Spring seems to be arriving slowly in the Eastern Sierra mountains but after months of cold and lots of snow even a slight hint of some warmth drives me outdoors. Those winter months, though, were perfect for a hermitage because the sun fell behind the mountains at 2:30 in the afternoon so there was little to do but stay indoors, huddle under blankets and read.

I had set out on this hermitage with a few goals in mind — to remaster playing the flute after years of neglect, to learn Ancient Greek, to do a comprehensive reading of the Carmelite spiritual masters, and to find God. To accomplish these I set out with discipline, scheduling each task into my day every day. Well, I can report that I can now get some reasonably pretty music out of the flute, I can open up the Greek New Te stament and claw through the text, and I have read at least a hundred books. God, though, has remained as elusive as ever.

The problem with this last item on my task-list was that I approached it like all the other items on the task-list — that I would accomplish it through my efforts. I had in my mind the story, called the Transverberation that Saint Teresa of Avila tells of her encounter with the Cherub:

I saw close to me an angel in bodily form. I saw in his hands a large golden dart and this angel plunged this dart several times into my heart and he left me all on fire with great love of God. (Story of Her Life, chapter 29)

All I would have to do is some heavy-duty chapel time, and ‘whammo’ it should happen to me. Of course, it would happen in a 21st-Century American way and not a 16th-Century Spanish way, but happen it would. At first it was hard to discipline myself to heavy-duty chapel time (see “The Two-Minute Hermit” in the previous issue of The Carmelite Review), but with willful resolve and heady intent I waited and meditated. Well, to date no Cherub has shown up (nor a 21st-Century American approximation).

Meanwhile, springtime came, and so outside I went, mostly on long mountain hikes at first carrying snow-shoes for where the snow was too thick. After all that waiting, the disappointing Cherub would now simply have to wait for me. Despite my disciplines and intentions, the refreshing beauty of an ever-advancing spring pulled me away and I had no choice but to respond. All along I had thought God would come to me and I did my utmost to force God to do just that. Now outside in the warm sunshine and in the super-scenic mountains, there was no time left in the day for all those disciplines and intentions. And now, without all that clutter, I was free simply to appreciate the beauty, appreciate the gift of life, and simply to be. And that is the insight!

Duh! I should have known that all along. As Carmelites, we root our spirituality in the saga of the Prophet Elijah, who lived upon Mount Carmel. In that saga, God appears to Elijah:

Then the Lord said, “Go outside and stand on the mountain before the Lord; the Lord will be passing by.” A strong and heavy wind was rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the Lord—but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake—but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was fire— but the Lord was not in the fire. After the fire there was a tiny whispering sound. When he heard this, Elijah hid his face in his cloak and went and stood at the entrance of the cave. (1 Kings 19:11-14)

Yes, as a Carmelite, I should have known that God does not appear where we think God should appear, nor how God should appear, nor does God appear on our time-table. And were all those two-minutes (i.e., be they two, twenty, two-hundred or two-thousand minutes) spent in the chapel a waste of time? Probably not. Saint Teresa says, “Prayer means taking time frequently to be alone with Him who we know loves us.” (Story of Her Life, chapter 8) The keenest insight, though, was to be found outdoors — that God never manifests to our expectations, our demands or our schedules; nonetheless, God does manifest — in the unexpected, unscheduled and unplanned third minute.