Renunciation

 Renunciation of self is perhaps the most difficult of all.
                                                      Elizabeth Leseur
 
It is month four and Leseur is getting really serious.  She is treading in some dangerous territory! If I were a contemplative nun, I might understand renunciation and how it applies more clearly.  I'm wondering if I'm up for this. Perhaps I'm making it harder than it is.

This Lent I coordinated a program once a week after 10 AM Mass in our parish. What I didn't realize was that that particular Mass is the one most frequently used for funerals. Today I want to my third funeral for a perfect stranger in six weeks.

As is often the case I found my mind wandering, fantasizing about my husband's funeral. That isn't quite as morbid as it sounds. He is chronically ill. The first time I almost lost him I was forty, almost thirty years ago and I started planning the funeral as a sort of black humor. My thoughts run not only to hymns and readings, but to imagining who might travel here, what sort of gathering we might have, and what toasts I might make.When distracted in church I've learned to give it over in prayer. The Holy Spirit (object of our Lenten studies) came back with two thoughts. The first had to do with my fantasy of all those we love from our entire extended family gathered in my yard. I realized with delight that what I actually imagined was heaven, the ultimate family reunion. Our destination isn't the funeral celebration, it is God who will gather us all to himself.

I tried to sidestep the second thought, but it kept coming. Why Greg's funeral? What about mine? The inevitability of death isn't a new thought, but it has become more profound in my soul. All of this, whatever "this" is today, is temporary. That, my friend, is renunciation. I can accept that. It puts all things in their proper place.

But what about the meantime? I went back to LeSeur's list.

• Renunciation of evil. Check. At least I think so. "Of all things that might make me tend toward evil," is a bit dicier and I'll have to rely on the Spirit to point those out.
• Renunciation of the world. She says "those things that are solely of this world and have no place in the afterlife. She goes on,"I resolve to live for God alone, and for souls and for friendship..." Friendship! It is one of the things that goes on.  She notes also that she "lends" herself to the world to perform the duties of her place in life and of charity. She makes it sound manageable when she puts it that way, but I have work to do.
• Renunciation of self, she says is perhaps the most difficult of all. Yet, I already know that I can't be filled with Christ if I don't empty of self. Tough, but clear.
• Renunciation of human desires. She says that can be either for the sake of others or in a spirit of mortification.  I think this means actually embracing every opportunity to let another choose—dinner, which movie to watch, what to do on Saturday, and when to enjoy the blessings of the marriage bed.  Knowing it and remembering on time are two different things.
• Renunciation of spiritual joys and consolation. I wanted to whine, "That's not fair!" Actually I had just read two passages in The Imitation of Christ that said the same thing. If we cling to the gift instead of the giver we're going to fail.

Leseur recommends obtaining these things in prayer. It's the only way. I was right at the beginning this is hard. It is at least becoming clearer. I'll have to be satisfied with that.

Humility

Learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart

Matthew 11:29                                                                             

 Leseur's third month resolution, humility, is, she says, one of the foundation pillars of the spiritual life. She holds up Jesus as the exemplar of the virtue. He who is greatest is the most humble. That presents a paradox that challenges us. We are incapable of mastering it; only the Holy Spirit acting in us can manage it. Perhaps that is the greatest humility.

Reading chapters from the Imitation of Christ as Leseur recommends daily just reinforces her focus on humility.  I've begun to think that virtue is not only the key to sanctity but the key to a long and happy marriage. I think she would agree.

Control and power sharing swirl around marriage and the temptation to turn the relationship into a tit for tat arrangement in which all activities, tasks, and opinions must be divided "fairly" is a trap. The very challenge presents an opportunity to learn and grow.

It seems to me there are two ways an individual can practice humility in marriage. The first is the more obvious. It involves silence, biting your tongue when offended, and submission to the other. It is contrary to our modern views on the necessity of "fulfillment" for each individual on the surface of it. Done freely, however, this kind of behavior is healthy. The one choosing silence or choosing submission is in control of his or her own decision to give freely out of love and without rancor. Done by force either from the other, out of passive aggressive spite, or from some misguided sense of obligation, it can become an ugly, cold thing. Only love protects you from that. Nor is submission a gender obligation. Beloved once told our prayer group he had no less obligation for submission in marriage than I did. As we've gotten older, the value of submission is clearer to me every day.

The other way of humility, however, is assertive. To say without anger or aggression, "you hurt me when you did that" takes great humility. Such an act puts the importance of the relationship, the love between the couple, at the center. Such an act requires that you put aside fear of rejection or conflict and even control over the ultimate outcome in order to say "we must fix this for both our sake." Such a conversation must not be confused with bickering, arguing, or attacking. It is the tougher form of humility.

Human beings being the complex self-centered creatures we are, there are pitfalls all around. The temptation to take power, the temptation to self righteousness about our own virtue, and the temptation to even take pride in humility all remind us what foolish beings we are. That is precisely why it is a foundation stone. Only when we accept our inabilities and throw ourselves utterly on the mercy of God and the grace of the Holy Spirit do we have any hope of real growth.

Poverty of Spirit

Ten years of Franciscan education left me with the concept of poverty deep in my consciousness. It was, to great extent, exactly that, a concept.

"Blessed are the poor"
"Holy indifference"
"Live simply that others may simply live"

All those words have swirled around my spiritual and practical adult life. Now in my seventieth year I find myself returning to them again and again and wondering if I ever understood the idea at all.

In Light in the Darkness Elizabeth Leseur writes eloquently about silence, humility, and renunciation in ways I've never heard them before. Perhaps I wasn't listening. Perhaps as age takes its toll and losses mount, as they inevitably do in life, I understand them better. She even had me with "mortification," an old-fashioned word that would have made me cringe at twenty, but which begins to make sense in marriage or in any life with others when you look at the things life actually sends you.

It comes down, I suspect, to letting go. We can learn to let go of ego, of greed, of the need to win, to be right, to be powerful. We can do it without losing sight of our own great value as children of God. We empty ourselves out in order to be filled. The extent to which we can do that is the extent to which God can take over and do His work in our life and use us for the sake of those he sends our way.

Various writers and various saints have used different words to describe the same process. "The Little Way" of Therese of Lisieux is not that different than holy poverty. Maybe I'm beginning to have an inkling of what the great ones understood utterly. I hope so because the one thing I know for sure is, I have a long way to go and am unlikely to have too many years in which to do it.

I gave up trying to be a hero for God long ago, seeing it for the foolishness it was. Maybe it is time to let go of my life completely and let God have it. My dearest Franciscan mentor once wrote to me, "In your passion for truth and justice, don't neglect poverty and humility." I should have listened then.