I approached it probably has something to do with my completely dismissive attitude toward it. I have yet to experience a religion that does not have something wonderful to recommend it, so please do not take my word for this religion or any other. It may be wonderful. It just was not wonderful for me.

After some extremely difficult life occurrences, I found myself in an apartment in Sacramento, working in a law firm and spending my free time in meditation and prayer.  I had a very big walk-in closet in this apartment on the second floor of a small apartment complex. It was not a very quiet neighborhood, so I used to close myself in this closet and meditate on my oneness with the Lord. I felt his presence within me, and I within him. I wanted more of this feeling. I also wanted to connect to other people who loved the Lord in this way.

I decided that I needed to learn how to meditate properly.  So, I picked up a phone book and found a group that sounded East Indian:  The Vedanta Society of Sacramento. Oddly enough, though I called the main number, my call somehow rolled over onto the Swami's private telephone and, although Swami Shraddhananda appeared to be alarmed that I was calling him on that number, he was also very warm and welcoming. He invited me to come to the temple and meet HIM.

Interior of the Temple

VEDANTA SOCIETY OF SACRAMENTO

That phone call was the beginning of more than a decade of close association with this group that posited the idea that "all religions lead to God."  Well, that sounded nice and tolerant and broad.  Plus, they taught meditation.  Just the ticket.  I became very involved because I did love the meditation and the peace that I felt on the premises.

Being service minded, and not having the distraction of husband or boyfriends, I immediately started volunteering in the beautiful gardens. My plot of land was the Saint Francis garden. I remember, specifically, the begonias. I had never seen begonias before, but these were lovely and I have been captivated by begonias ever since.

The pond at Vedanta Society, Sacramento Temple

I attended the celebrations in connection with various religious holidays (the "pujas") and made some friends, but Swami Shraddhananda was ill and didn't just initiate new "disciples" at the drop of a hat. He was a well respected guru, with many disciples.

On Saturdays, after doing my work, I would sit outside on the concrete while everyone else was inside with the swami, enjoying refreshments and his talk. I couldn't be there because I wasn't one of them. (Do we see a theme beginning to form?)

Swami Shraddhanandaji

Vedanta Society of Sacramento

(my first swami)

I did this for about a year, but then I was let go from my job. A client told me she liked me better than my boss, and he did not like this.  I decided to return to Los Angeles, where there was more work and better paying work. When I told the Swami that I was leaving, he seemed upset. Apparently, he had "just decided" to initiate me with a mantra, but it was too late. I was leaving and had no way to stay. (In later years, he would tease my guru, Swami Swahanandaji, saying that I really "belonged" to him! It was sweet.)

Shortly after relocating back to Hollywood, I threw myself into service projects at the Hollywood Vedanta Society. I met Swami Swahananda, who impressed me very much with his wisdom and his humor. We got along famously. I loved spending time with him, visiting in the afternoon after his work was completed, taking one or two walks a day, and basically soaking up everything I could of the Vedantic worldview, the breadth and depth of which continued to entrance me.

I absolutely fell in love with Vedanta philosophy and, after a couple years of involvement, decided to join the convent. There was resistance from the nuns. They told the swami they didn't want me because I was too old and too fat. I think I was 32 years old at this point.

Here I am, "fat" and happy

sitting with the swami and other "devotees."

Finally, he made them take me. They were being ridiculous. [At one point he had said I should try to lose some weight and "then return to your natural state." He was so funny.] Looking back on my experience with the nuns in the convent, I recognize this behavior as very typical of any American group, religious or secular. People want you to give them your youth, your beauty, or your money. If you don't have at least one of those, no one wants you. 

In the convent, we had a large library of books of most of the major religious traditions.  The darndest thing happened.  Every time I walked in there, I gravitated toward the Catholic books, especially the ones about the Catholic mystics and Catholic religious orders.  I also particularly loved the Eastern Orthodox magazines and books like, The Way of the Pilgrim, and the Philokalia.  I would tell myself that I "should" read the Hindu-based books, but they left me cold, for the most part.

In my experience, the Hindu books sacrificed love and warmth in the interest of justifying the religion through scientific allusions, which I do not believe it has to do.

