A few notes from Facebook, for Melanie.

I've been reading Elisabeth Leseur's Journale et Pensées de Chaque Jour (Journal and Daily Thoughts) this summer, and occasionally posting some passages to FB.  Melanie was interested in the conversation but has had some trouble following along what with the intermittent uselessness of the native notifications.  I'm reproducing some of it here for her benefit.  And maybe yours?

Begin...

I have made a substantial dent in Journal et pensées de chaque jour by Elisabeth Leseur including the lengthy biographical memoir by her husband that serves as the preface.   Some notes follow...

Note 1.  I hadn’t noticed before, but E.L. didn’t write in her journal very often. (These are not excerpts, as far as I can tell.) She wrote in bursts and isolated days: five entries in September 1899, one the next February, two back-to-back days in March, once in May…

Often the entries give brief accounts of the time since the last one, lists of resolutions for the future, and private expressions of thoughts that she feels she can’t share with anyone in real life. She sometimes comments on rereadings of past entries. It’s a journal of spiritual progress, I get the sense that she uses it to help her remember her resolutions and be accountable, but it isn’t a daily journal. And while she discusses how she’s fulfilled or not fulfilled her resolutions generally, she very rarely describes particular failings or successes in any detail. Very different compared to, say, St. Thérèse with her many personal anecdotes. She mentions day-to-day joys (presents from Félix, vacations, etc.) and worries (sick loved ones especially).

 

It’s nice to know that a significant and fruitful journaling practice can be irregular, as-needed, seasonal, and even discreet. You don’t have to put your whole examen in it every day.

 

Note 2. On my first (English) reading of the journal and of biographical material about E. L., what I found most prominent about her difficulties was that she lived and moved among people who didn’t share her faith and whom she couldn’t really talk to about it from the heart; and that she resolved not to argue with people and to always respect consciences, preferring to be an example of charity, honesty, and simplicity as well as intense in private prayer. This is a suffering of isolation and loneliness (despite living in a lively intellectual circle of friends and relations).

 

On this second reading, I am more struck by her descriptions of the suffering caused by her physical illnesses, both because of chronic pain and exhaustion and because she has to set aside active kinds of service and take care of herself instead of other people. She doesn’t specifically mention their childlessness (that I have seen yet) but I think I can read that between the lines. She’s determined to make this suffering fruitful. She also resolves often not to complain about her illness.

 

I find it interesting because she resolves to be honest and simple, and to care for her body as required (to rest instead of work for instance), but also to keep some deep layer of her suffering private and interior, because it seems to her to be more fruitful that way. (She later acquires a spiritual director to whom it seems she reveals some of this.) It’s an interesting line to walk: sometimes it is a sacrifice to be honest, and sometimes it is a sacrifice to be reserved.

 

Also this may depend very much on the kinds of people who are around her and her specific desires for those relationships. I don’t think she’s offering us a universal rule. It’s her *personal* path which she’s arrived at through long contemplation.

 

Note 3. There’s a rule of life that she laid out in autumn of 1906 that is absolutely fascinating. Part of her personal apostolate is to learn as much as possible about all kinds of intellectual subjects so she can understand everyone she meets as clearly as possible. And she is absolutely convinced that her specific duty is never to speak directly about Christ or her faith, unless asked, but simply to be a very attractive and self-giving personality that displays Christlikeness, and also secretly offer many prayers and sacrifices for the people she encounters and loves.

 

I’m trying to imagine the social milieu in which a person would decide after much thought and prayer that it is an actively superior and more fruitful type of evangelization to literally never speak the name of Christ.

 

One possibility would be if experience has taught you that you yourself often commit unrecoverable errors such that you drive people farther from Christ, or that you are sorely tempted to pride and contempt or to self-aggrandizement whenever you speak openly about Him. There are some suggestions that E. L. was concerned about personally falling into errors of pride.

 

Another possibility—E. L. specifically identifies this—is if you are surrounded by people with very strong hostility and prejudices against Christianity, who would be repelled or tempted to double down against it; she has decided that she can let Christ work on them through her without revealing it to them.

 

A corollary to this that I identify by extension is when we are surrounded by people who have been harmed, hurt, and traumatized in the name of Christ, so that the name itself wounds.

 

The existence of an enormous confusing backdrop of many disunited voices talking over each other and arguing about who Christ is and what He would have us do, coupled with an awareness that one is not particularly equipped to stand out from the background, is another.

