The Heart of Things

Moy Hitchen, February 2006

When some seventy Christian Brothers gathered in Rome in 2002, elected from all the provinces and regions of the Congregation, they had already set themselves a specific task – “listening for God”.

Sketch of obedience by Annigonni, youth listening with hand to ear
They were not just committing themselves to listen to God. That would have been a bit of a tautology. “The lion roars”, as the prophet Amos rather ruefully comments, “who is not afraid?” (Am 4, 8) Amos, as an ex-shepherd, no doubt remembered nights out in the hills when lions did roar. Amos, as a clear voice from an eighth century BCE landscape, reminds us that lions did hunt in the hills of Judah in those days. Amos can vividly recall the gut-clenching fear of being out in the dark countryside when lions roar.


No, the task was listening for God. The Brothers, and those they had invited to share the experience, were admitting, without much shame, that they didn’t know where to look for God. God had disappeared from his usual haunts, like the lions of Judah perhaps, now extinct in Palestine and Israel.

Just why God, at the turn of the millennium, had gone missing is another question for another time. For Jews and Christians, in that part of the world oddly dubbed ‘the West’ (West of what? is the obvious rejoinder), the twentieth century had seen God gradually leach out of the fabric of history and society. For Indigenous people, world-wide, that particular millennium just finished was probably the worst they had ever suffered, and their beliefs suffered along with them. For the lions of Judah, though, extinction had come two millennia earlier.

And where did the Brothers and their colleagues find God speaking? After a month in Rome (from where, apparently, the East is east and the West is west), they announced, in a small, snazzily-produced pamphlet, God was at the heart of being Brother. Listen for God in our hearts, they said.

Sandra Schneiders has to take some of the blame for this. In her talks, in the opening days of the Chapter, she used a throw-away line that really caught on: “What we do with our heart affects the whole universe.” She was talking about celibacy, or, more accurately, whatever it is that keeps us celibate. More precisely again, whoever holds our hearts – Jesus.

Of course, that comes from a Catholic Christian tradition of religious life, she was careful to remind us – and does not exhaust the mystery of God at work in many other forms of religious life and spirituality. But for Brothers in an order who fairly regularly say, “Live Jesus in our hearts – forever” it was a happy choice of words.

The rest of the snazzy pamphlet is taken up with our clumsy attempts, as Chapter participants, to express some of our heart-work. Heart-work? ‘Heart discoveries’, ‘heart decisions’ are other expressions used. The incoherence of this section of the pamphlet merely reflects the exigencies of Holy Week breaking on us, the end of the Chapter, the beginning of the rest of our lives, with that peremptoriness only a northern spring can impose.

The sad fact was that the participants bore the message in their hearts. It’s sad because most people go to the document, the snazzy pamphlet, to find it. It’s sad because the participants have gone home with their hearts riddled with all those things that gnaw at human hearts, yet profoundly changed. And ‘home’ is less home, after such things happen in the heart. There’s more of the universe leaking into the heart, or out of the heart, after Rome 2002.

This is not the usual feeble excuse: “You had to be there.” Such a statement excludes others. It leaves them back on the table at Emmaus, amongst the crumbs and empty cups. I don’t imagine Cleophas and Mary, his wife (John 19, 25), heard any lions roaring as they pushed on back to Jerusalem through that long night. The lions had long gone. But their hearts, inflamed, were driving them across the dark and dangerous countryside.

As the Congregation Promoter of Eco-Justice, I find myself wandering the world like the Ancient Mariner “who stoppeth one of three”. Like Cleophas and Mary, I can talk of “our hearts” (Luke 23, 32). In universe terms, there is nothing more important to talk of. Ken Wilber, who’s anxious we (the human race) keep evolving, says, “We go within, to move beyond.

One of the echoing chambers of the 2002 Chapter, where hearts were speaking to hearts again, was the Kolkata symposium on Social and Eco-Justice (November – December 2005). Walking the streets of Kolkata in the early morning, I saw a Muslim father leading his disabled son along the street. I was suddenly reminded of that old Muslim saying, “Only for compassion of heart God created humanity. For worshipping God, there were angels enough.”

It has taken God 13.8 billion years to create human beings (in our time scale). Angels, I assume, can be created much more quickly (in God’s time scale). So it wasn’t, after all, for the human intellect and will we were made. It was for compassion – a compassion at the heart of the universe. Angels, classically, aren’t endowed with hearts.

This is what the Brothers discovered in Rome 2002. “Radical relationships of equality with all of God’s creation” doesn’t come near it – but it’s a pointer to where we are going. The universe has a heart – it beats within us, and in other places.

Social Justice and Eco-Justice speak from the heart, of a troubled world, and to the heart – ours. It’s no wonder that our charism statement says explicitly Edmund “opened his whole heart”. It’s no coincidence that, in other cultures, the shaman experiences the ‘opening of the heart’, often as a powerful splitting open of the whole chest, as an initiation.

Will lions prowl the Holy Land again? The image of initiation brings us back to Amos, quaking with fear, as the lion rends the night.

“The lions roars: who is not afraid?
Holy One has spoken:
Who will not prophesy?”

(Amos 4, 8)