Revisiting That Narrow Path

Having never entered religious life, I haven't experienced a potential nun's journey toward a cloistered world.

But oh, I have daydreamed it.  Not in the sense of dreaming with desire, and not exactly daydreaming with dread, but with a sense of wondering.  How would it feel, I've asked myself, to make a serious, determined decision to leave the world and enter a life where I live totally for Christ.  Not just partly, not mostly, but totally.  Fully embracing His will with no compromise, no watering down what He asks of me; "yes" with no ifs, no ands, no buts.  Entering the world of His will, and turning my back on all that tries to lure me away from Him.

"Most people cannot leave the world in a bodily sense, but every follower of Christ who is serious about genuine growth must leave the spirit of the world."  (Thomas Dubay SM, Fire Within, Ignatius Press, 1989, p. 81)

Am I serious about genuine growth?  I ask it of myself.  Immediately, I know my answer.  The desire to move beyond ho-hum Christianity is what inspires my life as a cloistered heart.

The desire to "move beyond" drives me onward, yet a large part of me wants to dig in my heels and stay right where I am.  I'm not so bad, I tell myself.  I pray and receive the Sacraments and try to be nice.

Thankfully, there is more to a Godly life than that.

"One cannot give Christ a limited place in one's life," writes Louis Bouyer of the Oratory (The Meaning of the Monastic Life, PJ Kenedy and Sons, NY, 1950,  p. x).  And that is the crux of it, for me.  I am not content to be a "just in case" Christian.  I don't want to simply follow the rules and try to avoid mortal sin just in case God is real (by His grace, I'm convinced that He is).  I'm not satisfied to throw some prayers in His direction now and then and call that a life of faith.

The truth is:  I'm engaged in much more than an imaginary exercise.

I AM serious about genuine growth.  I AM on a real, vital, narrow path to union with God. "The main business of the beginner, therefore, is to make a determined turnabout from preoccupation with this worldly world to a life centered in the Trinity."  (Dubay, p. 82)

The world beckons. I live in it, and I can be joyful as I do so, for this is where God calls me to serve Him.  But preoccupation with the world?  It is from this that I must turn.

I don't turn, however, for the mere sake of turning.  I do not leave the "worldly world" and march forward in pursuit of nothing.  I go along that narrow path - "to a life centered in the Trinity."

The Father, Son and Holy Spirit wait for me.




This is a repost from our archives. It is linked to Reconciled to You and Theology is a Verb for 'It's Worth Revisiting Wednesday.'

Painting: Caspar David Friedrich (detail, digitally altered)

© theCloisteredHeart.org

Revisiting The Step

I have tried all day to write this post, and I'm kind of stuck.

Could that be (I wonder) because I, myself, am kind of stuck? We've often said that a person entering physically cloistered life is either in or out. She does not stick her head in and leave her arms and legs dangling outside the enclosure door, perhaps to be brought in at a later date. I find it a helpful image, for I can so easily bring part of my life into the will of God while leaving some of me outside. I might find myself clutching this little worry, that tiny vice, that long held attachment...

Could it be that I've set up camp right on the edge of the doorway? Am I parked on the threshold of living for God - not totally out, but not totally in?

I'm helped by remembering that, in deciding to live "in God's will," I am not simply stepping away from something. I'm not just saying farewell to complacency and sin and compromise so I can become "a better person." No.

I am moving toward something. Or I should say, toward SomeONE. It is for Him that I step through the door into surrender to His will. And all the steps after - all of those stairs and turns and inner doorways that frighten me now with whispers of "but what if this happens," and "what if you lose that" - I will not have to take those steps alone. I will not be by myself as I live within His will.

As I tell God that I want to say a deeper yes to Him, something happens. Christ is the Bridegroom of the soul - and what traditionally happens when the bride arrives at the threshold?

All I have to do is let Him carry me over it in His arms.

"My Jesus, please accept the offering and the sacrifice that I make to You this day, as I once more sincerely offer to You my entire will. Tell me what You want me to do. Your holy grace will help me to do it." (St. Alphonsus Liguori) 

Painting: Vilhelm Hammershoi; 
bottom copy digitally altered using a painting by James Tissot


Text not in quotes © 2015 Nancy Shuman. 
thecloisteredheart.org    

This is a repost from our archives. It is linked to Reconciled to You and Theology is a Verb for 'It's Worth Revisiting Wednesday.'