These Catholic books were my first introduction to Christian history, theology and cosmology, except for the slim pamphlets I'd been sent from the Carmelites as a young girl.  In my childhood, I'd never had a friend who was Christian.  My mother moved us to another city every year, one step ahead of the creditors or the last boyfriend or whatever.  It wasn't enough time to get to know anyone.  No one in my family was overtly Christian.  My grandmother frequently said, "all you need is the golden rule," and that no one needed to go to church.  In my 20's, I had been working in the entertainment industry.  I didn't meet any Christians there either.

While mystics like Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, and Therese of Lisieux were speaking to me through the many books in our catalog and our convent library, the nuns were doing their best to destroy my happiness. One of the younger ones was always screaming at me over petty things. I can't even remember her objections, they were so frivolous. Another spied on me. I would find her standing at my bedroom door, with her ear right there. (Many times, I discovered her standing in the stairwell behind the kitchen, avidly listening to the conversations of the other nuns.) This nun made me take the shower slot AFTER her but would fail to rise in time for it, and then harangue me for taking my shower before her, even though it was in my time slot. Stupid things like this. They generally did every petty thing that women do to ruin the serenity of other women. (My theory is that this is the reason why men are in charge of the world. Women are so busy gossiping about one another they fail to notice when the man takes the prize.

At the same time, the harsh physical requirements of the constant manual labor required from all the "younger" nuns had destroyed my back, my sclerotic hips, my knees and my varicose veins. At one point, I was in a wheelchair. The ersatz head of the convent, fueled by God only knows what, went to the swami and claimed I was "faking" it. He did not buy it for a minute, but he did tell me about it, and finally, I decided I'd had enough. I left the convent, ostensibly to become Catholic and then join a Catholic convent, but that did not work out. More about that later.

I will put a pin in my narrative at this point to make an observation. Mostly, I left the Vedanta convent because I mistakenly thought that the love of one another and the egalitarianism that is so clearly advocated by Jesus and his religion was missing from the groups with which I'd had some experience, up to that point, because of some failure of the religions themselves. I imagined that I had finally found my home in the Catholic faith, and that the meanness of the nuns, the dishonesty, the cruelty and the obsessions about superficial trivialities, would not be part of that shining beacon on the hill - the Catholic Church. Now at age 65, looking back, and having the wonderful opportunity to have delved deep into some form of each of the major religious traditions (as well as some cultish ones), I now see my mistake. I had attributed their merciless torment to some failing of the religion, when they were actually just being humans

After leaving the convent, I began taking RCIA classes at the large Catholic Church near my workplace in Beverly Hills.  About halfway through the classes, the nun in charge summoned me to her office and announced that it would be "years" before they would consent to baptize me because I had been divorced.

To be clear, I was leading a chaste life.  I had no boyfriend.  I wasn't dating.  There was no reason to deny me baptism (which is supposed to wash you clean of ALL sin), but this nun was under a misconception, which she gleefully transmitted to me.  Evidently, getting a divorce was so sinful in her mind, that baptism couldn't even fix me. I tried to refer her to certain sources that would disabuse her of her mistaken idea, but she was insistent and she was nasty about it. I gave up and walked away. I didn't know a single Catholic and I had no idea what else to do.

Heartbroken, but still wanting to be baptized Christian, I walked across the street to the big Episcopal Church, entered their class midway and was baptized on April 11, 1993.  This Episcopal Church was what they call "high church." The music was classical, gorgeous, and inspiring.

The minister was a very masculine woman who made me very uneasy and who rarely smiled.  Aside from the female minister, they had all the bells and smells of a Catholic Church but something was definitely missing.  Later, I would come to believe that it was possibly the apostolic succession that was so necessary but which was absent. Also absent? The mystical life.

I made some noises about joining an Episcopal convent, but there weren't that many of them, and the mystical life was not emphasized, that I could see. I remember a strange interview with a nun who had no joints in the middle of her fingers. She pointed out the aberration and I couldn't stop looking at them after she made a thing out of it. She was dismissive of my desire to be one of them. What IS it about groups that makes them want to exclude people? Jesus wasn't like that. Anyway, this is how groups are kept small. Perhaps that is the point.

One thing I particularly missed in the Episcopal Church (as in Vedanta and other religions) was Jesus' mandate that we love one another.  The Catholic Church had made it clear it didn't want me because I had been divorced, and what could be more unloving than that sort of rejection?  I just couldn't seem to find a religious "home". Not having a family, I didn't fit in. I understood that family is a great thing, but why is there no provision for those who do not HAVE one? This is a major failing of the Christian churches, in my mind.

