Mar 14 | St. Anthony and the Sidecar: Lent Journal #8

I had to learn to love the Patristics through EfM and my time at seminary, and I have come to appreciate how much of what they discussed has survived through unconscious assumptions that were passed on to me in some ineffable way. But the Desert Fathers speak a far deeper truth that engages a “lower” part of my body – not a lesser, but a lower part of me that my Hebrew mothers and fathers likely would have referred to as the “bowels” and that we Westerners would call the heart. (I like bowels better – it describes the inner movement I feel when moved spiritually).

St. Anthony of Egypt’s healing powers and reputation among the hagiographically inclined as a skin restorer intrigue me, especially when considering the New Testament, where skin afflictions are rampant, and among the most numerous of the diseases healed by Jesus.

I am intrigued by the connection I see between a Crossan/Borg stance about healing wonders bringing the ritually impure back into right relationship and a monastic sense of religious duty (although I do believe Jesus was doing more than that in his own work). When I consider the notion that the Church was becoming entangled with Empire, mired in conflict over doctrine and engaged in intellectual gymnastics, it’s very illuminating that Anthony would then be attracting a crowd of wanderers and bringing them back into some sort of right relationship.

Anthony calls us to a very different life – not strictly apatheia, though that was likely among the bottom layer of his colours. There was definitely a focus on right relationship while set apart from wider society, as opposed to detaching totally: “[The Lord] also gave Antony charm in speaking; and so he comforted many in sorrow, and others who were quarreling he made friends. He exhorted all to prefer nothing in the world to the love of Christ.”

The Torment of St. Anthony (Michelangelo)

The Torment of St. Anthony (Michelangelo)

As an introvert I’m enchanted by all of this! I love nothing better than to be engaged in silence and contemplation. I sometimes wonder if perhaps there is such a thing as reincarnation, and if I was once a discalced Carmelite. I would be happy to go without if it meant I could spend more time in prayer. I worry, though, if this emanates from my own “sidecar” of demons. (This is how a beloved professor referred to the chorus of voices that keep us from being our best selves; the “voices in our heads,” as it were). Mine is a packed sidecar, but many of the demons within are different from how they look in other people. There are a few that lord it over others, and a few that seek their own glory, but far more of them have to do with self-hatred and indeed a momentary hatred of others who can be perceived as “better”, “prettier” or “more memorable” than me. As an Ennegram 4 with a wound based in the fear of being forgotten, these latter are among the more frightening, although I find they are easier to keep in check with a quick reminder that God is within all people. The most difficult are the former – the ones who proclaim that it is no wonder there are others who are better, prettier, etc., because I am unlovable. Even though my conversion experience was based in the truth of my necessity and beauty in God’s world, the demons obviously remain as always, and I find that, as Anthony warned, in the process of deepening my relationship with God they have become louder as of late, particularly when I consider the road I am walking and my aspirations to ordained leadership within the Church.

I can see that their desperation – their weeping and lamenting as well as their cavorting, in Anthony’s terms – is based not only in the self-hatred many people (particularly women) carry with them, but also in a desire for laziness and disconnection. This also manifests itself in despair for the world and a hatred for Western capitalistic society – they are Calvinistic demons to the core! So far I take comfort in a very Hebrew practice: that of being able to name them. If they are named, I have power over them.

Like Jesus, I hope that in receiving the name “Legion”, I shall eventually be able to have more control over them (recognizing also that I am not Jesus and that therefore they are sitting in my sidecar). I’ve found that my first reactions toward them were rage, but it was unproductive, as they of course always remain. Disengagement seems a far better option.

-Clarity

leave a reply