Comments on: Mother Teresa and the Mystery of God’s Absence

By: Corinne

Corinne — Mon, 03 Sep 2007 13:03:01 +0000

A blog entry that might interest you

By: bob knab

bob knab — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 19:08:08 +0000

* ADDRESS *

What
Kind of
God
Would have
A
Address

It
Would be
A poor
God
If she lived
In this town

You can visit
A
God
With a address
Any time

But

A
God
With no address
Who could think such thing -

By: Janible

Janible — Thu, 30 Aug 2007 04:03:27 +0000

I feel like I am hearing some express a belief that if a person truly experiences the presence of the Lord at all, it will be a rare occurence; if a person experiences His presence more frequently in prayer, worship, or just the occasional wonderful surprise, it is a sign of an immature faith; a person needs to be very critical and suspicious of any experience that includes emotion, and better to not experience God at all, just in case one is “fooled” by emotion.
I would simply say we need to be careful to not judge others by our own experiences or lack thereof, just as it is wrong to judge the relationship with Jesus of others, according to whether their experiences match our own. Yes, we need to be using our discernment, 24/7, and I would agree very much with Heather about using Hannah Whitehall Smith’s guidelines. And be very leery of people who think they have to drum up emotions to have an authentic worship time with the Lord. (Many times when I have felt His presence the strongest, it came with deep peace and quiet, during prayer and meditation.)
On the other hand, can being critical and suspicious of any experience that includes emotion, blind us to the times when the Lord is trying to interact with us, or has been giving us His God-hugs in the midst of our mundane lives?
Brother Lawrence’s writings are collected in a small book called Practicing the Presence of God. I wouldn’t call this humble man’s faith “immature”. He lived each day expectantly, watching for His Lord’s presence, and loving on Jesus even while he did the common kitchen work. He believed, as I do, that the presence of God is with us; we just need to be open to hearing Him, feeling Him, or however we become aware of Him.
Yes, I think we all go through desert times, but to aspire to dark nights of the soul as a badge of Christian maturity seems counter to so many of the things Jesus said and described about His relationship with the Father,and what He expected us to experience as well.
When I go to be with the Lord, I would rather hear Him say, “I enjoyed spending time with you.”, instead of “too bad you were blocking your ears from My voice and shrinking from My touch. But at least you’re here with me now!” (Just kidding…sort of!)

By: Eugenia Chang

Eugenia Chang — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 20:33:14 +0000

After reading this post, I read with great interest the TIME article, which I thought was a great piece. As for many people, it gave me a deeper respect for Mother Theresa but I also felt compassion for her — because I experienced the same type of spiritual depression throughout high school and college. I think Michael asked an important question about what kind of expectations the church places on individuals with regard to spiritual experiences. And I think other people have brought up questions about how theology could have impacted Mother Theresa (which I don’t think should be dismissed and I’m not saying that one’s spiritual dryness is necessarily linked to theology — often it’s not!). For the longest time, although I grew up knowing the “salvation invitation” version of the gospel (bridge diagrams and all), I didn’t understand how it was to impact my whole frame of thinking (and feeling!). The churches, youth groups, retreats, college fellowships I attended only preached the gospel during invitations and did not make it central to everything. That’s why for the longest time I couldn’t believe or understand that God loved me (b/c I felt that his love was subjective). To top it off, I hung out with a pentecostal crowd that insisted that I should be speaking in tongues and sensing God’s presence. When those things were not forthcoming, I panicked and thought that God must not love me and that I was doomed. Also, I read books that if I were truly walking in the Spirit, I would be sinless. Once I truly believed and understood that God’s love for me can be objectively known because of the Cross, that was the greatest release for me. It released me from the trap of experiencing God as a way to him or as a sign of approval from him. That’s why I am grieved today when the gospel is not central in a message or a church. BTW, a book I would recommend for anyone in the throes of spiritual depression is Martyn Lloyd-Jones Spiritual Depression.

By: Memphis Aggie

Memphis Aggie — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 20:33:08 +0000

Thank you for the thoughtful post Mike. We Catholics are gratified to read your generous and charitable treatment of Mother Theresa.

By: rowie

rowie — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 15:46:59 +0000

That’s a beautiful thought, Aaron.