After a period of sadness, confusion, and challenging life issues, I returned to the Hindus by taking sannyas vows by permission of my Hindu teacher.  These vows, essentially, make one a female swami.  You could say that they are the "final" vows of a Hindu monastic, some of whom live in monasteries, but most live ascetic lives by themselves.  I wanted to devote myself to God completely and felt that these vows would help me.

While living in a large apartment complex, I met a woman who was an Ursaline nun.  We became friends.  I did her genealogy and found that she was my 11th cousin.  When I confided to her what had happened to me when I had tried to become Catholic and how sad it had made me, she informed me that the nun who had refused me baptism had been completely wrong.  Unless I had been living in an "irregular" second marriage or living in sin with someone, there was absolutely no bar to baptism or confirmation in the church.  She offered to sponsor me if I still wanted to become Catholic, and I took her up on it.

Thus began my dual "citizenship," as it were. I was to be a mystic, a renunciate in the Vedantic tradition, as a sannyasini, and the Catholics would be my group.

Once again, I had problems, however, because of my physical health issues.  I was unable to sit through the classes and had to pursue a private course.  I wanted to be confirmed in the Byzantine Catholic Church that I loved so much but, while the priest was willing to have me pursue a private course, the deacon said he didn't have the time, and he refused me.  Once again, the door had been closed on me.

I wasn't going to let this rejection throw me off, however.  My cousin had an acquaintance at a large church near my house.  We had a meeting with her, made arrangements for my confirmation.

After a period of poor health, trying different Roman Catholic Churches, I returned to the Byzantine Catholic Church that I loved so much.  The Byzantines are, essentially, Orthodox style churches that either stayed with the Catholic Church or joined it.  I can't remember the specific history.  There is only one in New Mexico and it is in the town where I live.  The liturgy is very beautiful and is sung by the congregation, without instruments.

In this church, there was a handicapped, retired priest, who I hoped would be my new spiritual director, but he seemed out of his element when I tried to talk to him about it. He seemed to be a man of great spirituality and intelligence, but the mystical life was not something I could talk about with him.  He seemed puzzled that I would want to discuss my spiritual life with him. Shortly after joining that church, a new priest came on the scene and took over as the pastor.  He is just a couple years younger than the age of my son, if my son had not died, and I looked upon him with a motherly eye.

I offered to fill a need in the bookstore on Sundays, and was very happy to have a little role. It did not last long, however, because the young Ukrainian priest started harassing me in a shocking way, and my physical health became affected. 

Rituals are important in whatever faith you ascribe. The ritual of the yearly house blessing is something that the Byzantine Catholics do, and I invited this young priest to bless my apartment. When he arrived, we had a very strange conversation in which it became apparent that he was not terribly well informed about the faith because, when I told him about my history and how hard it had been to get baptized, he mistakenly said that I had to have my previous marriage annulled before baptism should have occurred. He was dead wrong but terribly egotistical. I was surprised that they had put someone in charge of the church who was so poorly catechized himself, but I understood that most Catholics who regularly attend church are married people with families and most had already been baptized as children. You rarely run into a Catholic who was baptized late in life, so there are some assumptions about one another in a parish that are not true for the person who is a convert.

From that time onward, he began to discriminate against me at church. I caught him whispering about me to the other men and sharing jokes with them about me, in small cliquish groups. These men and their wives then began to shun me when I attended church. If I spoke to any of them while in line for the meal after the liturgy, they would turn their backs on me. They would give me that 'look.' You know that look. The look that says that you are not worthy to speak to them. It is that same look from your middle school years, when the 'cool' kids were trying to cut an individual from the herd. I remember once standing in line behind one of the men of our parish - someone about the age of my son. One of the church busybodies inserted herself between me and this young man and very pointedly asked where his wife was! It was obvious that she believed I was "after" this man, but clueless that I was far too old for him to begin with. She did not know me and did not realize I am under vows.

At the same time, the young, callow priest began other strange behaviors, changing his mind constantly about what he wanted to have done in the bookstore and then haranguing me when I did exactly as he had previously told me to do. It was a test of my patience. Frankly, it was exhausting.

