Alba de Tormes

"...do not worry about how to speak or what to say; what you are to say will be given to you when the time comes; because it is not you who will be speaking; the Spirit of your Father will be speaking in you." (from Matthew 10 and Gospel reading at Holy Mass, July 8, 2005)

Yesterday morning when needing to meet the group at the bus, picking us up at the Semenario (Diocese residence where most of the students are staying for the month), I stood at the top of the hill by the walled city and spotted the Seminario in the distance, on another hill. Setting off in that direction, I walked--praying my rosary while descending on narrow streets with three-story connected buildings all about. I wear no watch, but I sensed the time was growing short. Like Peter walking on the water toward Christ, first in faith but then in concern, I picked up the pace, only slowing at a corner where I sensed my dear angel Beth telling me to turn. Instead, a local woman emerged from a door, and I put question-tone into "Seminario?" She began speaking in Spanish, animatedly, took the Crucifix which hangs about my neck in her hand, and motioned for me to follow as she pointed up the street beyond the corner. I walked quickly but sensed she was directing me elsewhere. We stopped where she indicated, outside a walled enclosure. She pressed the intercom button and spoke enthusiastically. I sensed still she had me at the wrong place, but I also sensed someone within would help me find the Seminario. The woman motioned for me to enter the door in the wall when a buzzer indicated it to be unlocked. Once inside, I saw a vast expanse of grounds--dried from the drought--and contemporary buildings which seemed vacant. Somewhere in the distance and from above I heard a door open; I looked up through some trees to see an elderly nun in full habit waving her arms and voicing rapid-fire words. I comprehended a frenetic "No, no, no!" I repeated calmly (and that by the grace of God) my one-word question: "Seminario?" The nun pointed in the direction back to the corner and motioned to turn up the street where my angel had nudged me to turn.

Once back on the outside the walls of the cloistered convent, I asked my angel Beth to go ahead of me and hold the bus, while apologizing for my lack of faith. The buildings and walls seemed endless, with no break for the Seminario; yet I knew now to keep walking and praying and clutching my rosary. If I was to go on the day trip, then my angel Beth would hold the bus. If not, then I would learn much from how it is to look down and fear. Suddenly to my left the walls and buildings opened to the front entrance of the Seminario--and the bus waiting. At dinner that night a bilingual student described my experience to the Las Cruzadas, and we all joined in universal laughter. However, I found once more that for those who in the past have objected to my wearing a prominent Crucifix, that if it hadn't been for the Crucifix, I'd not had such an interesting experience. How many people get into a cloistered convent without invitation?

The whole experience also became a living allegory for St. John of the Cross' schema for the soul's ascent to God. From my initial view of Avila, I could see where I needed to go. Once down among the tall buildings, my external senses needed to be stripped and like a blind person, I had to walk in the direction I perceived from above. Eventually I had to move through the level of passions--of fear, doubt, impatience. The woman and I moved to the ring of images when she saw my Crucifix and came to conclusions and tried to help. (And, it was helpful, as I probably would have lost faith and hope in finding the Seminario since the correct turn did take me quite a distance, and I doubt I would have persevered without the nun's pointing.) With the nun's demonstrative directions, my intellect perceived and my will acted upon those perceptions with fortitude. So, this was a beautiful example of what I had learned in class and is truth for all of us in our soul journeys. Those rings of senses and passions must be disciplined.

Now, let us continue with the visit to Alba de Tormes, which is the final resting place of St. Teresa as well as an active foundation of Discalced Carmelites to this day. This town emanated tranquility and holiness. These sensations are the benefit of even small strippings of the external senses. How can I describe what is was like to be there? I was meant to be there. My soul resonated with the place enough to make inquiries about renting a room for part of August, if possible. (Later the professor, Elizabeth Wilhelmson, noted authority on St. John of the Cross) told me to also be open to staying in Segovia where St. John of the Cross is buried and was his favorite foundation--which we shall visit next week.)

Compared to Avila which is 65,000 in population, Alba de Tormes is perhaps 20,000 or less. The church and convent are of the 1570's. A museum has been made of the actual cell in which St. Teresa died on Oct. 4, 1582 at 9 p.m. She died holding a Crucifix. A few days earlier she had arrived at this foundation, quite ill; when she realized she was soon to die, she asked the nuns to carry her to a cell which looked out onto the church so she could participate in Mass. This cell is now converted into an oratorio or small chapel with the Blessed Sacrament. As her death became imminent, the doctors insisted she be removed to the other cell. At first her body was buried, but in a year the nuns had it exhumed due to a heavy perfume emanating from the coffin. She had been buried with stones, lime and wood placed upon the lid to secure it, and although the lid was crushed, the body was as it had been when she died: supple, full of fresh blood, and without damage. Perfume exuded from her flesh. Over the next ten years eminent professionals examined the body and made witnessed recordings. Her heart was removed to examine it since by then the experience of the transverberation of the heart was known. Two incisions were found on each side of her heart; one cut was smaller than the other, coming from the outside in--the size of a lance wound. Her right arm was removed and placed in a container in order to observe it over time, and a finger removed, also. Keeping bodily relics was common then, of holy people, for study as well as veneration as sacramentals. The rest of her remains were placed in a sepulchre which stands today partially imbedded in the wall outside the cell-turned-oratorio. A couple of hundred years later, her yet incorrupt and perfuming body was transferred to a large, ornamented coffin-like container, high above the main altar.

