When
you say nothing Some years ago, I had the unusual
privilege of bringing the Eucharist to one of our sisters in hospital. As I sat
in the bus, tenderly holding the pyx in my hand, the raucous music of the radio
gave way to the sound of a gentler pop song: The
smile on your face lets me know that you need me…
The touch of your hand
says you’ll catch me whenever I fall;
You say it best – when you
say nothing at all! |  |
It
was a special moment for me, taking me back to childhood and my thanksgiving after
Holy Communion. It invariably went: ‘Lord, I don’t know what to say
to you, but when I’m grown up and become a nun, I’ll know what to say
then, so I’ll just keep quiet now – many thanks.’ I never did learn
what to say! Silent music, as the Lord reminded me through the song, is in fact
the proper language of love. However, it won’t get this written – unless
the editor will agree to leave the next few pages blank! So, where do I begin
to explore what Eucharist and sacrifice mean in my life as a Carmelite nun?
| Tender
and tricky words The
Eucharistic sacrifice forms the centre of the Church’s life and, therefore,
of my own life. This great sacrifice of love makes everything relative. |
As
John Paul II has expressed it, in his apostolic letter Abide with us, Lord:
‘In Jesus, in his sacrifice, in his unconditional “yes” to the
will of the Father, is contained the “yes”, the “thank you”
and the “amen” of all humanity’ (No.26) ‘Eucharist’
is a tender word, vibrating with joy and thanksgiving. ‘Sacrifice’,
though, is a tricky word. It means the proper attitude of humanity before the
Creator; it also means the giving up of something good and valued, for the sake
of something better.
| There
is, however, a history of its use to which I never respond well. It is when the
emphasis turns away from God and the good, towards ‘me’ and the recording
of ‘my’ sacrifices – little or great. Each ‘thank you’,
‘yes’ and ‘amen’ we make does involve sacrifice on our part,
but what have we got that we have not been given? |  |
All
is gift, all is grace; it is the paschal sacrifice of Jesus that gives any meaning
to our human notion of sacrifice. In childhood, Thérèse was taught
to count ‘her’ sacrifices, but she soon realised that it was the Lord’s
sacrifice that really counted. All she had to offer was her gratitude, her surrender
to Merciful Love, and her ‘empty hands ’. All who walk the way of Carmel
learn this sooner or later.
| Citizens
of this planet Carmelite nuns, like everyone
else, are – contrary to certain rumours! – citizens of this planet and
do not inhabit a rarefied stratosphere! We are called, like all Christians, to
love God with all our hearts and our neighbour as ourselves, and to follow the
‘new’ commandment: to love as Jesus loves.
|
This
is what being a Christian is all about. We live this out in many and various ways
and through different vocations. All of us are called to close union with God;
everyone gets an invitation to the Bridegroom’s feast – we just travel
different roads to get there.
Carmelite nuns come
from many cultures, countries and backgrounds, but our life of prayer at the service
of the church unites us. With all our differences of culture or expression, we
meet at the one place where all humanity meets: the wounded and risen feet of
Jesus. And we feed, daily, from the ‘two tables’: the table of the word
of God and the table of the bread. This ‘daily bread’ strengthens us
for the journey into the will of God – which is the highest state of prayer
– and it is open to everyone who says ‘yes’ to God with all their
heart. ‘Aye, and there’s the rub!’ A wholehearted ‘yes’
is not easily come by in any path of life. Yet the will of God is not something
beyond our grasp. Jesus has told us what it is:
And
this is the will of him who sent me, that I should not lose any of all that he
has given me, but that I should raise them all up at the last day. For this is
my Father’s will, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him [literally:
cleaves to / trusts in / relies on him], should have eternal life, and I will
raise him up from the dead at the last day. (Jn 6:39-40). Jesus tells us all this
in the context of explaining that he is the ‘bread of life’ and that
it is the Father who gives us the bread from heaven (cf. Jn 6).
 | The
mystery of the Son’s life,death and resurrection holds thelifeline to the
life,death and resurrection of each of us. And we take hold of it, and share it
with others, through the Eucharist. |
‘Love
endures all things’
The Song of Songs
tells us that, even if we gave up all we had for love, we would think nothing
of the loss (cf. Sg 8:7). It was love alone that made the incarnation possible:
the love of God and the love of Mary. Apart from love, sacrifice of any sort would
be meaningless. ‘Love’s hands will dip into any water.’I have always
loved these words from Caryll Houselander [Do you have full reference?]; she uses
them in the context of a mother looking after the basic needs of her helpless
child.
| We
are the helpless children of the Father who does not disdain to look after our
humblest needs. We balk at the idea of God’s hands dipping into the foul
water of our sins. Our pride gets in the way. | 
|
And in the great exchange between heaven and earth, it is human
pride that needs to be sacrificed. God’s love for us is beyond our reckoning.
This love is the beginning and end of each Christian journey, and the Eucharist
is its expression and lifeblood.