A Line Drawn

When a potential postulant enters a monastery, she is shown the boundaries within which she's to live. These have already been defined. She does not have to bring her own bricks and mortar and build them herself. All she must do is decide: shall I live within these walls... or not?  

'You recognize that you have arrived at a limit, a barrier-line. Turn, then, and direct your steps, if you choose, to some other quarter. You cannot penetrate the sacred enclosure of the convent. It is a line drawn, a barrier set up, between the loose, miscellaneous world and the things of God.' (A Story of Courage, p. 8) 

In the analogy of the Cloistered Heart, we view our enclosure as the will of God. We do not have to map the boundaries of such 'enclosure' for ourselves; they are clearly marked out for us in Scripture and 2,000 years of authentic Church discernment. We may welcome such boundaries, or we may choose to turn and direct our steps to some other quarter. But these are the boundaries God has given us; they reveal His will, in which He wants us to live. If we decide to tear down a wall here and move a fence there, then ours will not be the enclosure God has built for us. 'If you believe what you like in the Gospel,' wrote St. Augustine, 'and reject what you don't like, it is not the Gospel you believe, but yourself.'

Have we seen what happens when we try to make boundaries apart from God? We grasp for moral guidelines that, if we find them at all, are contrived and artificial. Using mere human efforts, we try to make peace happen - and it doesn't. The world outside of God's will is a loose mix of miscellany, and we can be hard pressed to make sense of it all.    

Because God loves us, He has set boundaries in place for our security. 'Live in My will,' God tells me. 'Live in My will when you understand it and when you do not. Trust ME.'  In the face of such an invitation, I have a choice to make. Yet God does not force me. I have been given free will, and I can choose whether to live as God asks, or to direct my steps to some other quarter. 

Will I dwell in the security of God’s will? 

Or must I insist on stumbling about in the hazards of my own.   

"Do not conform yourselves to this age, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, so that you may judge what is God's will, what is good, pleasing and perfect."  (Romans 12:2)



Text not in quotes © 2016 N Shuman thecloisteredheart.org  

Photo: N Shuman, Wall at Georgetown Visitation Monastery, DC, 1990s 


This post is part of our series 'A Story of Courage.' To continue in chronological order, click this line.

The Spirit of the Convent Bade us Pause

Having found the monastery where we'd be retreating for a few days, my friend and I were led into a small parlor. The room was separated from the street by the thickness of one wall, a narrow patch of greenery, a short wrought iron fence, and a brick sidewalk. I was surprised at the sudden silence. These walls must be thick, I decided, which only made sense given the age of the building. I'd been told that this was the oldest community of Visitation nuns in the United States (this monastery having been founded in 1799).

Some communities of the Visitation are able to offer laywomen a place of silent retreat for a few days inside the actual cloister, so the ladies can go back to their families spiritually refreshed and recharged. My friend and I were embracing this opportunity. Our time apart from the world would not be 'directed,' but would simply be a chance to pray and live alongside the nuns, in their own environment, and to experience a little sampling of monastic life.  We had found our way along an Interstate (taking a wrong turn in the process), we'd snaked through DC traffic, gulped down a few rushed meals, driven round and round this one area of Georgetown before finding our destination, and now, at the edge of the cloister - we found that our rushing came to a sudden halt. 

‘The spirit of the convent bade us pause. All our worldly wisdom and ordinary knowledge seemed to take flight, and to be of no account whatever. We felt like children who have strayed into some privacy which does not belong to them, which they are hardly qualified to share.’ (A Story of Courage, p.12)

We were straying, indeed, into a privacy which did not belong to us, for we were laywoman and we'd be taking no vows. Yet I, for one, was not crossing the threshold unaware. The cloistered heart analogies I had been pondering were now, in physical form, standing right before me.  I had written that the 'enclosure' of a cloistered heart was within the will of God. We can make a choice to embrace His will, I'd said; we can make a decision to - by His grace - live within it. 'I like to use the analogy of a person entering the cloister because it is such a total move. The person entering physically cloistered life does not stick her head in today and leave her arms and legs dangling outside to be cloistered at a later date. She is either in or she is not. And yet we can give ourselves mostly to God and leave parts of our lives dangling outside that surrender.' (N Shuman)

I had a feeling I'd learn more about the analogies I'd been living with as I saw what life was actually like on the other side of the enclosure walls. 'We were to cross the threshold of the large entrance door, usually inaccessible to the world.....'