 

I guess another thing to think about: Quite often it is fruitful, we assume, to proclaim, instead of being silent about, what God has done for us. But E. L. is here renewing resolutions “after lapses, of silence about myself, about my soul, about my sufferings, about graces received.” Usually spontaneous testimony and confession (public) is thought of as positive.

 

I don’t doubt that there are fruits to it. Encouraging one another, etc. And of course the publication of the diary happened. But E. L.’s firm conviction that she was called to near-total silence rather than testimony calls attention to a need for discernment. Testimony is not an unalloyed good, is not appropriate in all circumstances and for all people.

 

It’s an error to believe that our outward expressions will hit home before the hour chosen by God. Let us speak only in the measure that seems to accord with the intention of Providence, when our words answer the souls’ call.

 

Note 4.  She writes the same, or nearly the same, resolutions over and over again.

 

Deirdre commented:

 

I find the idea that we’re called to draw other people back to Christ just by… being someone people want to be like very challenging, as I’ve often been told point blank that my family does the opposite by being too weird and disorganized and unattractive. My current tact is “if we’re not too much of a hot mess to be part of the church, you’re not too much of a hot mess either?”

Because yea, we are pure mess, and it’s not for want of trying to be less messy.

 

But her method seems especially well suited to aggressively secular France.

 

Oh, I said to Deirdre, if you read the diary it’s very clear that her resolution to be verbally silent about her faith (except when called upon, and then to express herself firmly but very simply) is a response to her very personal and specific situation. She is even holding her tongue in the face of people mocking the faith, as a personal mortification.    ("Wow.  That's... Iron will," said Deirdre.)

 

Also, I said:  It’s more than “being someone people want to be like.” Over and over she uses a metaphor of cracking open a door just a little so that the light shines out.

 

Melanie chimed in, 

 

[M]y thought is that the people who find your family too unattractive or whatever… they’re not the people you’re called to be witnessing to. Or maybe what you’re witnessing to those sorts of people is… something else. But anyone who says crap like that to you is cruel and unkind and honestly needs to do some serious soul searching about what kind of witness they are called to be. Because comments like that are not witness to Christian love. They’re meant to wound.

 

Here are some more quotes from Elisabeth:

 

I am renewing my resolution of silence, seeing more than ever how necessary is an extreme reserve with all people, especially concerning matters of God. My soul, my spiritual life, the graces received, I must veil from everyone; and also, I must speak as little as possible about my ordeals and my health.

 

The edification of our neighbor which used to sometimes spur me on (aside from less-pure motives) to effusiveness can only be a result, but not… our goal. The only end that I want to pursue is the will of God, and my ‘abandon’ must become complete, humble, and filled with love.

 

Nifty wordplay here perhaps. ‘Abandon’ can mean ‘abandon’ as in abandoning a post or a responsibility, it can mean ‘withdrawal’ as in dropping out of a contest, it can mean ‘freedom’ as in ‘a sense of total abandon’ and it can mean ‘surrender’ as in ‘abandoning oneself to the will of another’ — all these senses work here at once.

 

But really the part I was pointing out is the difference between “only a result” and “our goal, our end.”   The same entry continues:

 

The absolute incomprehension or ignorance of many concerning the supernatural life is a serious reason to practice this silence which the ascetic authors have so often recommended.

 

Therefore, interiorly I want to practice a more complete contemplation, a more intimate union with Our Lord; exteriorly, I want to step up still more, give more lavishly of myself, become more amiable and cheerful. And when my task of humble charity and daily efforts is complete, God will know how to use it for souls and for his glory.

 

Mine is the labor, unrecognized by others; His is the bringing about of the good that I desire, of the spiritual ‘oeuvre’ toward which my poor labors aim. The laborer brings his works, the Master uses it as he pleases; let it be enough for me to know that never shall this labor remain unproductive.

 

To work, then, and joyfully. And if I still must suffer for my faith, I shall offer those troubles with serenity for my usual intentions and in a spirit of reparation.

At the start of Lent 1912:

 

More than ever I want to hide my works, prayers, mortifications in the Heart of Jesus; no longer preach except by example; not speak of myself and speak little of God, since in this sad world to speak of one’s love for him scandalizes and irritates people.

But whenever a soul comes to me, whenever it seems to conform to the divine will that I go to a soul, I will do it, very humbly, very discreetly, effacing myself and disappearing when the job is done, not confusing the “me” with the act done for God alone.

And then if I am unfavorably judged, criticized, imperfectly understood, I will turn my efforts to rejoicing, thinking of our divine Model, and I will make myself very small in the eyes of others, myself who is really so poor and little compared to God.

