EDITH STEIN

 

EDITH STEIN, SR TERESA BENEDICTA OF THE CROSS,                              12 October 1891 – 9 August 1942

Edith Stein was born, the eleventh child, into a devout Jewish family in Breslau, in what was then Germany but is now Poland, in 1891. Her father died soon afterwards and her mother set about bringing her family up as devout Jews fulfilling all the laws and customs of their tradition. Edith was precocious and would endlessly probe the questions about life and faith that arose in her. As a teenager she concluded, she was not satisfied with her Jewish faith and became an agnostic – to her mother’s great sorrow.

At the university of Freiburg, Edith threw herself into philosophical studies searching for answers to her questions. Highly intelligent, she soon made her mark and won the attention of the renowned philosopher, Edmund Husserl. Deeply distressed by the outbreak of war in 1914, Edith volunteered to become a nurse. Her experience of the suffering of people unsettled her and left her with even more questions. Meanwhile her academic career progressed and she attained the highest honours but was blocked from the recognition that was her due because she was a woman.

She continued her search and one day in 1921 she happened to come across the Autobiography of St Teresa of Avila. She began to read out of curiosity without any high expectations but gradually was drawn into the book and could not put it down. She read all night and finished it at dawn. She knew then she had found what she wanted. She applied to be baptised into the Catholic Church but the priest said she needed time to prepare. She said she was fully ready and he gave way to her and she was baptised on 1 January 1922.

Edith wanted to follow Teresa and become a Carmelite immediately but she was persuaded to continue her philosophical studies and teaching. Now she had a new vision for her life and she studied St Thomas and taught at the Dominican school at Speyer. In 1933 the Nazis withdrew her licence to teach because she was a Jew. Edith wrote to the pope, Pius XI, urging him to protest about the persecution of the Jews which was ‘an abuse of the holiest humanity of our Saviour’.

She realised she was now free to enter the Carmelites which she did in Cologne in November 1933, taking the name Teresa Benedicta of the Cross. The sisters knew the Nazis persecution of the Jews was only beginning and sent her for her safety to the Netherlands. But nowhere was safe. When World War Two broke out the Nazis invaded the Netherlands and the Dutch bishops issues a strong condemnation of their policies especially their persecution of the Jews. In response the Nazis arrested 987 Jews and sent them to the concentration camp in Auschwitz. Efforts were made to save Edith but she said, ‘not to share the fate of my brothers and sisters would be utter annihilation.’ She was killed on the 9th August 1942. Pope John Paul II canonised her in 1998.  

GIVE ME TIME

 

GIVE ME TIME

George Croft, a Jesuit priest and psychologist who died aged 98 eighteen months ago after some fifty years in Zimbabwe, used to playfully point to his name appearing in scripture. He was referring to John 15:1, which states ‘I am the true vine and my Father is the georgos,’ (Greek for vine grower).  I was thinking of George this week when reading the passage in Luke about the man in the vineyard pleading with the owner to give him time to ‘dig around’ the stubborn vine, which bears no fruit, ‘and manure it’.

Moses is such a key figure because he was the one who emphasised the need for a response from the people. Up to then the people of Israel had been carried along like young children in a family who never have to make a decision. Now they had to decide and Moses gives them a stark choice which we read on the very first day of Lent after the Ashes: ‘I set before you life or death, blessing or curse.’ Well, we know what they did. As Elijah put it, they stood on one leg one time and another another.

God waited and goes on waiting. He gave them time and he gives us time. The world is groaning in one great act of giving birth (Romans 8). When I came to Zimbabwe (it was still Rhodesia), I remember being shocked to see many of my fellow countrymen and women supporting Ian Smith. Surely, they had learnt, after hundreds of years of English rule in Ireland, that oppression of the people you rule brings no blessing? Much more seriously, and topically, surely the Jews, who were so unbelievably cruelly treated by the Nazis in the 1940s, have learnt what it must be like for the Arabs they now rule to be treated ‘without mercy’?

Why do we take so long to learn the lesson Moses told the people: ‘God is full of tenderness and compassion, slow to anger, rich in faithful love ...’ (Ex 34:6). This is the message given to the very people who are now full of anger towards the people whose land they took and who have tried to protest. And as a result, they too are full of anger and resentment. How long will it take? How long must the vinedresser dig around? 

