Theological page turners are rare; anthologies that hold the reader's interest throughout are even rarer. Desire, Darkness, and Hope is a happy exception, a welcome read that incorporates classic Christian spirituality with contemporary theological reflection. Constance FitzGerald, OCD, is an insightful spiritual writer whose work deserves a broad audience. This book is a giant step in that direction.
This is really two “books” in one. The first is the seven essays by Constance FitzGerald, a Carmelite sister, an expert on both Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross. She illuminates their work for postmodern audiences by weaving her own contemplative insights into their rich tapestries of spiritual wisdom. She acknowledges the myriad social problems that try the souls of today's seekers. Her work acts as a bridge between medieval times and present day. What astonishes is that despite it all—COVID-19, climate change, racism, sexual violence, and war—she finds hope over and over again.
The second “book,” as I am calling what is really an integrated collection, begins with the thorough introduction by theologian M. Shawn Copeland. She lays out the task: “Taking inspiration from the theological thought and work of Constance FitzGerald … these theologians advocate passionately for justice, truth, solidarity, and equity through radical attentiveness to development of the interior life, through spiritual transformation” (20). She concludes poetically, “We row on to the Island that is God” (20).
The ten essays by Catholic theologians focus on impasse, white supremacy, colonialism, Edith Stein, liberation theologies, eco-feminist issues, FitzGerald herself, and more. In unskilled hands, such disparate themes could be a confusing mishmash of spirituality gone rogue. But these editors have produced a powerful collection that deals critically with FitzGerald's work by highlighting the practical import of her searing ideas.
The two “books” are interspersed rather than presented seriatim. Just when an author has explored an insight from FitzGerald's primary texts, another such text comes along sparking a different reflection. For example, Bryan Massingale's challenging essay, “Toward a Spirituality for Racial Justice,” is followed by FitzGerald's equally inspiriting piece, “Passion the Carmelite Tradition: Gertrude Stein.” Just imagine a weekend in contemplative dialogue with those two writers on those two themes.
Laurie Cassidy deconstructs the thirty-four-foot mosaic of “Christ in Majesty” by Jan Henryk de Rosen that dominates the central ceiling of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, DC. The blond-haired, blue-eyed, youthfully muscled Jesus fairly screams whiteness. Ironically, she points out, the rest of the church is made up of altars and small chapels to Mary through the eyes and art of various immigrant groups to the United States including Cubans, Vietnamese, Africans, and more. Contemplating that colorful variety and comparing it with the pale and overpowering Christ tells the story of hegemonic Catholic whiteness. It would be worth taking students to the shrine just for that exercise in line with FitzGerald's insistence on contemplation in educational settings.
My quibbles with the book are two and minor: One is that it lacks an index, which would enhance study of the many and complex issues at hand. The other is that there is no essay on a well-known articulation of FitzGerald's work by Nancy Sylvester, IHM. Nancy, in her 2000 Presidential Address at Assembly of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, “Risk the Sacred Journey,” introduced the concept of impasse to an audience that embraced it and built on it. She went on to found the Institute for Communal Contemplation and DialogueFootnote 1 based on Constance FitzGerald's signal insights. ICCD educates and invites people from all walks of life to operationalize contemplative practices in the service of social and cosmic change.
An essay on that work, along with reflections from people well beyond the Christian/Catholic tradition, would make a great companion volume. Likewise, including writers looking for meaning but without interest in religion per se, would launch Constance FitzGerald's work into a wider trajectory. It all enhances the common good.
