The Problem of Evil

     The existence of evil is one of the greatest enduring theological dilemmas. If God is both all-good and all-powerful, why is there sin and suffering in the world? Why did God put that fruit tree in Eden, and how was the serpent corrupted? It seems like Adam and Eve were set up to sin, and then they and all their descendents were punished for it ever since. Theologians have come up with various answers to this dilemma through the ages, none of them satisfying.

    And then there's Julian of Norwich, my favorite medieval mystic recluse, with her wonderful series of deathbed revelations. That is, it was expected to be her deathbed, but she recovered to write this all down and spend the rest of her life meditating on it.

    Dame Julian wrote that God told her these mind-blowing words: "synne is behoovabil." OK, maybe that's only mind-blowing after it's translated into modern English. Unfortunately, there is no simple translation for the word "behoovabil." It means something like, sin exists for a purpose, it needs to exist, there's a good reason for it. And this shocking sentence is the immediate context for the most famous words from her whole book of revelations: "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." 

Spirit and the Law

     Lately I've been thinking a lot about the phenomenon of religious trauma, and how incredibly lucky I am to have missed out on it. I hear people talking about being raised in a thick atmosphere of guilt, shame, and fear, under the constant threat of eternal punishment. It comes from the whole spectrum of Christian churches, from the most tradition-bound, high-church Catholic and Orthodox all the way to the newest, most fundamentalist, Bible-literalist Protestant sects. I am SO glad I wasn't raised in the Church! I'm so glad I came in through the side door, as it were, as an adult, and got what I really think is a much healthier and holier relationship with religion than what seems to be typical out there.

Becoming a "mature hermit"

     Being a hermit can be a very vague kind of a thing. I have a Rule of Life, but it's only a 2-page outline of the principles by which I intend to live, some notion of parameters for the life. I pray the monastic Office, I read and meditate on spiritual literature, I live alone and celibate. But then, less than a year ago, I abandoned my nice forest hermitage and moved across the ocean, where (for now) I live in a city apartment. And now I'm preparing myself to work with people, as a life-coach or mentor of some kind, and with a focus much more on neurodiversity than religion (although, stay tuned for something on healing religious trauma in upcoming weeks). So what do I mean by calling myself a "hermit"? What is a hermit, anyway? 

The meaning of "happy"

     I find that I am constantly having to re-examine myself in the light of all the studying I'm doing about the psychology of trauma, giftedness, and neurodiversity. It's a very energy-intensive process, involving not just my rational mind but all my emotions and intuition as well. Evaluating and harmonizing all the things I'm learning with what feels true about myself, my understanding of myself, is really tricky. 

    Does this or that description or definition ring true, or not? Is this or that trait part of my fundamental personality, or is it a weakness associated with being gifted or ADHD or autistic, and what's the best kind of scaffolding to keep it from hampering me? Is my love of solitude all good and healthy, or am I keeping human relationships at arm's length as a dysfunctional result of trauma? Is it healthy boundaries, or cowardice? How can I know?