St. Therese of Lisieux, towards the end of her life, thought of her own dark night in a way similar to what you suggest. St. Therese thought that maybe (following the Catholic doctrine of redemptive suffering), she was undergoing her dark night so that an atheist out there might, before their death, experience the light which would have been hers.

By: Aaron

Aaron — Tue, 28 Aug 2007 19:41:51 +0000

Forgive me if someone has already pointed this out — with 60+ posts I can’t read them all — but I wonder if MT’s sense of God’s absence doesn’t directly correspond to her calling. She worked with people who are essentially abandoned by society, outcasts of society, people who experience the lonliness, despair, and depression that poverty itself brings. Is it not possible that God’s “abandoning” of MT is subsequently tied up in her calling? She said that God called her to go to the poorest of the poor and experience their life. And she did so materially, and I’m wondering if it wasn’t also that way spiritually/emotionally. She knew their feelings of abandonment. And it could be all part of God’s plan.

MT testified that it was in the faces and lives of the poor she worked with that she saw Christ there. If true (and that seems so very true) she wasn’t abanded by God — it was the Presence was withdrawn so that she could see Him in others, in her neighbor. Just a few thoughts on this whole thing.

By: Jay H

Jay H — Tue, 28 Aug 2007 08:25:29 +0000

Heather, regarding my story, you commented: 3. Check it out with other believers. (*This* is certainly a crucial step your friend’s mom skipped.)

Actually, she did get confirmation from others in their shared church group. To me, in fact, that’s one of the most telling parts of the story.

By: rowie

rowie — Tue, 28 Aug 2007 03:18:55 +0000

This is very beautifully written; thank you.

St. Ignatius of Loyola wrote about how desolation could either be a result of one’s own omissions, or it could be that God has permitted desolation to happen to allow us to examine the quality of our own spirituality. In the first case, the human being feels desolation because he himself has not been praying, has not been faithful, and thus, consolation has withdrawn from the person. (Ignatius emphasized, however, that this does not mean that consolation is a product of humans’ “work”; more about this below.)

But Ignatius also said that even though desolation never comes from God Himself, sometimes, He allows it to happen, as a purgation experience. In those cases, desolation allows the human being to “interiorly feel” that consolation is never a “product” of human striving, but rather, is always and entirely a gift from God. Moreover, the experience of desolation allows us to examine whether our own prayerfulness is a merely a result of our disordered attachment to “happy feelings,” and whether, without these “happy feelings,” our faith and faithfulness diminish. This in turn, allows us then to purify our own faithfulness and motivations for prayer.

(St. John of the Cross also made a similar distinction between the “active” and “passive” purifications of the soul.)

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Carmelite spirituality–particularly the spirituality of St. Terese of Lisieux and St. John of the Cross, which has some of the most profound insights into this experience of darkness–has more reflections on how and why God allows this dark night to happen. For St. Terese, “Everything is grace!” Blessed are the people who never undergo the dark night of the soul; that is the journey God has chosen for them. But when God does allow a person to experience the dark night, that experience is grace too, and God works on the person’s soul through that experience as well, as, I suppose, the potter working the clay. St. John of the Cross, who wrote painfully through his own dark night and experiences of persecution, realized that ultimately, God was there, too, in the darkness, within that experience of absence and isolation.

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Ditto on the suggestions to read “Silence” by Endo. You might also want to look at “Diary of a Country Priest” by Georges Bernanos, if you haven’t read it. I actually haven’t read it myself (I’ve only heard about it), but it seems like a book you’d like: it’s about a French priest in a rural village and all his interior struggles as he ministers to them and deals with his own desolation.

God bless you.

By: Ken

Ken — Mon, 27 Aug 2007 15:24:37 +0000

When I was in RCIA (Catholic adult catechism), I was told by several sources that many or most of the canonized Saints had similar “dark nights of the soul” and struggled with depression & despair on a regular basis. Their holiness was in spite of (and in contrast to) their struggles with depression and despair.

While it’s possible to go overboard into the “I’m So Messed Up” trip (see St Rose of Lima), contrast this with Saints Who KNOW How Holy They Are (usually self-proclaimed and always informing you of that fact; I’m sure you’ve run into a few).