The First Step

The topic of this edition of the journal is for me as a creamy cake for a sweat tooth. It is so, because I am working on the basis of interreligious dialogue according to the declaration “Dominus Iesus”. It is, indeed, an explosive mix, which sets the minds of great theologians on fire, but I don’t want to bother you with such a complicated consideration. This article is about something else. About silence. Strange, isn’t it? Starting with silence is already of service to my theological research. Among many enthusiastic articles and books about interreligious dialogue, I couldn’t find the answers to the most simple questions. They seemed to be missing.

One day I made a shocking discovery. I can’t speak! Of course, that is not about my inability to put thoughts into words. The point is, I can’t, in fact, control my own tongue. It is as if I used a fire hose to water a small bed in the garden. The hose takes control over me and it squirts all over the place and the whole garden is flooded. The problem is not only disability to self-control, but also recklessness. As I’m watching with silent amazement at good words sprouting in my heart, so I am terrified watching an agility of bad words. They can transform from an innocent comma, through meaningful allusion, spontaneous joke into roar and accusation. Finally, they become my only word.

What about silence? After all, the dialogue needs words.

There are two stories which came to my mind as an answer. The first tells about a young French painter who was taught the Chinese calligraphy by an old master. When the other students were improving their skills of calligraphy at the university, at the same time she was painting for a year only one stroke, again and again. Each day the master was disappointed. She discovered gradually, that she had not controlled the paintbrush. What is that, one stroke? What is that, silence? It is so simple, that it seems to be evident and irrelevant.

Finally, the skill of beginning and ending one stroke led the young woman to become a true master of calligraphy. Oh, how I wish myself to have the skill of opening and closing my mouth.

It is time for the second story. It was in one cloister in the time of the Desert Fathers. There was a rule which allowed a monk to speak one sentence a year and that to the superior. One monk entered this cloister. After one year he came to the superior and said: “The food is tasteless”. In the second year he reported: “The cell is bleak”. After the third year he said casually: “I’m leaving”. The superior sighed and commented: “I knew it. He was always complaining”. However, it is a wonderful story about complaining, I would like to show you the role of silence. During a long period of silence the truth about oneself may be revealed, and expressed in thoughts and words.

I find silence is the very first step to putting in to practice what Francis said: “Blessed that friar who loves his brother and respects his brother as much when he is absent as when he is present and who would not say anything behind his back that he could not say charitably to his face” (The Admonitions, 25).

Re-creative Fidelity

The celebration of the 800th anniversary of The Franciscan Order, led me to look closer at the meaning  of our franciscan life and spirituality and to reflect on it. I would like to share with you one of my 'discoveries', which was published in the Central-Eastern Europe Province bulletin, in the edition dedicated to formation. 

These days, we can hear a lot about ‘creative fidelity’. However, going up the stream I would like to defend something I call ‘re-creative fidelity’. Does it mean I’m inviting you to slow down and to stop looking for new ways and forms of expression? Well, yes. I want to say even more: I’m inviting you to do a ‘U-turn’ and go back…

Do I ask you to oppose your own formation and to stop the growth of your spiritual life? I dare say this is not the case. Saint Francis did not tell his brothers: ‘Let us start something new’ but ‘let us begin again’. Meaning: do what you have been doing, but do it better… 

Alright, this was what he said. So what are we meant to do in order to set off on the journey of ‘re-creative fidelity’?

Creativity, as you probably know quite well, means dynamic growth and it implies overcoming our limits, searching for new ways, means and places to answer God’s call. 

By becoming involved entirely in our creating, people develop their own humanity and then rise on a higher lever of their vocation. Is there anything special, then, that ‘re-creative fidelity’ has to offer us, apart from building a shell around our hearts and acting against our own, individual personalities? Does it not look like a spiritual death? 

My answer can sound like a blasphemy to our contemporary world: I do not really believe that a person has any abilities to create themselves and their relationship with God. Sooner or later, sin grows bigger than our noble ideas, without us noticing it. Then, everything becomes only a caricature of what it is meant to be in the first place. Our God is immeasurable and He cannot be grasped with a human hand. His love towards me is too deep to be closed and surrounded with little tenderness in my human heart. His plan for my life is too beautiful to be expressed in my own words or to take shape in my actions.

