The 'burbs as the New Spiritual Battleground

The suburban theme is dominant as is the spiritual battle that is taking place in such 

innocent environs. I posted earlier today about contemplatives in the suburbs and 

then found an earlier reflection I had meant to post a few months ago. The I got cold 

feet. It was deeply confronting for me. It clearly does not make me the hero of my own 

blog (with apologies to David Copperfield and Charles Dickens). It tells of an 

experience which fills me with shame, but which has the salutary effect of reminding

me that I have feet of clay. I take the risk and publish it below:

Having read much of the literature of the Desert Fathers, it is generally 
considered that their demons were allegorical devices which highlighted 
their interior stuggles. They were certainly that. I did wonder, however, 
whether they exaggerated them. Their demons did seem to take on rather overpowering physical proportions. Recently I had a frightening experience
 where the demon took on such physical proportions. The demons had
 entered my suburb.


I was playing an online game - the identity of the players is known and their
 image appears in a small icon photograph. They are able to communicate 
with each other if they choose. As I was playing the other player made a
 suggestive comment. This sometimes happens and my normal response 
is to ignore them, or shut the game down. But this time, for a whole host of
factors, I made a similar riposte and before I knew it we were engaging in a 
very risque conversation. It was a sexual demon.


The game ended, but the sense of unease remained. It occupied my mind 
and my soul. I was astounded by how much power and contol over the other 
I had exercised in relative anonymity. It felt I had been violated and I had 
violated the other. The next day I had to drive my children across town and as
 I was driving the demon oppressed my thoughts. I felt so overburdened that I feared I may lose control of the car. It was an extraordinarily frightening
 experience.


Later that day I was home alone. I was still shaken by the experience and I
phoned a friend - Alice*. Alice is a consecrated virgin who had a considerable prayer ministry. I explained my situation and that I felt 'oppressed' - as this was 
the best way to describe the feeling. She told me that many years ago whe had experienced a similar situation, and it took her years to completely rid herself 
of the oppression. In the course of the conversation she said she had spoken 
to Mary* - a mutual friend - who had mentioned that I had been very kind to her earlier in the week. Yes, I remembered the conversation. My friend's son had 
been sexually abused many years ago by a religious brother and recently had
 a serious mental breakdown. I had phoned Mary to check on her and her son's welbeing after that notorious pedophile brother had been found guilty of yet
another offence. I distinctly remembered thinking how horrific the abuse perpetrated by this man had been, and wondering what sort of a monster he 
might have been.


Alice gently said: 'Do not judge, or you will be judged' (Matt 7:1-3). It brought
back Nonna's italian admonition: "La meraviglia s'attacca" -  which 
idiomatically traslates as a waning against judging others: if you marvel at someone else's misfortunes you may find yourself facing the same thing. Alice
also reminded me that I was in a vulnerable situation - circumstances I cannot elaborate on - but that it might be better to spend time reading the Bible than playing online games.


The oppression lifted, but has revisited me again less intensely. The shadow 
of the demon is still with me.


Interesting too, is that I had come to a place in my journey where many of the 
works to which God has led me are bearing abundant fruit. I have never been busier, but perhaps I was also tempted to believe that I was achieving much. 
The reality of course, is that I achieve little and it is God who achieves much through me. In my pride I risk the fall.  

If the Prince of Darkness can persuade me that I am in control, then he can 
make those good works crumble. A sobering thought.


* Names have been changed to protect privacy

Contemplatives in Suburbia

I set up this page some months ago. The concept for it was clear but I never got around to posting. Today I had lunch with a friend who after a busy professional life returned to study. Now, armed with a PhD, she spends her time in itinerant ministry. No return to her former profession. Not embarking on a life of academia. Just making herself available to those who - accidentally - seek her out.

In the course of our conversation I told her about our new dog and she asked whether I had seen Red Dog ( www.reddogmovie.com ). She tells me that the people she meets are like the characters in Red Dog - misfits, people on the edge, people with life stories whose lives have taken unexpected turns. She listens. Sometimes, they say ‘thanks for listening’. Strangers. People on the Train. Itinerant workers in caravan parks. She travels alone on trains or on a bike.

I told her she was like an anchoress on a bike. She laughed because she said that in the years she was home raising a family she would describe herself as ‘a contemplative in suburbia.’ As the conversation meandered she commented that I had seemed to take up the ‘contemplative in suburbia’ concept with ease. I admitted that it was a concept I had entertained previously and asked whether she was familiar with the Beguine movement of the 13^th and 14^th century. Not surprisingly she was not only familiar with it but enthusiastic. She thought the concept was ripe for discovery in the 21^st Century.

Beguines were hidden but still part of the social and economic fabric of the town. Beguines did not take vows and were able to own property. If they did not own property they did not beg alms but engaged in manual labour. They lived privately but shared a common life of prayer and good works. Interestingly I know many women who engage in precisely this role.