Theology of the Wound: Teresa, Frodo, and SOA

Today is the feast day of St. Teresa of Avila. She is my spiritual mother. Not that she is my favorite saint, or I have the greatest attraction or feel closest to her. Love for a mother is something quite different than mere friendship. I would venture to describe my relationship to her as one of filial respect, a certain indebtedness to her for forming me as her spiritual daughter.

Childhood is not a bed of roses. In fact it sucks being a child, in a very different way from the hardship of adulthood. Learning, growing, and maturing are exhausting, painful, and humiliating. Although this process never ends in this valley of tears, it takes on a different form after leaving your parent's home—the point at which you become “independent.” This line is probably blurred in many instances, but I'm sure parents recognize stages at which their role as a parent changes in relation to their child. The "adult-child” is given more space, if you will, more liberty and autonomy.

But the child, always under a watchful eye, experiences, at least in hindsight, a gratitude for that security that they knew under their parents’ roof and protection. As they grow in self-knowledge, they may recognize the impact and influence that their mother has had on them. This has definitely been my experience. 

Accompanied by these reflections there may exist a certain nostalgia—a longing for the past, with all its innocence and naivety. There are ways in which mothers shield and prepare their children for the evils of the world. But they can’t take them away for good—they must let their children go and find their way.

The looking back in itself may be painful, as memories often are. At the same time that I experience joy on this feast day, I feel a wound. When I left Carmel, I had just read and watched The Lord of the Rings. It was a dramatic time for me, and I related all too closely with Frodo on his difficult journey and return home:

"Are you in pain, Frodo?" . . . . 

"Well, yes I am," said Frodo. "It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today." 

"Alas! There are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured," said Gandalf. 

"I fear that it may be so with mine," said Frodo. "There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?" [967]

All the saints know this pain. All of humanity does too, whether they realize its significance or not.

"The malady from which he suffered, we all, who are of Adam's seed, suffer from the same. Such a malady has befallen us, as Esaias says, It is not a wound, nor a bruise, nor an inflamed sore; it is not possible to apply a mollifying ointment, nor oil, nor to make bandages? Thus were we wounded with an incurable wound; the Lord alone could heal it. For this reason He came in His own person; because none of the ancients, nor the law itself, nor the prophets, were able to heal this wound. He alone by His coming healed that sore of the soul, that incurable sore" -St. Macarius

Though we have been redeemed, the wound will keep hurting until we reach the “Undying Lands.”