You could say that my vision of human beings is maybe beautiful, but pessimistic. It is like the doctrine taken from that of St. Augustine. If that is how things are with a called man or woman, then it is better to keep away from it! By human resources this is impossible; for God everything is possible.

To mirror Jesus Christ in oneself – that is what I mean by re-creative fidelity. I long to gather in and focus on Him all the possibilities of my own personal growth. I am attracted by a kind of stillness, which is nothing except looking for Him. I am fascinated by this challenge: to mirror Jesus – with details – in my body, my personality, my point of view and even (it may seem a little crazy) in every movement of my heart. To mirror a man who is God. I dream of Him taking my whole being in His wounded hands, so He could live in me and not myself any more. It is obvious that at this point I am leaving a path full of life to take a path of death. However, that is how I see the life of St. Francis, his actions and prayers: as a total effort to mirror Jesus Christ. 

I think all this is worthy to give up everything else, any kind of personal development or search and to give entirely one’s life to re-creative fidelity. I have some reasons to believe, that the holy Spirit will take care of our resemblance to The Original, thus fulfilling the words: ‘Father, in your hands I commend my spirit’. And may the resurrection be done by the One ‘who raised up Jesus from the dead’.

Alternateness of Poverty

I love life for its possibility to be read over and over. Like a good book… I am exploring it as the sands of Egypt – with hypodermic certainty that in a second, suddenly, I am going to sweep up the dust from the antiquities.

I have in life the Valleys of Kings. Undusted, cherished, festive – just to be contemplated. There are however also the places, where I have been sitting for years with spade and paintbrush and if I puff or cut it, the other world, another idea, is coming through,. This is a case with the story of a man who in one hour’s time became very close to me. And then, we never met again.

Break in the travel. We entered the shop at the petrol station. First we went to the toilet, then to take ice cream which we planned. Going out I passed by a homeless man. I heard him knocking at the door of the toilet and shouting something impatiently. I did not look behind me. It was better like that. He was probably drunk and could easily change the target of interest and we would have a problem. In the shop we encircled the freezer and, undecided, for a long time we discussed the purchase. Suddenly, behind our heads the voice was heard:

- “Sisters, you had better get something to eat for the homeless instead of debating about ice-cream!”

- Oh, he took interest in us, anyhow, - I thought. - And with self-confidence! - But right away, I felt hot with shame.

- He was right. We looked stupid, poring over that silly freezer for such a long time, as if it was something very special. And just next to us was someone who simply needed something to eat. We were like ladies and not the Franciscan women…

All three of us had probably the same thoughts. We raised our heads and saw the face of the screamer from the toilet.

I had no longer any desire for the ice cream whatsoever. I felt ashamed. But, as from my nature, I don’t like displaying that somebody has prevailed over me with one sentence, I got the first ice cream I saw. We approached the counter. The homeless man chose something for himself and we paid. We got ice-creams for all of us. All four. It was out of my funny perversity, that he was not going to be better and would have his ice-cream. We still had some time before departure so we sat down on the steps, on the level of the taping heels of passing people. He had a sandwich and we had our ice-cream. His name was Tomek.

It is a shame to acknowledge how little I remember from his story. It stayed with me as a vague memory of a story of being rejected by everybody. It was a dramatic wound received from the beginning and right into the heart. He was drunk a little bit when telling his story but he had no pity for himself. There was in him this strange simplicity and sincerity which made me believe in everything he was saying. From time to time he stopped his story in order to surprise us with his ideas. He ran, for example, to a couple who at that moment appeared on the station and said only, “Good evening, I just wanted to say that you have a very beautiful girlfriend. You look wonderful together.”

 People obviously looked uncertain, ready to defend themselves since he was homeless and drunk. Nobody knew if he was going to be interested in this “wonderful girlfriend” for a long time. But at that moment on the dirt and unshaven Tomek’s face flourished a gracious smile, he turned back and continued his tragic story. The beauty delighted him and he wanted to show it. There was something surreal about him. Like a daisy on the frowzy wall. I still have before my eyes his dirty fingers in which he kept a straw of grass, seeing in it the presence of God and telling us about his prayer.