I think it is really interesting this response to seeing people scandalized and irritated by hearing about people’s love for God.   Emphasizing here that I am pretty sure E.L. is not prescribing this way for everyone. Obviously it is some folks’ job to preach even in the face of others’ feeling scandalized or irritated.

 

But we have all known some people who seem to respond instead by being all the more emboldened to scandalize and irritate even harder?  Or who take others’ scandal and irritation as a positive sign that they are preaching well and sharing correctly?

 

I am not saying that negative reactions on the part of others are necessarily evidence of bad sharing/preaching (and neither is E.L.!) but E.L. is advocating some very serious discernment about it. She reminds us that “edification” of souls is not the end we are aiming at. That God’s will be done is primary; their edification (by us) may be the means God wishes, or He may wish to accomplish it some other way. So she’s reasoning that if we edify contrary to the way God wishes, that would be inferior to being silent and offering private prayer and sacrifice for them.

 

It seems that at least for herself, she believes that, in the absence of a strong positive sense that God wants her to “edify” by speaking to a particular person, she is called not to risk scandalizing and irritating people with talk of God.  That was something that was easy to do in her social circle (and, I would argue, is easy to do in many circles here and now). When most minds are unprepared or unable to receive the Gospel verbally, there is a real risk of making the situation worse by speaking rashly, without humility or discernment. And E. L. firmly believes in the power of the other options available to her.

 

Melanie responded:

 

I really like the emphasis here on discerning God's will as primary and edification of souls as secondary. I think this is where we often make mistakes-- when we assume we know God's will in a situation and thus push forward to preach at people or correct them or whatever it is we think we need to do, *before* we actually stop and ask God what it is HE thinks we should do.

 

I was recently listening to a podcast interview (from a few years ago) with Meg Hunter-Kilmer in which she was talking about the importance in her ministry of giving God some quiet space in each day. Even though most of the time she was just sitting there bored in the silence and God didn't actually say anything, it was important that she give him the chance to talk. If he said nothing, then she'd go ahead and do whatever she thought was best to do, whatever the logical next step was, etc. And that was most of the time. But sometimes she'd understand that God wanted her to do X where X clearly wasn't an idea that came from her own mind or will. And she was saying it was that radical openness to listening that she felt was really most important.

 

Or to put it another way, one of the Franciscan friars on another podcast I've been listening to likes to say his favorite prayer is: "Jesus, what is your heart for me in this situation?" And then again, the implication is we follow that prayer with silence so that we can listen to hear what it is that Jesus has to say.

 

And maybe this is really speaking to me because I'm trying to learn how to make time and space for that kind of silence, that listening. Which is really hard. Recently I've been envying people in religious life who have built in a time and place for making a holy hour, having a chapel in the place where they live where they can go and be quiet with Jesus for a time. I've started doing a weekly holy hour on Wednesday nights from 11-12 and it's hard to fit even that in, but I really felt I needed to make that space in my week. I don't know that I could have done it before now and even now it feels like a big sacrifice. And yet at the same time part of me yearns to be able to do that daily. (It would help if the adoration chapel were closer instead of a 15 minute drive. Not that 15 minutes is THAT far, but still a holy HOUR is actually an hour and a half out of my day.)

 

I noted:  E.L. writes often about how she longs for more solitude and a real kind of monasticism, but one of the mortifications of her state of life is that she can’t have as much as she would like. She treasures a daily meditation, the obligatory practices, and communion when she can, and manages a pilgrimage once in a while. But the rest of the time her “cell” is wholly interior.

 

Back to Elisabeth.  Here’s something interesting from September 1912. She describes having asked Jesus for “the virtues dear to his Heart” and lists them each with a short elaboration: purity of heart, mildness, patience, humility, mortification, and finally:

 

[P]overty of spirit, by interior divestment, real renunciation, and as far as my state in life allows, the carefully hidden practice of personal poverty and detachment. Sacrifice nothing that concerns the duties of my state; rather, take even more care of ‘the exterior’; grooming, attention to the home, food, elegance even, the better to make myself more attractive and the better to hide my private austerity.

 

What do you think of this framing of “poor in spirit?”

 

Melanie:  "I'm really fascinated by her interpretation of poor in spirit as a very inward trait, not discernible to her neighbors or possibly even to her household. Really focusing on the 'in spirit' part."  (And I noted:  It would be especially indiscernible to her household. She kept everything secret from her husband, who knew nothing until he read her journal after her death.)

 

I think that's where we left off.  Anyone interested can continue in comments.