These thoughts take us far away from our own daily reality. But we have to keep reminding ourselves that justice and peace are contagious. The more we try in our small way to live justly and bravely, the more ripples will go out to stir the waters of compassion and ultimately peace.

23 March 2025            Lent Sunday 3C          Ex 3:1...15    1Cor 10:1...12    Lk 13:1-9

 

 

 

PROMISE AND TERROR

 

PROMISE AND TERROR

To live without hope is a terrible thing. Life imprisonment without a possibility of release, tedious physical work from morning to night, incurable illness and a whole range of other human experiences – all can crush the human spirit. Viktor Frankl survived a Nazi concentration camp and later wrote, in Man’s Search for Meaning, “Those who have a 'why' to live, can bear with almost any 'how'.” If you can see a meaning in what you are living day after day, your will survive and even relish your experience.

Abram (later Abraham) was plucked out of his routine in Ur, an ancient city in Iraq, by being given a startling promise by God. ‘You will have descendants as many as the starts of heaven.’ He questions God and there follows a strange ritual which ends with Abram falling into a deep sleep ‘and terror seized him’. Fast forward, and we find Jesus in the garden of Olives, with his companions in a deep sleep around him, and he is ‘filled with terror’. There was a prelude to this; Luke has told us earlier about those same companions on a mountain, drowsy and afraid.

As we go deeper into Lent, we see the promise to Abraham fulfilled in the offering of Jesus. The Son of Man knew that promise would cost him a cruel death - and it terrified him. The disciples did not know what was going on. It was a mercy, really, that they didn’t. They could not have taken it in. They continued confused and fearful to the end. It was only when he showed himself to them after he rose from the death, that they realised and ‘they stood there dumbfounded’.

Lent is laced through with this promise – and terror. It is like an explosion to end all explosions. We know the experience in our own small - and not so small – ways. We might have been promised a place at secondary school or university. We are delighted but there is some ‘terror’. What will it be like? Will I manage? Or we are given a demanding job. It can be frightening. When Augustine became bishop of Hippo, he tells us he was terrified. A responsible position is not something to ‘enjoy’ – though many fall for its allure. It should fill us with terror. Can I rise to this call? Can I give all I have? Many people’s happiness depends on my answer.  

16 March 2025            Sunday 2 C          Gen 15:5...18         Ph 3:17-4:1              Lk 9:28-36

 

THE COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS

 

THE COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS

It is precisely the loss of connection with the past, our uprootedness, which has given rise to the ‘discontents’ of civilisation and to such a flurry and haste that we live more in the future and its chimerical promises of a golden age than in the present, with which our evolutionary background has not yet caught up.

Are these words of Carl Gustav Jung the nostalgic musings of an old man past his best or are they an insightful comment on our age? We value the freedoms we have won, the advances we have made and the solidarities we experience with others around the planet. But do we pay attention to where we have come from? Do we write off our ancestors as pre-scientific, as people who have nothing to teach us moderns?

Jung was the renowned advocate of the unconscious in each of us and the collective unconscious of all of us. In his long life as a psychiatrist, he studied every avenue that might open up our knowledge of what is unconscious. He quickly grasped that mental illness could often be cured by helping a person become aware of what lay hidden below the surface of their lives.   

There are different ways in which we become aware or wake up. Lent is one of them. When the scribe Ezra read the book of the Law to the people who had returned from exile they were ‘all in tears.’ They woke up and realised they had abandoned the ways of their ancestors and ended up as ‘discontents.’  It is no easy matter to probe our unconscious and interpret our dreams, as Jung did. But we are given these forty days to reflect on who we are and what we believe.

We can deflect our frustration on to someone like Trump, who seems not to care about the history of his own country or of others, some of which he hasn’t even heard of. We cannot do much about him. History will judge him. But we can do something about ourselves and our readings for the next forty days are like incoming drones that we can either repel or welcome.

9 March 2025       Lent 1 C      Dt 26:4-10    Rom 10:8-13       Lk4:1-13