I think he was our age. In spite of everything he had his dreams. But he couldn’t find a way to reach them. He was too much defenseless in himself. He wasn’t pretentious, he accused nobody, he did not expect from us the mountains of gold. He was asking for a job. Obviously, in the state he was in, it was out of the question.

We noted his address and gave a condition:

- You must become sober, then come to us and we will see what we can do.

One of us knew where he could eventually find help and we all saw that without our help Tomek was not able to take a step in the direction of true life. And he wanted it so much. We felt that his destiny is in our hands, that he (or He) put it in them. The time for us to go came. In a few minutes our bus was going again. Time to say goodbye had come. We left him with our address; hugged him as if we knew each other for years. From the bus window we saw him going away.

- Do you think he will come? Will he still remember something tomorrow? - we wondered.

- Tomorrow maybe not… he will drink again to celebrate the chat of today. But maybe he will come later. It would be good. He cannot manage alone.

He did not come the next day. He probably “celebrated”. I went away once again. When I came back I was told that he had appeared. He hadn’t drunk and was full of hope. Unfortunately, for us it wasn’t the season for a job. Our bathrooms were too clean to allow him the bath and our imagination was too fearful to take care of him as a man with the name. All he could receive was the sandwich ‘for the homeless’. As homeless as he was when shouting at the toilet door at the petrol station.

I boiled over with helpless anger while listening to all that. And with still more regret because we probably could have given him a chance for a new life. Who knows if not the last one? But we preferred to occupy ourselves with our business. Equally like around the freezer at the station.

From time to time I wonder what happened to him. He has a special place in my heart - unique as himself. With his provocation at the petrol station, he showed me who was really poor and worth pity. While challenging fearful people and plucking the straw of grass with inspiration, he didn’t even realize, how blessed and loved he was. In spite of being at the same time, really poor, also lacking the strength of will power. At the end of this story, we showed ourselves to be very poor in the spirit of poverty, even though it was he who lost the chance of starting a new life.

In the sand of Egypt of my life, with a special care I dust and sweep that memory, because every time it is for me fresh and mysterious, like the purity of his eyes lost in the neglected face. I am still hoping that sooner or later we will meet again.

When I see an old age coming

(text of one of my sisters)

I know Lord, that there is no medicine for it. It comes slowly, appears. It knocks at my door, comes without my permission. I have to take it in consideration. Its needs are big. 

It is really an end coming? However I have so many plans. You, Lord, know better that I that I am getting older. Help me to understand that I have entered into the most important stage of my life, that my age is a grace. This asks from me a spiritual set up. Please, allow me to come to the conviction that I am not so important and that the environment will cope without me. The time has come for learning humility, to make others take my place. Do not allow me to fall into temptation of empty speaking and feeling responsible to give my advices to everybody by calling my infallible experience. Even though it is very hard, I have to get use to the solitude which doesn’t mean to become dawdler. 

Lord, I have also the nerves. You command me to be joyful and patient when somebody comes to me with his problems. The time flies, gets away like youth, like spring. Do not allow me to go with my thoughts constantly back and to repeat without ceasing: “the other day it was better.” Saint Benedict instructs us to love young people even if they do not consider our old age. I need to believe against faith that your Providence is working today as well as yesterday and that young generation has also its gifts. 

Finally, the old age is a dreaming stage for prayer and offering. My main duty is prayer for the world, for the Church, for my people. Silent prayer... Evening’s offering… day by day.  

I need to accustom myself to the reality of death coming, no, no death but life! With your Mercy you are waiting for me with open arms.

The child of God the Father

I remember one anecdote from my work in the kindergarten in Piastow. Kneeling before three years old girl I helped her to dress, when little Basia standing on the chair says: “Don’t worry sister, one day you will grow up..”

The dream of each child is to grow up. The big one can do anything; he is strong, wise, beautiful and perfect… And before all that, the big one is mammy and dad. It’s because of them the world of adults is so attractive. And if it happens that in the adults world there is nobody who loves the small one, this world becomes frightening.