In the museum one can view many artifacts and oil paintings of St. Teresa and those involved with her reform of the Carmelites. Several of the nuns who helped her are in the process of beatification or canonization--all holy, holy people who lived and died to earth and exist in heaven. Several of St. Teresa's major works display her bold, fluid handwriting. A chair in which St. John of the Cross sat when at that foundation joins his walking staff, relics of his own mother Catalina, a relic of St. Peter of Alcantara whose writings (A Golden Treatise of Mental Prayer) and spiritual direction early on influenced St. Teresa, and copies of two instrumental books which St. Teresa studied: St. Augustine's Confessions and Fray Francisco de Osuna's Third Spiritual Alphabet. Displayed also are her Breviary and documents authorizing the founding of the order's houses, the bull decreeing her canonization, simple eating utensils and other commonly used items which the saint used in her austere daily life, her Crucifix, and exquisite paintings depicting various mystical experiences, family members, and miracles.

Here is her transverberated heart in a glass reliquary, for public view and veneration. It is all quite miraculous how she experienced prior to her beginning the reform of the Carmelites, a vision of a lance-bearing seraph who pierced her heart. While there was no external mark, the saint insisted to her spiritual director that this event indeed had occurred and caused her tremendous suffering at the time. Twenty years later, after her death, the physical reality was confirmed; over 400 years later one can see for oneself. Such souls who are thus wounded are described as "seraphic souls", and their lives are drastically altered toward the reality of God forevermore. How could one ever be the same? How could anyone knowing of this event in the life of another ever be the same? Faith should transmit the reality of the supernatural realm which intersects the physical realm, from one soul to another without such dramatic occurrences, but it is so difficult for souls to even strip themselves of externals, let alone subdue the passions and move through the internal senses where images abound, good and evil.

I shadowed the incredibly fascinating and learned Professor Wilhelmsen all throughout the museum, apologetically explaining for my tagging along that I have a deep connectedness with St. Teresa from before my conversion to Christ's Holy Catholic Church. A passionate instructor on her subject, she shared details of each artifact, too numerous for me to recount and write. However, we both went on our knees in silent prayer of thanksgiving and personal communications to Jesus when before the cases displaying St. Teresa's heart and her writing arm. Later we spent some time in prayer, on our knees, in the solitude of the Blessed Sacrament Chapel, before Our Lord.

There is nothing more I can express about this total experience.

Across the street from the Convent of the Annunciation stands the first church built which is named in honor of St. John of the Cross. I entered there and prayed. Beside the church is a monastery of Carmelite friars who have a museum and gift shop, as the nuns also have. In this museum I viewed the first coffin or reliquary of St. John of the Cross' incorrupt remains; however, he is now buried in a sepulchre at Segovia. The coffin, though, gave me an additional creative idea for my own "comfort chest" which I have built and scripted and awaits the hour.

In the museum, in addition to other artifacts not as numerous as in St. Teresa's convent, was a reliquary containing the index finger of St. John of the Cross. Now, for those of you who are Catholic, you will understand that kneeling, praying, and touching one's scapular and Crucifix (if worn) to the reliquary cases is quite efficacious and meritorious for strengthening the soul and bringing graces. I also purchased third class relics (touched to the bodies of these saints) which will be shared with others and passed along as sacramentals and helps in prayer. For those who are not Catholic, I pray you are not unnerved or brought to negative bias on these aspects of the Christian spiritual life. Professor Wilhelmsen and I, on our return bus ride, shared an impassioned conversation about the writings of Bl. Anne Catherine Emmerich and her knowledge of such sacramentals and the realities of their supernatural assistance and meaning.

My heart soared from this day's experiences, and I felt quite unworthy to be granted such freedom to be here. At times I feel actually guilty that I am allowed this privilege when so many others either do not choose it or sadly cannot afford it or physically manage it. There is rarely a day that passes that I do not thank my dear parents, now departed, who worked hard and saved and left me a little cushion. I thank God for my constant and deep pain which hinders me from consistent employment but allows for time to live in a spiritual quest and hopefully help others in theirs. I am thankful that the pain is so intense that I could not maintain my old house and sold it, thus freeing me from externals enough to simply "take off". I am thankful that I suffered enough internal pain and frustration so as to come here to seek His will--away from parish and personal distractions. I am thankful that I do not know the Spanish language so that I can perceive rather than hear much conversation which is not necessary and proceed in faith.

Back to dinner last evening, the Cruzadas served a dish of chilled, cooked and cubed potatoes, chopped boiled eggs, chopped onions and tomatoes and some cold, sauteed, ground pork. We drizzled the rich and distinctive olive oil and vinegar over this combination and added a thin slice or two of a Gouda-type cheese. For dessert, baskets of fresh fruit placed on the table allowed us to choose. I had two apricots until Estelle motioned to me and said, "Juana", and explained in gestures and a few words that the tiny, odd-shaped, rosy-skinned pear she held up was "San Juan--mystical fruit." With that, I found one of these little pears and ate it with love and devotion. I said something about Juan de la Cruz, and she said, "No, no--Juan de la Bautista!" I motioned to my heart and said, "I love St. John the Baptist, also!" and consumed another tiny pear, this time on behalf of Fr. R and his parish. With the Cruzadas looking on, I asked if there is a legend to these unusual pears--mystical fruit. They all laughed heartily when Estelle spoke in Spanish; the bilingual student turned and said, "She was pulling your leg!" Well, I laughed, too, but knew I was living another example of St. John of the Cross' schema of the soul's ascent. For, I passed through the external senses of eating the pear, with passionate but sincere intent and joy, and imaged St. John of the Cross and St. John the Baptist and Fr. R and parishioners--right into the third ring of the internal senses of images, and next with the intellect and will made a solid connection in God is Love! We each and all were satisfied beyond measure.

I pray that what is written in this post is exactly what I was to write, and in faith that it is a sharing of the Holy Spirit of Our Father, who speaks through us when we worry not but trust.