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89 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2007
This book would not have seen the light of day without the gift of two weeks as a Visiting Fellow at the Episcopal Theological Seminary of the Southwest. That fellowship afforded me the space and time necessary to begin the project.
The students who participated in my Desert and Celtic Spirituality class at the Seminary of the Southwest in the fall of 2005 […].
In the late 1980s, as I began life as an Episcopal priest, I kept wondering where all the women were.
And some of them, as Christianity became an official religion of the Roman Empire, became what are known as the “desert mothers” or ammas.
We have collections of sayings from three ammas, Sarah, Syncletica, and Theodora. We have mention of a woman named Amma Matrona. While these four names may lead us to believe there were few women in this movement, a contemporary historian tells us that there were twice as many women as men living in the desert.
These were women who left their established roles and sought to live both in communities and as hermits in the deserts of what are now Egypt, Israel, and Syria. Others established communities in the area that is now Turkey.
These ammas and abbas (the desert fathers) are down-to-earth, blunt, and savvy about what is needed to mend the ragged fabric of human community.
Saint Paul gives us the names of women who were his coworkers for the gospel. In Romans 16:7, Paul names Junia as an apostle, one sent by the resurrected Christ to proclaim the gospel. Phoebe, a deacon, was sent to the Romans (Romans 16:1). Paul greets nine different women at the close of this letter, clearly indicating their prominence in the very earliest years of the formation of the Christian community.
These are women who lived during a particular moment in church history—a time during the fourth century when Christianity had been sanctioned by the Roman Empire and active persecutions had stopped.
These ammas and abbas (the desert fathers) are down-to-earth, blunt, and savvy about what is needed to mend the ragged fabric of human community.
In stark contrast to the continuous indulgence of gluttony that is our cultural norm, the desert mothers remind us of the virtues of fasting—from food, from frenetic activity, from anger, from hurtful speech, from arrogant and mean-spirited behavior.
Some years ago I made a retreat at Christ in the Desert, a Benedictine monastery near Abiquiu, New Mexico […].
Having spent so many days in silence, we were delivered from the presumption of speaking out of our old scripts.
Who do you find yourself to be when you are not in your native habitat?
When have you extended mercy to another person? When have you withheld judgment, acted kind, initiated relief for another […].
The life of faith looks like a mother bird, sitting on her eggs. For all we know, that mother bird has moments when it seems like nothing is happening. There are moments when real boredom sets in and the temptation to leave the eggs and do something more interesting arises.
A beautiful and educated woman, Amma Syncletica began her life in Alexandria, in Egypt, in the fourth century. She was one of four children; her brothers died and her sister was blind. In other words, despite her privilege, she was acquainted with loss and sorrow. When her parents died, Syncletica gave all of the family wealth away, cut off her hair, and set out for the desert with her blind sister.
Just as it would be difficult to read this text if there were no spaces between the words, so living without taking time for silence makes our lives a jumbled and garbled text.
Learning to live in this way requires practice and role models—teachers who, as far as possible, are patient, gentle, and humble.
In the way of the desert, humility begins when we understand ourselves to be mortal […].
We practice humility when we allow ourselves, as Roberta Bondi observes, to know we will never be above reproach.
Real humility allows us to take ourselves lightly, to be less concerned with heroic endeavors always to be right, to be kind, to be "the good person."
Humility encourages us to be frank about our shortcomings and failures and to desire transformation.
When we are short on humility, we tend either to ignore our own shortcomings (because to admit them would be to admit that we are human) or to wallow in them.
Seeking an amma, a teacher, a guide, is possible when we desire instruction, when we have the humility to know that we are ready to seek help and companionship.
We have allowed ourselves to be reduced to identities such as "I am what I have" or "I am what I do."
And in a society that is thriving on an inability to admit wrongdoing and take responsibility, the ongoing practice of repentance is a lost art.
At the period in history in which the desert became filled with men and women seeking God, the church had incorporated the ideal of ascesis from Greek life and culture, a term that referred to the physical preparation of athletes.
The walk of faith is not a competition; it is a company, walking together, encouraging one another, tending each other gently.