“Contemplative in the mud”? What mud? As I’ve related previously, the image that forms the name of this blog had a very simple conscious interpretation and some influences that might have inclined me to make the decision that I did.

The conscious notion was that I was thinking of “contemplation on the roads” (a phrase of Jacques and Raïssa Maritain), as opposed to contemplation in the cloister, and I was pretty sure that roads are not hyper-sanitized, but rather muddy. Deeper down, I think texts that influenced my choice came from Charles de Foucauld.

Putting all that together, I reached the conclusion that there are at least four muds. First, there’s the mud of the road itself, because contemplation of Christ in our neighbour, for instance, is not straightforward and clear. Then, there’s the mud of my own sins, which forms an unsightly coating that impairs vision and hearing. Third, there’s the muddy origin of our human nature, radically disproportionate to God, but for that a still greater object of his Mercy. Finally, there’s the mud of the earth itself—creation contemplated as gratefully sourced in our Creator.

While the perspectives of Jacques and Raïssa Maritain and Charles de Foucauld probably exhaust where I was at when the blog initially launched twelve years ago, the image continues to fascinate me. Like I just noted, I’m willing to include contemplation in the mud of the earth, along the lines of the eighth work of mercy, in being “contemplative in the mud.” That’s new. It wasn’t on my radar until Pope Francis. New influences—always in line, of course, with the eternal newness of the Gospel—needn’t stop there. In this post, I’d like to turn to the usage that Marcel Văn makes of the image of mud. What kind of mud would his experience and writings suggest being contemplative in?

Translation issues

Unfortunately, we need to start with translation issues. This is boring or annoying, but it’s necessary.

Now, while I do have some competence in Vietnamese (note the proximity to Thailand and some personal contacts that I had even before I knew Văn), I’m not fluent. But actually, that’s not the main barrier here. If I actually had the Vietnamese texts, the words we’re talking about are within my vocabulary. The issue is, I don’t have the texts in the original language. To the best of my knowledge, Marcel’s writings are only available in translation. Văn’s hand-written originals are somewhere in Vietnam, and the Vietnamese copies of Father Antonio Boucher reside with the proper authorities responsible for Văn’s beatification cause. But these don’t exist for just anyone to access at any time. Nor have they been published, as far as I know.

As is the case with usage of “mud” metaphors by Charles de Foucauld, the English texts often say something different from the French versions—in Brother Charles’ case, the French originals; in Marcel’s case, the earliest translation (from which translation into English was made).

It is often the case that the published English translation uses “clay,” but the French version of Father Antonio Boucher is, literally, “clumps of mud” (mottes de boue). In Vietnamese, “clumps of mud” would be cục bùn, whereas “clay” is đất sét (literally, “rusty earth”). Personally, I don’t see how the two terms could be confused, particularly by a competent Vietnamese speaker like Father Boucher, and the terms clearly don’t have the same roots. If a discrepancy occurs, I assume that the French is more accurate than the English. After all, the English text we have is a translation of the French text. Moreover, it’s usually, if not always, the case that the French version makes more sense from the point of view of the imagery—but that of course depends on the individual cases to discuss.

In what follows, I consistently modify the English translation so that the “mud” imagery appears where it should, according to the French texts.

Earth imagery

As presented in the French texts, Marcel seems to distinguish between how he uses images of earth and how he uses images of mud. I don’t know whether he’s conscious that he does this. I don’t even know with complete certainty that the French textual distinction here represents Văn’s usage of Vietnamese. Nonetheless, in the French versions of Father Boucher, there is a difference.

The image of the “earth” within us comes from Marcel’s correspondence. There are two key passages that I’m aware of. In one, Marcel is writing about his physically disabled older brother Liệt, to his youngest brother Lục, who, in point of fact, himself suffered from some developmental issues. Văn says of Liệt, “even if he were like a clod of earth (motte de terre), it would be necessary to do everything to make him joyful” (To Lục, 12 Jul 1947).[1] This is a somewhat mysterious saying, but it seems to imply that within us all there is something earthy, and that’s not the only part of us. We must treat each other as more than the earthy dimension and do everything for each other that we are more, and feel more, than that.

Another letter from another context years later sheds a brighter theological light on the same imagery. Marcel writes:

Our body, although it may be truly wretched, is the property of God who created it. He has given it to us with all its organs to allow us to work. Consequently, it is necessary to look after it carefully and with dignity. Later, our resurrected body will be reunited to the soul to enjoy the presence of God. It is necessary to take good care of it, and not to think that the flesh is bad to devote it to misfortune as if it were a simple clod of earth (motte de terre). The essential thing is to take care of it according to the right degree compatible with its status. (To Sáu, 18 Apr 1950)

In this letter, the language reminds one of the second creation account, wherein YHWH “formed man from the dust of the ground” (Gen 2:7 NRSV). The dust or earth is clumped together. It’s formed. This is part of us.

The second letter sheds light on the first one. Liệt was blind, and this was an impact on his entire life. It was from his bodily condition, towards his total condition. Marcel seems to be saying that, even if the bodily dimensions were to completely hem Liệt in, still he deserves everything. Marcel expresses utter conviction that nothing in our human nature can take away from our dignity in Christ’s Body.

The second letter says much the same thing about ourselves, not just our neighbours. We can’t treat the body as if it were simply earth. It’s never just that. It’s redeemed. It’s to be taken into the Body of Christ. We can even detect notes of the lesson Marcel learned about socks. Offering necessary self-care, when we’d rather not, is a form of sacrifice, and it too is part of Thérèse’s “little way”—if not by the letter, certainly by the spirit of a little way made yet more little for those who are weaker still than Thérèse.

