For anyone who hasn't read the book of Mother Teresa's letters that came out a couple years ago, this Time article might help provide some context for this poem: "Mother Teresa's Crisis of Faith"
I think you mentioned, Jason, that you were reading the book. I can't quite tell from the poem, though, if you admire this part of her story or not. But maybe (like many artistes) you'd rather let your art speak for itself?
As I wrote in my journal shortly after that book came out ("apart from me you can do nothing"), I'm skeptical of any claim of "service" to God when we're not experiencing his presence, especially for long periods of time. Or a spirituality of suffering that expands Jesus' experience on the cross to consume our whole lives, when most of Jesus' life was not like that at all. And "absence" and "darkness" does not sound like what Jesus promised us. Does it?
I have a feeling that this spirituality, quite common in the monastic tradition (and becoming popular again among new monastics?) subtly undermines the "good news" that Jesus came to preach.
Jason Winton
· 2 months ago
Thanks for pointing out the context, Paul. I thought about putting a link to the book in a note above the poem, but decided against it (for aesthetic reasons), figuring folks would likely know what I was doing or be able to find out. I would definitely recommend reading the book itself (Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light--The Private Writings of the Saint of Calcutta).
I guess I do admire certain parts of her response to "the darkness," though I'll admit to feeling confused reading about the utter desolation she described to her directors. She apparently did not see, feel, or even "know" God's love for many, many years. Her experience of union with God, which had been common, and the very Voice which had, in fact, spawned "the work" (as she liked to call it), almost suddenly disappeared when the work started. The paradox, of course, was that as a result she constantly felt a deep longing for her spouse Jesus, which altogether overshadowed (but did not minimize) the doubt and painful absence. It was as if the darkness became her answer to the longing she felt to love Him and the poorest of the poor (whose experience was strikingly similar to hers). As above poem reads, she came "to love the darkness"--not because it meant something special for her but because it nourished a longing she had for Him and a desire to refuse Jesus nothing. That's probably what I admire about it. I know what you're thinking, "Well, what don't you admire?" But don't blame me, I'm an artiste. :)
Other than that, though I think her experience shouldn't be thought of as a model for all people everywhere, I do think it is consistent with Jesus' teachings (i.e., taking up one's cross and following Him). If it's the amount of time that it apparently lasted which bothers you, I'm not sure I have an answer to give. Like St. Paul wrote, "Now I rejoice in what was suffered for you, and I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ's afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the church" (Colossians 1:24).
Lastly, it seems to me Mother Teresa understood and lived the "good news" precisely in her willingness to accept this painful sacrifice as a small (perhaps even insignificant) token of blind faith, creating her deepest longing to be with God, and propelling an even more authentic identification with Christ in the work she was convinced (with profound faith?) He created and sustained. She apparently did this happily, as "God's flower of the field."
paul munn
· 2 months ago
To connect the absence of God's presence with "take up your cross and follow" seems not quite right to me. Certainly Jesus predicted that we would face persecution from others for following him, and this is the experience of the cross I think we can expect. But this is neither self-inflicted asceticism nor spiritual abandonment.
The moment on the cross when Jesus did feel God's abandonment is (as I understand it) the one part of Jesus' life that we need not experience. Ever. Isn't that the point of "I am with you always"? Jesus' took the consequences for sin (if you don't mind me using such traditional language) so that we need never be cut off from God. He's the answer to our alienation from God, not a cause of it. I understand and have experienced periods where it felt God wasn't there ("dark nights of the soul"), but that was only because I was still learning how God worked and temporarily couldn't perceive how God was present. And then I did perceive and felt closer to God than before.
What concerns me in glorifying a decades long experience of God's absence is that it basically says that we should press on no matter whether we feel God is with us or not. It spiritualizes and explains away disturbing feelings of distance from God. But (apart from the one moment on the cross, which we need never imitate) Jesus never expressed such distance from his Father. What he demonstrates is a life lived in constant and intimate contact with God, moment by moment doing and saying what his Father told him to do. Isn't that so? Isn't that what you want?
I don't think we should ever carry on with "the work," even if it seems to be good, Christian work, if we have the continuing sense that God is not with us in it, supporting us, guiding us, inspiring us. Because it's not really about "the work," is it?
It's about growing in our relationship with God, drawing ever closer to him, and letting others know that the same is offered to them. And that we never have to be cut off from God any more. Isn't that really the good news of Jesus?
