An Invitation to Depth

“Stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand.” (Lk 21:28)

This first Sunday of Advent draws us into the season of expectancy with some all too familiar images:
“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on earth nations will be in dismay, perplexed by the roaring of the sea and the waves.  People will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.” (Lk 21:26-27)
As Jesus says earlier in this discourse, fire, flood, war and violence, disease and death do not necessarily herald the imminent end of all things and we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.  But there is a mounting sense of unease, at least among people of conscience, those who are watching with trepidation and asking the question: where is all this leading us?

An article posted on our noticeboard presents the effects of climate anxiety on young people, with half of those polled acknowledging that they feel “sad, anxious, angry, powerless, helpless and guilty” at the prospect of the seemingly inescapable cycle of environmental degradation.  They feel guilty because they are constantly reminded that their every action and choice, from shopping to travel, contributes to the crisis, and helpless because the real power for change lies in the hands of others.  Jean Vanier makes a similar point in Community and Growth, where he notes:
“The mass media give instant and constant news about the world situation, about wars, oppression, armaments, hunger, catastrophes, the spread of AIDS and inequalities of all sorts.  Young people do not know what to do with this frightening and confusing information; they feel helpless and guilty.” (Jean Vanier, Community and Growth, 4)

I can identify with this.  Feeling responsible for making the world a better place, for contributing to society and helping other people is considered a social virtue, but it can be exaggerated to the point that a person feels trapped by hopeless circumstances.  As the prophet puts it: “the parents have eaten sour grapes and the children’s teeth are set on edge.”  It is not just a matter of climate change but of poverty, hunger and injustice, disease and natural disasters, enormous moral failure and disregard for human life and dignity – an interlocking web of abuses and afflictions that affects all people, especially the poorest, as Laudato Si made clear.  And though it is the young who bear the burden of knowing that this is the world they are inheriting, I dare say it is not only they who feel “sad, anxious, angry, powerless, helpless and guilty” and who ask why no effective action is being taken on a global scale by those who have the power and responsibility to do so.

“Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy
from carousing and drunkenness
and the anxieties of daily life,
and that day catch you by surprise like a trap.” (Lk 21:34-5)

These words about dissipation and distraction stand in marked contrast to the urgency of the situation.  Why is it that so many seem to be able to sleep or fiddle while the world burns?  In a 2010 speech, Fr. Adolfo Nicolás, S.J., then Superior General of the Society of Jesus, spoke of a “globalization of superficiality.”  He was referencing primarily some negative effects of new communications technology on our intellectual, moral, social and spiritual life.  We have access to more information than ever before, and yet we have tended to become more distracted, prone to flit between one article and another, one image and another, one social contact and another.  We are less and less able to focus and think deeply before responding, so the glut of information to which we have access has not resulted in more knowledge or deeper understanding; it has not made us wiser.

The article on climate anxiety makes the important point that fear, helplessness, and guilt may lie behind the addiction to distraction to which we are so prone in today’s culture.  A psychologist describes different coping strategies.  One is to “de-emphasize” the problem because it does not concern us directly, and we can’t do anything about it anyway.  Another is to distance oneself emotionally by ignoring or denying or by distraction.  We as a society are sorely tempted to look away from what seems too much to handle and drown ourselves in distraction.  We are in danger of falling into a trap, literally dying of fright.

On the other hand, a more positive coping strategy mentioned in the article is study and the resolve to make changes in one’s personal life that could have a positive influence on a global level.  Laudato Si encourages each one of us to do our part, believing that it can make a difference.  But acting as a lone ranger can easily leave us prone to demoralization and hopelessness.  Better than acting alone is a communal engagement in making meaningful choices about how to live so that others may also live and thrive.  The importance of community is emphasized in Jean Vanier’s book, where he speaks of it as a means of healing the world:
“The response to war is to live like brothers and sisters.  The response to injustice is to share.  The response to despair is limitless trust and hope.  The response to prejudice and hatred is forgiveness.  To work for community is to work for humanity.” (Jean Vanier, Community and Growth, 100)

When he speaks of the globalization of superficiality, Fr Nicolás does not propose that we abandon new technologies in an attempt to reverse the trend and in effect bury our heads in the sand.  Rather he suggests that we give our attention to its opposite: to cultivating depth of thought and imagination, “a depth that is transformative of the person.”  Depth.  I believe this is an essential aspect of our monastic vocation and a specific mission for our community in these times.  The season of Advent is our annual invitation to renew our commitment to pierce through the surface of things and explore what lies beneath.  To ask questions about the deeper meaning of events, both in our own lives and on the world stage.  To ask God what is his viewpoint on all that afflicts us and how we can live faithfully through these times.  In each of my chapter talks this Advent, I would like to explore different aspects of this call to live and think, feel and pray deeply.

Depth is the opposite of drowsiness, dissipation, drunkenness, or being consumed by the anxiety of daily life.  It is the opposite of dying from fright.  Today’s liturgy does not leave us trembling on the precipice of destruction.  Quite the contrary.  Luke’s version of the eschatological discourse is unique in featuring the call to “Stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand” (Lk 21:28).  How is it possible for us to stand erect, raise our heads and “stand before the Son of Man” (Lk 21:28)?  On what basis do we find strength to stand and courage to meet the gaze of our Redeemer?
 
If we do not die of fright, it is because we know ourselves to be children of God, and no longer children of wrath.  Jeremiah tells us that we are to be called “The LORD our justice” (Jer 33:16) and Paul calls upon the Lord to “strengthen your hearts, to be blameless in holiness before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus”, because he is convinced that “This is the will of God, your holiness” (1 Thes 3:13, 4:3).  The One who is coming is the same One who came to our world in the poverty of a Bethlehem stable, who walked the roads of Galilee and Judea and died the death of a criminal outside the city of his fathers.    He it is who knows our weakness from the inside, carries our sorrows and overcomes our death by his death.  If we dare to raise our heads, the eyes that meet ours are filled with compassion, and the hand that reaches out to us is filled with power – real power to save.  He is the source of our strength and our courage.  May we lift our eyes, our hearts, and our lives to our Redeemer.

“When I caught sight of him, I fell down at his feet as though dead.  He touched me with his right hand and said, “Do not be afraid. I am the first and the last, the one who lives. Once I was dead, but now I am alive forever and ever. I hold the keys to death and the netherworld.” (Rv 1:17-18)

Image: St John's Gospel