Our different vocations
in life – be it priesthood, marriage, single or religious life – have
elements of sacrifice common to all, and some elements that are particular to
each one. Cloistered Carmelite life has its own demands. The fundamental choice
of living out our love of God and neighbour in this way of life affects all the
daily choices we make. We, too, are called to the service of love – the ‘washing
of feet’ – but in a simple, hidden way: by tending to the needs of our
sisters and through our apostolate of prayer. This is a hidden form of service:
for the most part, we have to forgo the satisfaction of seeing results. Being
faithful to the daily rhythm of liturgical and personal prayer, to work, community
life and the times set aside for solitude, calls for an open heart and willing
hands. We may have a natural leaning towards one or other element of the life
and must watch out that we remain faithful to the others. Humble enough stuff,
but sometimes not as easy as it seems. No one responds in just the same way to
each element of love or sacrifice.
 | Carmelite
spirituality has been given a ‘teaching’ role in the Church, especially
through our three ‘Doctors’. It has a universal appeal, I believe, because
it is totally centred |
on the Gospel
and the ‘two tables’ of Scripture and the Eucharist. It is here that
the ordinary, everyday sacrifices of living a life of love find meaning. Our Carmelite
saints lead us into the basic truth from which everything else flows: God loved
us first. He proved it by sending Jesus who, by living, dying and rising from
the dead, showed the depths of God’s love for us and freed us to return love
for love. God does not despise our limited human response; he looks for it with
love and compassion. Carmel teaches us that it is from the depths of God’s
heart we must read the story of our own lives. Yes, life holds pain as well as
joy; pain can be a stumbling block or a stepping stone to God. Each ‘yes’
to God, however tentative, can transform not only our own lives, but also the
lives of all our brothers and sisters who do not yet know that ‘God loved
the world so much that he gave us his only Son’ (Jn 3:16).
Past,
present and future
‘O
Sacred banquet, in which Christ is received, here the memory of his passion is
renewed, our minds are filled with grace and we are given a pledge of the glory
that is to be ours.’ | 
|
Through
this antiphon, written for the feast of Corpus Christi, Thomas Aquinas encapsulates
the whole theology of the Eucharist. He shows that it is through the mystery of
‘God made man’,that the past, present and future of humanity touch the
infinity of God. Each of us carries into our own vocation the realities that made
us who we are. The fact that I am an Irishwoman, with my own national and personal
history, does not alter the charism of Carmel that is now my ‘homeland’
on earth. However, it does give a certain nuance to the way I live my Carmelite
life.
Just a few miles down the road from our Carmel
here in Knock are the ruins of St Mary’s Carmelite monastery, Ballinasmale
(1288-1870). The heroic faithfulness of the Carmelite friars to the people of
this area, especially in times of persecution, is still remembered. For them,
no sacrifice – not even death itself – could be compared with the holy
mass.
Living with my grandmother and her aunt Margaret,
from my fourth year, taught me much about the devotion of my ancestors to the
Eucharist. Nothing in life was more important to those two women. Through them
I learnt that everyone is called to love God and their neighbour. For them daily
mass was a privilege, and out of their poverty they shared what they had with
others. In her last illness, when her mind was rambling with fever, Margaret slipped
out of the house, unseen, and was found, unconscious, on the steps of the local
church. How well she knew the fount which freely flowed, although ’twas night!
While dying of cancer, Nana still baked the two trays of hot scones which greeted
my return from Sunday mass: one for our own breakfast and one to be shared with
our neighbours.
I carried these positive ‘remembrances’
with me into Carmel. However, I also carried some negative ones: to say the least,
my childhood was less than ‘normal’. As a teenager, I could have written
Paul Simon’s anthem of youthful isolation and alienation – ‘I am
a Rock’ – in my own blood! When the Lord led me to Carmel I did not
expect an easy life. I knew no such thing existed – for anyone – but
I was very conscious of the privilege of living in Carmel, so it took a while
for the sacrifices to surface; but surface they did. To my surprise, there was
no ‘generic’ form of sacrifice that the Lord wanted from me as a Carmelite
nun. He cut straight to the quick: he wanted unconditional surrender to himself,
and he wanted me to acknowledge my need of others. The former I knew; the latter
God has spent most of my life teaching me.
The
last farthing 
| ‘“The
Kingdom of heaven is like unto a treasure hidden in a field.” “I want
to buy that field, and I want to find that treasure”… “The price
of the field is the last farthing,” the old man said, in his gentle tones.
“Whether thou hast four farthings or four thousand thou hast the wherewithal
to buy it, so being that thou dost pay the last one.”’ |
The
price of Love’s kingdom is, indeed, the ‘last farthing’, and Christ
paid it on the cross. In so doing, he gave us free access to his Father and left
us the wonder of the Eucharist as food for the journey, as a ‘pledge of glory’.
As we share in the Eucharist, we are empowered to respond in like coin. Our ‘farthings’
may seem pitiably few to us, but it is only the last one that counts – the
one we would like to keep hold of! I am still working on letting go of mine. However,
the Lord continues to coax it out of my hand each day as he offers me the priceless
gift of the Eucharist.
I no longer sing, with Paul
Simon:
If
I had never loved
I never would have cried…
I touch no one
and
no one touches me…
I am a Rock, I am an Island but: Lord,
how good you are
and how gentle is your Spirit.
When
you wished to show
your goodness to your [children]
you gave them bread
from heaven,
filling the hungry with good things
and sending the rich
away empty. |  |