Jason Winton
· 2 months ago
First of all, to answer your questions about what sounds like good news: felt closeness with God and felt assurance that He will never leave us is certainly good (the best?) news. Reading her letters, though, it is clear that she never had a doubt that God was in, supporting, guiding, and inspiring the work. The most confusing aspect of these letters, which I'm sure supports the point you're trying to make, is that she didn't feel the Presence which she saw others experience through the MC. She wondered at many points whether she was deceiving others and even wanted to tell them how desolate she felt. She never did go through with it, explaining that when she would go to do tell God would shut her mouth (spiritualizing a negative consequence of sin or revealing the true origin of her "darkness"?).
The most fascinating thing to me (one that gives me courage) is that she was willing to give whatever He would take (assuming that, in fact, He did take away His felt presence for so many years). She eventually came to understand that she was experiencing the same spiritual state as the dying and destitute in the slums and could better empathize spiritually with their experience because of it, which I think she clearly did. Mother Teresa's experience of spiritual absence was obviously problematic and even disturbing, something she obviously deeply felt, especially after years of close felt union with Him. But why didn't God answer her prayers to take it away or to bring His felt presence back? And why did she appear to have such tremendous faith (her response in the pain) while admitting to a wasteland of spiritual feelings?
paul munn
· 2 months ago
Those are interesting insights, Jason (and also a bit confusing, I agree). It certainly isn't easy to interpret. And I should say that I don't mean to critique Mother Teresa's spiritual life at all, not knowing her personally, and having no access to her real experience and situation.
I only mean to address certain interpretations that might be drawn from her situation and letters. Like the implication that God wanted her (and perhaps us?) to experience the spiritual state of the people she served (an experience of spiritual abandonment by God?) so she could better empathize with them. That seems to make sense. But do we ever see this in Jesus' ministry? What I see is Jesus demonstrating a continual intimacy with his Father that he then freely offered to those he served, inviting them (and us) into his spiritual experience. Not the other way around.
Then there's the apparent presentation of God as asking continued service from her (us?) but withholding the joys of his presence. This seems to result in a much more selfless and heroic servant, who continues to give to God without getting much of anything back. But, again, is this the way Jesus ever presented his Father? What I see from Jesus is a God that gives us everything, with overwhelming generosity, demanding no payment from us. I don't see God trying to build servants that need little from him, but servants that are completely dependent on him, with little strength or heroism of their own ("so that no one might boast in the presence of God") who's great deeds point not to human capability but to the God to does great things through feeble human beings. Jesus' poverty and weakness exemplify this for me (and Paul also presents himself this way often).
These interpretations are easy to draw from Teresa's experience, and people might want to emulate them since Teresa is so highly respected. But I really think they point in the opposite direction from what Jesus showed us. They glorify human beings rather God.
I don't blame Teresa for this, since she didn't intend to reveal her confusing struggles. But I can see why people in the church institution might value servants that continue tirelessly in dedicated service no matter what their spiritual state...
corey_mullins
· 1 month ago
I think it is difficult for people in our rich Western world to identify with or understand someone like Mother Teresa. She experienced suffering, both her own and those around her, day after day, year after year. We read about that experience while we are sipping on lattes at Starbucks - not exactly the same. Her faith was tested in ways that 99.99% will never understand. And she did it all voluntarily. We typically try to avoid pain and suffering if at all possible. I have known many people who after experiencing a tragedy in their lives completely lost their faith in God. She experienced tragedy on a daily basis. The fact that she could take that pain and misery and darkness and find some evidence of God in all of it truly amazes me.
paul munn
· 1 month ago
If you truly do admire Teresa's life and wish to understand it better, then it seems the best response would be to follow her example and see for yourself.
I did something along those lines when I moved to a Catholic Worker house to live with and serve the poor here in Illinois. I think the experience was a good one (making me want to continue serving the poor) and brought much greater understanding. But my eventual conclusion was that Jesus offered much, much more than what I saw in Dorothy Day's and Mother Teresa's models of life (he offered a life of freedom and God's amazing power that invited the poor out of their misery). And Teresa's sad story in her recently published journals seemed to me to confirm that conclusion.
corey_mullins
· 1 month ago
So between your own experience in working with the poor and your reading of Mother Teresa's life, what would you say is missing in that type of ministry? Is it the work that is flawed, the message, both? And what do you mean by saying that Jesus invites the poor out of their misery?
paul munn
· 1 month ago
I wouldn't use the word "flawed" because I don't mean to criticize their efforts, only point out that Jesus offered much more and much better. So we can hope for more ourselves in following him.