The problem with a little church like this, since it is the ONLY Byzantine Catholic Church in town, is that whoever is put in charge of it is, ipso facto, a little potentate in his own realm. You have no choice of other Byzantine Catholic Churches. There is only this ONE, and if you get a priest in there who is a poorly formed Christian with enormous ego needs, you can imagine what happens from there.

But, like a puppy trying to please its master, I did everything I could think of to propitiate the little tyrant. When both he and the retired priest were terribly sick with some virus, I arranged to make a big pot of chicken soup and other lunch items in the parish hall, with plenty left over to get them through the nights of coughing and sneezing. My physical condition was continuing to worsen, and it cost me dearly in pain, what to speak of the food itself, which cost a bit as well. But I was keen to be of use and show my loving nature. Believe me, it was not appreciated. Not a single "thank you" was uttered, and the tyrant continued to treat me like the outcast.

Finally, one day, I was discussing with him the need to have a chair in the book store that was more ergonomic. There was already agreement to buy one. A group of people were in the bookstore, men and their wives. Having an audience, the fledgling priest began a tortuously long puerile "joke" in which he imagined that my nether regions were too big to fit in the seat and how he and his friends would have to pull me out of it by my feet because my large butt would get stuck. To emphasize the point, he acted out all the parts. I couldn't believe it. All the men laughed. It was so funny to them! Their wives just looked at me, stunned, with their eyes widened like cartoon characters.

I was aghast, of course. The inappropriateness and, frankly, the cruelty of it, astonished me. You might expect some drunken wastrel in a tavern to make a loud joke about the size of a woman's ass, but a celibate, supposedly "religious" person? Never. It was completely outside my sphere of experience. I waited until the other people left the bookstore and, as kindly and gently as I could manage, I told him that, here in America, it is considered extremely bad manners to discuss the attributes of a woman's body, especially if you are a religious person. Of course, this isn't appropriate ANYWHERE in the world, but I tried to give him an "out" that would save his face, but I needn't have bothered. He gave a perfunctory apology but continued his brutal campaign. I appealed to the retired priest, but he was of no use.

Later, I learned that the young priest had lied to other parishioners about our interaction. I wasn't surprised. I had finally come to understand how very common it is for people in these groups to target the most vulnerable members and that, even the people highest up in the organization were often the cruelest and most brutal bullies of the lot.  This is why, when I considered reporting his behavior to his bishop, I decided not to both. Later, the parish members with whom I'd become friends furiously shunned me when they learned I was opposed to Donald Trump's cruelty toward the babies at the border more than 5,000 of whom he had stuffed into small cages.

As one might have expected, I had enough at that point and I left that church, never to return. 

This is where the Catholic Church, in general, has a real problem. Unless you fit into a very narrow "type" you are not easily welcomed. Most welcome are people with families, children and money. They could care less about late vocations of people who did not find the faith until late in life. They want youth, beauty or money - just like every other group. Do not be old, fat, disabled and poor if you expect to be accepted as part of the group. Jesus would take me - but not the good Christians.

I am not singling out the Catholic Church when I say this. It actually has nothing to do with the particular faith itself. This is the nature of people. And people do not alter themselves to accommodate religious precepts all that much. They will SAY that they do. "Oh, Catholicism changed my life" or something along those lines, but Catholic people aren't much different than secular people when it comes to forming cliques.

Hospitality of Abraham

I have recited the most obvious examples of the experiences that have led me to this understanding, but, when I look back on all my experiences with all the religions I have studied and practiced, this is very true. I have come to the conclusion that saints become famous because they're the only people who actually practice their faith unreservedly and, just as the behavior of the people in religious groups is pretty much the same, from one group to another, the saints ALSO have a lot in common with one another, regardless of the faith, whether Hindu, Buddhist or Christian.

There are many many instances of women who chose to absent themselves from society and live a vowed life, alone in the desert or the forest. I now understand completely why they did so because I find myself among them now.  I have written about many of my spiritual sisters throughout history, and will continue to do so, now and then, as their feast days occur to me and when I have the time to write.

The rest of my time is spent in prayer and meditation, writing my novel, and artistic pursuits. I have given up trying to become part of any religious group, church or parish. It is not meant to be.

But I DO have a message for the other mystics out there - the women who don't "fit in"



God bless,

Silver Rose Parnell