And once again I discover here the similarity with the spiritual life. We should become children, says Jesus. But we escape from that call as fully as we can. We consider it as childish, infantile, we think that we need a special grace for that, that it is important to differ childish from childlike… The truth is that we are afraid of becoming children. We would rather grow up and then we would present ourselves before God.

I’ve just closed the book with the letters of 6 years old Antoniette Meo: The Pope signed last year the decree of heroism of her virtues). I read it at once. The letters to God, which she dictated to her mum, are full of simplicity and great mysticism. They fit for the catechesis for children as well as for the adults and… even for the courses of the theology. In her relationship to God she behaves as if she wanted to climb on the knees of God and kiss him on his cheek. At the same time I see clearly the same desire for souls and readiness for sacrifice as for Mary of the Passion.

Here is one of her 160 letters:

21st of January 1937

“Dearest God the Father,

I love you so much! Really very much… Loving God the Father, tell Jesus that I love him very much. Loving God the Father! … Free many souls from the purgatory so that they can go to heaven and praise you. Loving God the Father, tomorrow, all the time I want stay on the cross of Jesus in the Calvary (she had the cancer of bones). Today I also was there, but I wasn’t very good. You, who are so good, forgive me. Dear God the Father, tell to Mary that I love her so much and ask her that she receives me under her coat, and that she asks graces for me, and that she bless me… Loving Father, cure me from cough. Dear Father, tell Jesus that I want to do so many sacrifices but without his help I can nothing. Dear God the Father tell Holy Spirit that I love him very much and ask him to rid me from the dangers.

Dear God the Father, bless all and I send to you my kisses and greetings.

Your daughter.

Antonietta

If I wanted tell now the “spiritual anecdote” of my meeting with Antonietta, it would go like that: I nervously waited before the door of heaven and I tried to compose any meaningful prayer for greeting. Obviously nothing wise and holy enough came to my mind. I was about going back and to try the next time (we all know that in the spiritual life there is not such a thing like ‘next time’), when little Antonietta climbed the chair and whispered: “Don’t worry, sister, one day, you will become child…”. I smiled and like a small girl I ran to the God’s throne.

The duty of a Star

During the last few years in a row I was drawing the duty of a star at the crib. Of course for great joy of the sisters in the community. 

With this duty there are only problems. The star shines and from far is very visible, difficult to hide and even if one would like to it is not possible because the fate would pull out by the ears... This is the nature of a star. Fortunately during the past years I got to used to the role of a star so I shine despite all the odds. Heaven forbid to pretend to be the Sun. It would be not possible to get warm in the light of such a light. Some may would not sleep well thinking about this duty, if the star would fall down? In reality some are falling down and with big noise or rather a tail. Some stars are dying or are blown up by its own light and then there is a black hole which eats everything that meets on its way. The astronomical lows could be apply to the religious life as well.

It is not good to be a star. To shine it is dangerous, to switch of - one becomes useless... And everything happens in front of the people. It is even worse to try change the star into something else,  "safe". The star was meant to be a star, it was the Creator thought. And a missionary is able to fulfil her mission only if agrees for what was proposed  her by the Creator.

I'm reading the Message of the Holy Father for the World Communication Day "At the Crossroads between Self-Promotion and Service" and I'm thinking that we are so much afraid of self promotion that we prefer not to serve instead of entering in the dangerous field of  the mass media. In reality as a missionary I feel not only like a journalist but as a war correspondent. In this disorientated world I have to transfer reliable and fresh news from the war between God and Evil about men. And I have to hurry up to bring to light that it is not true that the Evil wins. It is enough to put on TV or Internet to meet with the propaganda of a Devil's success. This war is not anything new. The first battle took place under the tree of Knowledge between Good and Bad. The breaking news started to come from the Last Supper. Despite our winning the war goes on. Not only in the hearts but as well on the Internet and in the newspapers. 

It has to be clear that if I will not decide to "shine" another star will shine and will bring a man to nowhere. I better do to climb on the place prepared for me to proclaim the Gospel. I acknowledge that I risk loosing the balance, humiliation and failure, but I'm rather sure that as long as I shine with the light of my Lord, Jesus Christ, there is no danger for me of an explosion of supernova.