I'd rather have a long discussion with you on this, but if I have to try to fit it in this little window I'm typing in... I think Teresa and Dorothy Day rightly highlighted Jesus' being with the poor, not serving them from a position of power or wealth above them. I definitely want to do that too. But I guess I see an asceticism in Teresa and Day that I don't see in Jesus. They seem to me to be trying to identify with and share the suffering of the poor, helping mostly by their presence (and themselves experiencing the deprivation and the miserable surroundings that the poor experience). But I see Jesus as being truly poor with the poor, but living a life of freedom and miraculous power that was not miserable at all nor ascetic in any way, and inviting the poor to follow him in this amazing life. Not joining them in their misery but inviting them out of it.
I remember hard days at the Catholic Worker, and reading about Dorothy Day's experience in a run down house in worst part of NY, abusive guests, violence, etc. And I remember looking at Jesus' life and thinking, "He didn't live like that." And I read in Teresa's journal about years without feeling God's presence, and I thought again that that wasn't the kind of life Jesus lived or promised for us.
I think the more ascetic approach seems more heroic, and is more admired by people. But Jesus was offering the kingdom of God, God's power to live without money or human power but still have a beautiful, amazing, full life, not our own doing but a gift from God, so it is available to anyone (especially the poor). That's good news. And that's what I want to live and offer to the poor as well.
Monique
· 2 weeks ago
Wow, thank you for this posting. Beautiful and light in darkness for me.
All Comments
I think you mentioned, Jason, that you were reading the book. I can't quite tell from the poem, though, if you admire this part of her story or not. But maybe (like many artistes) you'd rather let your art speak for itself?
As I wrote in my journal shortly after that book came out ("apart from me you can do nothing"), I'm skeptical of any claim of "service" to God when we're not experiencing his presence, especially for long periods of time. Or a spirituality of suffering that expands Jesus' experience on the cross to consume our whole lives, when most of Jesus' life was not like that at all. And "absence" and "darkness" does not sound like what Jesus promised us. Does it?
I have a feeling that this spirituality, quite common in the monastic tradition (and becoming popular again among new monastics?) subtly undermines the "good news" that Jesus came to preach.
I guess I do admire certain parts of her response to "the darkness," though I'll admit to feeling confused reading about the utter desolation she described to her directors. She apparently did not see, feel, or even "know" God's love for many, many years. Her experience of union with God, which had been common, and the very Voice which had, in fact, spawned "the work" (as she liked to call it), almost suddenly disappeared when the work started. The paradox, of course, was that as a result she constantly felt a deep longing for her spouse Jesus, which altogether overshadowed (but did not minimize) the doubt and painful absence. It was as if the darkness became her answer to the longing she felt to love Him and the poorest of the poor (whose experience was strikingly similar to hers). As above poem reads, she came "to love the darkness"--not because it meant something special for her but because it nourished a longing she had for Him and a desire to refuse Jesus nothing. That's probably what I admire about it. I know what you're thinking, "Well, what don't you admire?" But don't blame me, I'm an artiste. :)
Other than that, though I think her experience shouldn't be thought of as a model for all people everywhere, I do think it is consistent with Jesus' teachings (i.e., taking up one's cross and following Him). If it's the amount of time that it apparently lasted which bothers you, I'm not sure I have an answer to give. Like St. Paul wrote, "Now I rejoice in what was suffered for you, and I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ's afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the church" (Colossians 1:24).
Lastly, it seems to me Mother Teresa understood and lived the "good news" precisely in her willingness to accept this painful sacrifice as a small (perhaps even insignificant) token of blind faith, creating her deepest longing to be with God, and propelling an even more authentic identification with Christ in the work she was convinced (with profound faith?) He created and sustained. She apparently did this happily, as "God's flower of the field."
The moment on the cross when Jesus did feel God's abandonment is (as I understand it) the one part of Jesus' life that we need not experience. Ever. Isn't that the point of "I am with you always"? Jesus' took the consequences for sin (if you don't mind me using such traditional language) so that we need never be cut off from God. He's the answer to our alienation from God, not a cause of it. I understand and have experienced periods where it felt God wasn't there ("dark nights of the soul"), but that was only because I was still learning how God worked and temporarily couldn't perceive how God was present. And then I did perceive and felt closer to God than before.
