Solitaries & The Lindisfarne Rule

Amma Beth, our Prioress (of the solitaries) suggested that we take a look at the Community Rule "through the lens of the solitary life" and share our reflections. So...here goes.

Solitaries and the Lindisfarne Rule:

I thought that I could tackle this incrementally, which is my usual method. I set out to do that, intending to start with the summary “to love, to serve, to forgive” but I suddenly realized that my method wasn’t working at all well. I took a step back and tried to put my finger on why that might be happening.
Then I felt God reminding me that there is a great paradox inherent in the call to be a solitary within the context of a community. For a moment I felt overwhelmed; as though I were trying to speak in a high wind. You know that feeling, when the wind steals the breath out of you the moment you open your mouth? Like that. I laughed to myself when it occurred to me that the metaphor in Hebrew for the Holy Spirit is “Ruach,” which means Wind or Breath.

How is it that God’s Breath robs me of breath? 

How can it be that the Wind from nowhere silences my words before they are even formed? 

How am I so certain that the practice of solitude is worthy?

After all, solitude seems to separate us from other people; the very same people that we are to ‘meet’ as Christ? If we are solitary, alone, separate, then how are we going to meet them? Doesn’t the practice of solitude disengage us; divide us; isolate us; segregate us from all the other folks who are busily and happily connected, involved, and interrelated with each other?

Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s not about the connection, or the involvement, or the relationships. I suspect that we can’t sever those connections. I’d like to suggest that it’s absolutely impossible for us to be cut off, or uninvolved, or disconnected from other people. It’s part of our nature. It’s how we are made, or better expressed, how we have been created.
We are inviolably and sacredly connected, each one of us to all the others, and to all creation.

So the value of solitude has nothing to do with being alone. The value of solitude is not in its benefits to the solitary practitioner.  Its worth lies in the distance it creates; the space it inhabits; the territory it occupies. Its power comes from the enormous breadth and width and height of its reach. Its open, silent expanse holds an ineffable invitation to us to enter in.

So, that’s the image:

The hermit standing by the entrance, maybe even holding back the curtain and adding a smile along with the invitation to come into that open empty space filled with the Presence— that’s how ministry works for a solitary.

Other phrases resonate:  silent usefulness; easy-going care; observant tolerance; understanding humor; open-hearted readiness; humble solidarity.

All of those qualities arise from the practice of solitude. As a solitary, my delighted duty is to simply live out of that space with my full trust and confidence in God. I’ve got the proof of the practice:  when I do it, good things happen.  Delightful things!  Joy sneaks in quietly and kindness manifests itself.

Oh, yes, and when that happens— people smile as if they were a bit surprised, but in a familiar and contented sort of way.

And that’s all its about.  Just that.