As an Anglican priest, who serves in a local rural-suburban parish, alongside working as an academic, I often find myself speaking to people of different ages and backgrounds. These encounters are a rich blessing and joy of ministry.
What I often hear and notice is that it is easy to look at the world around us and to see darkness. We are often too often in the midst of crisis, strife and conflict. Yet the ordinary gathering of people in their parish church, week-by-week is a deeply Anglican expression of Christian hope, which (I think) resonates too with Carmel.
I first encountered Carmel at a visit to Quidenham Carmelite Monastery over 20 years ago. Before I went, I had no concept of ‘Carmel’. What was clear by the end of that visit, and over the years I have visited since, is that I had found a spiritual ‘home’.
What I had encountered and was drawn into was the living out of the Carmelite charism, in its particular way of ‘living in allegiance with Jesus Christ’. One aspect of this, which has taken me quite a few years to understand fully and to begin to live out myself, is how a life lived in the charism of Carmel expresses Christian ‘hope’ in a particularly deep and profound way.
Many Christians instinctively know that ‘hope’ is a ‘good thing’. They may even recognise it as one of the theological virtues. Yet I have found that there is sometimes an uphill struggle to convey to other people – also often, to myself – what exactly is meant by hope.
I think back to Christmas a few years ago. In my parish, we gathered to worship. I bought along a gold-wrapped box to show everyone. We opened this present together. We found inside the gifts of faith, hope and love – also, joy and peace. In reflecting together, we tried to dig into the depth of what each of these means. Yet still, we found that we journeyed through the weeks and months of that year with all sorts of questions. We were able to think of these words – to experience a ‘warm glow’ of ‘good things’ – but how to earnestly accept these gifts was another matter.
In formation for ordained ministry in the Church of England, I journeyed with a cohort of other people preparing for lay and ordained ministries. We often shared with one another phrases that were designed to encourage and keep one another focussed. Despite the good intentions, I began to notice that theological and scriptural phases (e.g., “He who calls shall be faithful” (1 Thess. 5:24)) were repeated in a way that reinforced the idea of ‘hope’ as ‘it will be ok in the end’.
A few years ago, I experienced a very difficult phase of life. It felt full of disappointment and bitterness. Some of those around me kept on clinging onto the notion that it would turn out ok for me in the end. This was their hope. When the desired-for happy conclusion did not emerge, the response was to turn, like Job’s friends, to saying the problem was with me. If only I prayed more earnestly and had more faith in Jesus, all would be well again.
Through this time, I found consolation in the depth of the Carmelite spiritual tradition. This was both through the writings of the Carmelite saints, and in friendship and companionship of others living the charism. I found that both illuminated the meaning of Christian ‘hope’.
I found in St Teresa’s ‘determined determination’ (Life XX), for example, the way of hope that keeps persisting at the horizon of God, through the ups-and-downs of life. It was not about the direction of our desire towards ‘it will be ok in the end’. The gaze is fixed on the more distant horizon that is our goal in the Christian life.
In The Science of the Cross (p.111), Edith Stein writes:
“’For how does one hope for what is already seen?’ (Rom. 8:24). It teaches us to hope for everything from God and not from ourselves or any other creature; to expect to receive from him the bliss that will have no end and therefore to renounce in this life every pleasure and possession.”
For as Christ set his face to Jerusalem, we too respond to His call to follow Him in the way of the Cross. The hope set before us is not merely warm sentiment and hopeful wishes for our desires to be fulfilled – however, well intentioned. It is the ability to keep moving ahead, with one’s gaze fixed on the ultimate end of our Christian journey – God alone.
In the Church of England, we often do things gently and carefully, in a way that seeks to bring all along together, especially as we live in the midst of complexity and with our diversity. Boldness may unsettle, or even startle, so it is often avoided. Because of this, I have found, at times, that Carmelite spirituality may be easily misunderstood as too stark, too difficult and demanding, or is perceived to be lacking in pastoral reassurance or missional attractiveness.
Yet even so, the living out of hope – boldly, courageously – is, I think, evident in the quiet and everyday life of the Anglican parish or other forms of gathered community (e.g., chaplaincy). As I said earlier, it is evident in the gathering of people, week-by-week. These gatherings may look outwardly like nothing much. They are often very ordinary. Yet the treasure within shines in truth and love, and speaks of hope. For hope abides, as with gaze fixed ahead, we follow Him, who is the way, the truth and the life (cf. John 14:6).
The Rev’d Dr Stacey Rand The Carmelite Companions of the Way (CCTW)