What concerns me in glorifying a decades long experience of God's absence is that it basically says that we should press on no matter whether we feel God is with us or not. It spiritualizes and explains away disturbing feelings of distance from God. But (apart from the one moment on the cross, which we need never imitate) Jesus never expressed such distance from his Father. What he demonstrates is a life lived in constant and intimate contact with God, moment by moment doing and saying what his Father told him to do. Isn't that so? Isn't that what you want?
I don't think we should ever carry on with "the work," even if it seems to be good, Christian work, if we have the continuing sense that God is not with us in it, supporting us, guiding us, inspiring us. Because it's not really about "the work," is it?
It's about growing in our relationship with God, drawing ever closer to him, and letting others know that the same is offered to them. And that we never have to be cut off from God any more. Isn't that really the good news of Jesus?
The most fascinating thing to me (one that gives me courage) is that she was willing to give whatever He would take (assuming that, in fact, He did take away His felt presence for so many years). She eventually came to understand that she was experiencing the same spiritual state as the dying and destitute in the slums and could better empathize spiritually with their experience because of it, which I think she clearly did. Mother Teresa's experience of spiritual absence was obviously problematic and even disturbing, something she obviously deeply felt, especially after years of close felt union with Him. But why didn't God answer her prayers to take it away or to bring His felt presence back? And why did she appear to have such tremendous faith (her response in the pain) while admitting to a wasteland of spiritual feelings?
I only mean to address certain interpretations that might be drawn from her situation and letters. Like the implication that God wanted her (and perhaps us?) to experience the spiritual state of the people she served (an experience of spiritual abandonment by God?) so she could better empathize with them. That seems to make sense. But do we ever see this in Jesus' ministry? What I see is Jesus demonstrating a continual intimacy with his Father that he then freely offered to those he served, inviting them (and us) into his spiritual experience. Not the other way around.
Then there's the apparent presentation of God as asking continued service from her (us?) but withholding the joys of his presence. This seems to result in a much more selfless and heroic servant, who continues to give to God without getting much of anything back. But, again, is this the way Jesus ever presented his Father? What I see from Jesus is a God that gives us everything, with overwhelming generosity, demanding no payment from us. I don't see God trying to build servants that need little from him, but servants that are completely dependent on him, with little strength or heroism of their own ("so that no one might boast in the presence of God") who's great deeds point not to human capability but to the God to does great things through feeble human beings. Jesus' poverty and weakness exemplify this for me (and Paul also presents himself this way often).
These interpretations are easy to draw from Teresa's experience, and people might want to emulate them since Teresa is so highly respected. But I really think they point in the opposite direction from what Jesus showed us. They glorify human beings rather God.
I don't blame Teresa for this, since she didn't intend to reveal her confusing struggles. But I can see why people in the church institution might value servants that continue tirelessly in dedicated service no matter what their spiritual state...
I did something along those lines when I moved to a Catholic Worker house to live with and serve the poor here in Illinois. I think the experience was a good one (making me want to continue serving the poor) and brought much greater understanding. But my eventual conclusion was that Jesus offered much, much more than what I saw in Dorothy Day's and Mother Teresa's models of life (he offered a life of freedom and God's amazing power that invited the poor out of their misery). And Teresa's sad story in her recently published journals seemed to me to confirm that conclusion.
I'd rather have a long discussion with you on this, but if I have to try to fit it in this little window I'm typing in... I think Teresa and Dorothy Day rightly highlighted Jesus' being with the poor, not serving them from a position of power or wealth above them. I definitely want to do that too. But I guess I see an asceticism in Teresa and Day that I don't see in Jesus. They seem to me to be trying to identify with and share the suffering of the poor, helping mostly by their presence (and themselves experiencing the deprivation and the miserable surroundings that the poor experience). But I see Jesus as being truly poor with the poor, but living a life of freedom and miraculous power that was not miserable at all nor ascetic in any way, and inviting the poor to follow him in this amazing life. Not joining them in their misery but inviting them out of it.
I remember hard days at the Catholic Worker, and reading about Dorothy Day's experience in a run down house in worst part of NY, abusive guests, violence, etc. And I remember looking at Jesus' life and thinking, "He didn't live like that." And I read in Teresa's journal about years without feeling God's presence, and I thought again that that wasn't the kind of life Jesus lived or promised for us.
I think the more ascetic approach seems more heroic, and is more admired by people. But Jesus was offering the kingdom of God, God's power to live without money or human power but still have a beautiful, amazing, full life, not our own doing but a gift from God, so it is available to anyone (especially the poor). That's good news. And that's what I want to live and offer to the poor as well.