If I hoped to spend these next few days in reasonable comfort, I'd better bring every last bit of me inside.

Photo at top via Pixabay
Photo at bottom (cloister door), N Shuman - probably from Georgetown Visitation in the 1990s, but unfortunately I'm not certain of the location

Text not in quotes © 2016 N Shuman thecloisteredheart.org   


This post is part of our series 'A Story of Courage.' To continue in chronological order, click this line.

And Our Entrance is...

The thing that draws me most about monasticism is its absolute totality.  The person entering such a life gives ALL.

As I've written before, a potential postulant does not stick her head inside the enclosure and leave her arms and legs dangling outside.  It just won't work. She must make a choice.

How often do I look toward the "door of total commitment," feeling drawn toward it, while at the same time holding back? 

I enter cloister of the heart through the doorway of surrender to God. A door of  "yes" is the only way in. 

Yet (in circumstance after circumstance) I find myself vacillating. I want a print-out of all that will be asked of me before I give my consent.  I second-guess, look back, shuffle, struggle, worry, fret.

Then, timidly, I stick one toe toward that door.

…and it’s as if He suddenly, tenderly, picks me up and carries the rest of me inside.  Even those flailing arms and legs.  

"Choose this day whom you will serve."  (Joshua 24:15) 

"Jesus, I give You my whole heart and my whole will.  They once rebelled against You, but now I dedicate them completely to you…Receive me, and make me faithful until death.”  (St. Alphonsus Liguori).

"I am the Gate. Whoever enters through Me WILL BE SAFE.” (Jesus, quoted in John 10:9) 

Painting: Vilhelm Hammershoi 

Text © 2015 Nancy Shuman.
thecloisteredheart.org   

Our Monastic Day: in Sequence

Several years ago, we offered a series of posts that I called 'Our Monastic Day.'  It was our own little cloistered-in-the-midst-of-the-world-horarium, looking into how we can offer our own days to God morning through night. 

Reading another blog recently, I discovered a story that I was able to read in actual chronological order. The blogger simply gave a link to one post, and then linked from there to the next part of the story, and on and on.  No jumping back and forth, no reading in backwards-sequence (as blogs do)... just beginning and then continuing on if one wanted to do so. I loved it. I would like to try it.

I'd like to go back over our monastic day (a kind of cloistered-heart-refresher), and why re-invent the cloister wheel?

So I invite anyone who cares to go through a day in-the-cloister-in-the-world, little by little, to begin at the link below.  At the bottom of that link, there will be another link, and on and on.  When we get to Compline and the singing of the Salve Regina, we'll know that 'day' is done.

And for those who weren't around for our 'Parlor' comments-blog, I apologize for any confusion.  Comments are now open right here, but we've left the Parlor open in case anyone ever wants to go back and see what was discussed there.

Let's try this, shall we?   

To begin reading "Our Monastic Day," click this line

(This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup
Blitz, where we can find quite a wide variety of Catholic blogs!)

The Welcome Continues......

His welcome continues.

I have given my heart to my Lord, Jesus Christ.  I've made the decision to step into His will, to seek Him, to live for Him as fully as I can. But I am not the only one in action here.

His welcome continues... 

"Ah, you are beautiful, My beloved.  Ah, you are beautiful!  Your eyes are doves...."  (Song of Songs 1:15)

"As a lily among thorns, is My beloved among women.  (Song of Songs
2:2)

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you.  I have called you by name; you are Mine."  (Isaiah 43:1)



















Paintings are all in US public domain 
due to age and copyright expiration

I am Welcomed!

I step over the threshold into God's will and the welcome is immediate.  Perhaps all of heaven bursts forth in celebration.  Whether or not I feel any different, the truth is that I am met with great love.  

"Suddenly, when I had consented to the sacrifice with all my heart and all my will, God’s presence pervaded me… I felt that His Majesty was enveloping me…. I saw that God was well pleased with me and, reciprocally, my spirit drowned itself in Him... And the Lord said to me, ‘You are the delight of My Heart; from today on, every one of your acts, even the very smallest, will be a delight to My eyes...'  My earthly body was the same, but my soul was different; God was now living in it with the totality of His delight.  This is not a feeling, but a conscious reality that nothing can obscure.”  (St. Faustina, Diary)

God will not be outdone in generosity.  If I've taken even one step toward Him (no matter how timid the step, no matter how faltering), I can be sure that He is reaching out to receive me.  I am enfolded, encompassed, and totally embraced by Love. 

