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Don’t jump to conclusions.

Since Bl. Teresa of Calcutta’s ‘trial of faith’ has gained such notice recently, many people have once again become aware of the so-called ‘dark night of the soul’ as it relates to contemplatives.  Having said that, it has long been popular amongst religious people to suggest they are in a dark night when they meet with any type of aridity or discouragement in their spiritual life.  In many cases I think this can be attributed to a misunderstanding or ignorance concerning the dynamics involved in the very real phenomenon of the two nights, the night of the senses and the night of the spirit.

In a sense, it may be presumptuous for a soul to attempt to self-analyze itself, or another, as suffering the effects of the dark night.  Unless the person is under good spiritual direction with a priest, who knows his mystical theology of course, I can’t see how someone may claim such a thing.  Nevertheless, ’spiritual’ people like to throw this term around whenever they encounter any sort of purifying trial in their spiritual life.  Everyone needs to remember that the spiritual life does not consist in unending consolations and satisfactions, but in keeping the commandments, the fulfillment of one’s duties in one’s state in life, seeking God’s will and exercising oneself in charity - all for the honor and glory of God.  This is what constitutes a generous and holy life.

“The night of the senses is common and comes to many, these are the beginners.”- John of the Cross 

I’m fairly certain that most lay-people (myself included!) have barely begun to be beginners in the spiritual life - as far as the contemplative life is concerned.  By definition, the night of the senses implies a generous mortification of the appetites and denial as regards the gratification of the senses.  When a person with many attachments, or even addictions, finds himself spiritually desolate and without consolation, I think it is a mistake to term this an experience of the dark night.

When Teresa of Avila writes about beginners in prayer, she writes that in the beginning (when a soul begins to practice mental prayer or meditation), as the soul accustoms itself to spending long periods in meditation, the soul oftentimes will feel little except agitation and distraction, or simply dryness.  She explains this is because the soul, still filled with self, cannot help but feel the difference between itself and the One with whom she is attempting to converse.  (Of course she counsels that we ought to persevere in this prayer since it is through prayer that we will find healing and freedom from our sins, faults and attachments.  Nevertheless, this is not necessarily the dark night.)

“The night of the spirit is the portion of a very few.”- St. John of the Cross 

What I’m trying to say is this:  More often than not, in the average Christian’s experience, this thing we like to refer to as the dark night can be attributed to our nature.  Self-indulgence, worldly cares, sin, and inordinate attachments often can be the cause of our spiritual distress or lack of faith.  Likewise, depression and emotional instability can also be a major factor.

In her Autobiogrphy, Teresa of Avila wrote about how exhausted she was, physically, mentally and spiritually in trying to maintain friendship with the world and friendship with God through the practice of prayer.  She wrote, “Prayer is incompatible with self-indulgence.”  At this stage in her life, she knew the necessity for absolute asceticism in her life, yet continued her friendship with the world, and her indulgence in vain trivialities.

Voluntary disquietude.

Certainly St. Teresa was without serious sin in her life, and ever faithful to the minimum requirements of her state - yet she suffered this disquietude of soul.  I believe her example illustrates for us that what we like to call the ‘dark night’ may often be more a matter of a troubled conscience, or some aspect of seeking oneself in God.  Our sufferings may emanate more from ourselves - our selfish self-indulgence, which may provide us with a purely natural explanation as to the source of the problem.  Yet even this can be purifying and sanctifying, provided we are humble and keep trying, trusting in the mercy of God. 

“If then the light within you is darkness, how deep will that darkness be!”- Matthew 6.  I doubt the Lord was referring to the “dark night of the soul” here. 

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Emulating religious models.

Carmelites always greet visitors at the turn with the exclamation, “Praised be Jesus Christ!” - the reply should be, “Now and forever!”  It’s a beautiful custom, other religious orders have similar greetings signifying the presence of God.  Yesterday, when Mother Marie called me, she didn’t use the normal conventual greeting, she simply said, “Hello, Terry, this is…”  However, if I were to call the monastery, the nuns will answer the phone, “Carmelite monastery, praised be Jesus Christ!”  Whenever I answer my phone I usually say, “This is Terry” - a business habit I haven’t gotten over.  (With caller ID I can also answer more obnoxiously if I’m in the mood.)  However, I like it when the nuns use the Carmelite greeting, but I don’t mind when they don’t either.

When my friend David and I first became ’close’ to the Carmelites - we began to greet people similarly.  In the first place - we had been genuinely impressed with how faith-based the greeting is, and how it could be a sort of witness to outsiders.  There was also an element of spiritual pride in it - we were letting people know we were ‘in the know’ spiritually, and pretty darn close to those holy Carmelites.  In the end, I think we thought it rather pretentious on our part to answer the phone and greet people that way.  So instead - we would only do it for fun, mimicking the tone of voice that characterized the nuns - it was fun to do with the seminarians.  (I can still do it.  LOL!)

Impersonations.

It happens with visitors to monasteries all of the time.  In Church, I often could recognize recent visitors to New Melleray by the fact that they would bow rather than genuflect when reverencing the Blessed Sacrament, or make a simple sign of the cross at the Gospel rather than the 3 little ones we all make.  It isn’t a bad thing, but it can be a way to “singularize” oneself - to use a monastic expression. 

However, some people can be kind of ostentatious about stuff like that - although I’m sure their intentions are good.  Frequently, families with children in orders such as Carmel adopt the same conventual customs in their daily lives.  It is amazing how much more spiritual and devout families of cloistered religious become just because their child has entered a fervent community.  It is often a beautiful witness to the vocation itself, and no doubt genuine.  (Although I wonder what their less religious friends and relatives think when they answer the phone, “Praised be Jesus Christ!”)

Your ’holier than thou’ is showing.

I remember years ago, thanking a holy lay-brother who had done a favor for me with the Carmelite, “God reward you!” - That is often what the nuns say whenever they are thanking someone.  The lay-brother knew I was thanking him, and I’m sure he knew I was trying to sound ‘holy’, yet without batting an eye he smiled and looked up to heaven and replied, “He already has!”  I was kind of embarrassed because I felt my reply was rather pretentious, yet Br. George seemed to take no notice or offense, and by his answer demonstrated something much more authentic.

There is such a big difference between sounding holy or religious - using pious platitudes and expressions - than there is in actually being holy.  Normally, I think it is better just to use ordinary expressions of politeness and leave conventual customs to the religious.

God reward you!

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