by Rose Mary Dougherty

Recently someone whom I hadn't seen for a while asked me what I liked about working at Shalem. It took me less than a second to find a response. I talked about Shalem as being a community of people who go for and support each other in that which we hold out to others: simple, open presence to God moment by moment. I explained that we didn't always do it that well but that it was important to us. I said, too, that we are a fun-loving, iconoclastic community, often dismantling one another and all of us together of our illusions of self- importance.

I also spoke of the congruence of Shalem with the mandate of Mother Theresa Gerhardinger, the foundress of my religious community: "Sisters, wherever you are, join the prayer of Jesus that all may be one." I recalled a time in a residency for the Spiritual Guidance Program when a participant said, "All week I've been trying to figure out how we got to be a community so quickly. I finally realized that it's because you get us looking at God first and then at one another." I might name that a little differently. I might say that people come to our programs because they have been looking at God, or perhaps are beginning to realize that God has been looking at them from within themselves, drawing them through the stuff of their lives into that place of oneness. They are looking for a way of honoring that awareness. When they come to Shalem they find themselves in a community of people all wanting the same thing though they might give different words or even theology to what they want. Being able to hang out regularly with people who want to claim what is most important to them nurtures me in my ongoing prayer. Together we experience the oneness for which Jesus prayed.

I talked about how my role at Shalem has brought to the fore my gifts of creativity, administration, teaching and spiritual direction and how in many ways my role has given me the possibility of expressing the best of who I am through what I have to offer. I said that what has delighted me most in my work at Shalem is the opportunity to participate in a mission I believe in, and the integrating nature of the work I do. I feel most at home when I work with individuals and groups in encouraging them to claim the heart of who they are and allow their work to become an expression of their true identity. Within the immediate life of Shalem this comes into play as I identify new program staff in whom I sense a congruence with Shalem's mission and pray with and nurture these people as they find their own authentic message and style of leadership.

On and on I went until I finally said, "I am so grateful for what I've had all these years at Shalem. Not many people have the opportunity to spend twenty-five years doing what they most love."

The person with me grew quiet for a while then said, "Rose Mary, I don't get it. If all you say is true, why are you leaving Shalem?" The best I can say to her and to myself is, "It seems like the right thing to do."

Because it seems right doesn't mean I don't have moments of doubt, of uneasiness. In fact, during the last Spiritual Guidance Program residency, my mind was most vociferous in its challenge. I was in the middle of leading a seminar on discernment, fully engaged with people. Out of nowhere this mind bombardment began: "How can you give this up? You love it so much and it fits you so well. You don't have a clue about your next job. Where will you ever find anything as good for you as this?"

I didn't have a satisfying answer then, and I don't have one now. I didn't set out to explore the possibility of leaving Shalem; nor was something new luring me away. I was sitting in prayer one morning nearly a year ago, and the notion came to me. I tend to pay attention to what shows up when I'm not trying to make something happen, but I was reluctant to take this notion seriously. It seemed too outrageous. At first I tried to dismiss it, but it persisted. Then for several weeks I walked around with it in my heart, noticing what came up when I sat with it. Despite all the arguments I could come up with, something continued/ continues to seem right.

In moments of doubt, I remember a time in my life, many years ago, when I was in a similar situation, with an important decision looming. I tried to come at it with all the responsible reasoning I could bring, but to no avail. Having exhausted that process, I finally yielded to prayer -not graciously, you understand, but desperately. Somewhere in the course of that prayer, with my back against the wall crying, "Uncle," I was given the words from John's gospel, "You will know the truth and the truth will set you free." With those words came a deep peace and a trust. I didn't "know" anymore than I had before, but I could trust that I would know when I needed to know.

That trust is given me now. I pray for freedom. I do some Zen sitting to help me keep my eyes open, I pay attention to what seems to touch my core with the rightness of possibility, I share my dreams with those who know me well, and I grieve. I grieve the letting go of that which has been so grace-filled as I wait for what will be.

Some people hint at irresponsibility on my part, leaving a job before I have another one in view. That doesn't ring true for me. It would seem "ir-response-able" to do otherwise. It seems I need to let go in order to see the "what next." Other people tell me I am courageous. I wish I could think I am, but what I am about doesn't seem to be risky, only what's given for now.

Am I deluded or mistaken? Does my decision come from some ego-driven place in me that I don't recognize? My life experience tells me that all of these are real possibilities. However, my life experience also tells me that the Spirit abiding within is not dependent upon my purity of intention or unambiguous motives. I can't help but be aware of God's faithfulness for me and through me for others despite my foolishness at times.

Simone Weil, when writing to a spiritual friend about her decision to leave France and come to America with her parents says: "It seems as though something were telling me to go. As I am perfectly sure that this is not just emotion, I am abandoning myself to it. I hope that this abandonment, even if I am mistaken, will finally bring me to the haven." (Simone Weil, Waiting for God. Harper and Row, 1951)

I find a consonance with her words. For Weil, the haven was the Cross. I would name it Love.