"I know well the plans I have for you, says the Lord; plans for your welfare, not for woe!  Plans to give you a future full of hope.”  (Jeremiah 29:11) 

For a look at a real postulant's first moments of entering the cloister, click this line!

You are invited to leave comments in The Parlor   

Toward the Cloister Door

For years I have imagined the scene.  I see myself right in it, firmly planted, almost as if frozen in time.

Here I am, ready to place my foot on a path leading to the monastery.  It's a winding path, quite narrow, and I don't step onto it right away.  I stop.  I consider.  I pause.  The way is open before me, nothing blocks it.  Once I reach the heavy, ancient door, I won't even have to open it.  All I'll have to do is knock.  

I hesitate.  I stand.  I am alone, looking at the silent gray building just up the hill.  A chill wind stings my face.  

I took one last look at myself before catching the bus here:  one last glance, for I know there are no mirrors in cloisters.  My face looked good (may the saints forgive me), although a bit pinched.  I dabbed concealer over this morning's undereye circles.  My dress is midi-length, modest.  Over it is a long wool coat, its collar turned up.  Just the right touch of sophistication, a concession to my almost-former self.  

I had been told what to bring, a few garments I'll need as a postulant.  Now I stand, ready to set foot onto this narrow, unpaved pathway.   Inside, the Sisters await me.  Outside, here I stand.  

The stiletto shoes, my highest ever, may not have been a good idea.  I liked their steady click click across pavement, the very sound boosting my confidence.  But here (I realize), there will be no sound.  The ground is damp and soggy on the grassless path ahead. 

I step onto the pinstripe of mud.  Immediately, a pencil thin heel stabs into the ground.  I take another step, and shoe number two meets the same fate.  I am suddenly anchored in a place of perpetual indecision.  Forever on the path, ready to make the journey but unable to let go of all that holds me to the earth. 

"St. Teresa's starting point," writes Father Thomas Dubay about Teresa of Avila's Interior Castle,  "is the absolutely basic condition for a serious prayer life: an earnest, continuing effort to rid oneself of sins, imperfections and attachments."  (Fire Within, Ignatius, 1989, p. 81)

These shoes were, in my opinion, gorgeous. I paid way too much for them, but oh, they have served me well.  They've carried me into business meetings, boosting my height and self-confidence.  They have taken me dancing, showing off my balance and unexpected grace.  They have served ME well.

I am attached to the shoes; of course I am.  They're a symbol of what I've achieved in the world.  They represent (suddenly) all I'll be giving up if I step onto this narrow, sloppy path.  I stand for just a moment, listening to a train rumbling in the distance.  I could go back now and there would be no shame in the turning.

I step out of first one shoe, then the other.  I lean down and pluck them from the ground.

I make my way, barefoot, toward the cloister door.    

Text © 2014 Nancy Shuman. 
thecloisteredheart.org   

You are invited to leave comments in The Parlor 

Painting:  Johnson Coombe Abbey

one specific step

The person entering physically cloistered life does not stick her head in today and leave her arms and legs dangling outside to be cloistered at a later date.  She is either in or she’s not.  And yet we can give ourselves mostly to God and leave parts of our lives dangling outside that surrender.  At least, that’s how it is for me.

Making the decision to embrace the will of God is not a once-for-all-time-thing, of course.  We re-decide, circumstance by circumstance.  But there is something about at least making a decision.  One specific step.  I have found that grace comes with making this decision.  I tell God I want to live according to His will… and then in circumstance after circumstance, I find that His grace abounds.

Sometimes I imagine myself standing before an enclosure door.  I consider.  I vacillate.  I feel afraid.  I want a print-out of all that will be asked of me before I give my “yes.”  I’m trembling, second-guessing, halting, looking back, shuffling, straining.  Then, timidly, I stick one toe forward…

…and it’s as if He suddenly, tenderly, picks me up and carries the rest of me inside.  Even those flailing arms and legs. 

“Jesus, I give You my whole heart and my whole will.  They once rebelled against You, but now I dedicate them completely to you…Receive me, and make me faithful until death.”  (St. Alphonsus Liguori). 

“I am the Gate. Whoever enters through Me WILL BE SAFE.” (Jesus, quoted in John 10:9) 

Text © 2011 Nancy Shuman.  All Rights Reserved.
thecloisteredheart.org