Mud imagery

Marcel treats the image of mud differently from that of earth. Earth is, we can say, natural. It’s not morally bad. It’s redeemed, yes. But that means it must be treated with utmost respect in others and in oneself. It’s to be taken into the Body—and Jesus, the One to whom the Body belongs, is gentle with the weak, not harmful and violent.

Mud, in contrast, relates to sin. That’s the way Marcel uses the image. It’s more complex than this—absolutely. But the distinction is vital.

The key passage here is a relatively early one. In the Conversations, Marcel understands Jesus to say to him in prayer:

My dear child, what saddens me is to see huge amounts of mud (boue) enclosing magnificent pearls, which are very dear to me, pile up, condemning me to look at them from afar while no one thinks to offer them to me. Nevertheless, my child, if someone placed, if only for a moment, these clods of clay in my hand, they would become as many precious pearls in my eyes… My dear child, do you understand the meaning of these words? Let me explain.

The clumps of mud (mottes de boue) designate sinners. They allowed all the love I have given them to be lost in profane love and this profane love envelops them, making them similar to clumps of mud (mottes de boue)…

My dear child, do you love these clumps of mud (mottes de boue)? If you love them, try to think of them always and offer them to me. These simple words: “Jesus, I offer them to you” or any other loving words said with the intention of offering them to me is sufficient for me to receive them in my hand and there, my child, I will transform these ugly clumps of mud (mottes de boue) into many pearls as precious as diamonds. (Conv. 116–117)[2]

I quote this at length to show that the logic and meaning of the image, both here and as it recurs in Marcel’s writings, isn’t that complicated. Everything is already spelled out for us. Mud is a dimension of the sinner. It covers a beautiful core. The core is worth it all in Jesus’ eyes. Or, as Gilles Berceville comments very clearly: “A treasure is in play. The very first thing that has to be known and understood is the distress of Jesus and his call to arms is the beauty of the human soul. Sin envelops this core as mud, but it does not destroy it.”[3]

Just how much is the pearl worth it? Well, Marcel comes back to that. He says himself in prayer:

Oh, [little Jesus], were you not happy enough in heaven to have to dive to the bottom of this earth, to look for dirty lumps of mud (mottes de boue), without fearing either the awful smell, or the cold? Really, only an insane love is capable of such madness… (Conv. 392)

And not only does this exclamation cover the main point, Marcel is also conscious of a longer explanation and politically contentious example:

As for the story of the heap of mud (motte de boue) containing a precious pearl, I remember that once, the brethren were speaking among themselves about the French who were like this or like that, but only the French military who behaved badly were targeted. At that moment Brother Andrew, arriving from somewhere, seeing that the conversation centred on the French, told us that he had himself met a French military man who was very good. Then he told how this military person behaved towards him in a very polite manner, as he would have done with a priest… In short, the Brother said that this soldier was a very good member of the French military and, unlike many others, he was joyful, polite, etc.

I then heard my sister Thérèse give me an example, which puts in a nutshell the two categories of French that were just being spoken of. This is what she said to me: “Even if throughout the whole of France there exists only sinners, with the exception of one just person, this single just person would be sufficient for Jesus not to destroy France, since he would know that in the middle of this multitude of sinners, there is a pure soul. In the same way who would dare to stamp on a pile of mud which contained a precious stone? It is obvious that it is necessary to preserve this heap of mud to extract from it the precious stone which is buried in it. Jesus acts in the same way. And if a precious stone is buried in a heap of mud, it has much more value and deserves much more attention since it is necessary to avoid treading with one’s feet on this heap of mud. Such is the way Jesus behaves.” That’s all I remember. (Conv. 771–772)

It’s worth it for the French, the colonizers—the people Văn struggles to love and live social fraternity with. It’s worth it for anyone. It’s worth it for everyone. That pearl is worth it. Jesus the diver wants to grab it despite the mud that covers it all over.

Earth and mud in ourselves and our neighbours

The imagery of Văn, then, lets me think of a few things about being “contemplative in the mud.”

First, the distinction between earth imagery and mud imagery tells quite a bit about Marcel’s lived theology. It captures insights that are core to Christian anthropology and our understanding of and appreciation of the Incarnation, Redemption, and Church. We are dust of the earth. But even when we are muddied, what the dust has become, or can become, in being compounded into a pearl, remains worth it all.

Above all, though, Văn’s imagery inspires certain attitudes that explode into actions. It calls us to be there with others. It’s a Nazareth spirituality. We aren’t contemplative in the mud alone. We have to be there with anyone who suffers because of the earth in them, especially when that earth isn’t mixed with water to become a muddy, sinful coating. But even when the water has clumped all the earth up and the pearl at the person’s heart is hard to find, it’s worth it. We must be there with them still.

How do we be there? We offer everything to make them joyful. We put in the work of mercy towards their earth. We put in the works of mercy towards the mud. We offer intercessory prayer—for contemplation admits of, or bursts into, intercession. As Pope Francis teaches:

There are those who think, based on a one-sided spirituality, that prayer should be unalloyed contemplation of God, free of all distraction, as if the names and faces of others were somehow an intrusion to be avoided. Yet in reality, our prayer will be all the more pleasing to God and more effective for our growth in holiness if, through intercession, we attempt to practise the twofold commandment that Jesus left us. Intercessory prayer is an expression of our fraternal concern for others, since we are able to embrace their lives, their deepest troubles and their loftiest dreams. (Gaudete et Exsultate 154)

The ways to be there are many. But what is essential is that we recoil neither from the earth, nor the mud. Jesus the diver going after the pearl did neither. And he was the greatest contemplative of all.

To be honest, “contemplative in the mud” is an image that I simply didn’t foresee being so fruitful. As I’ve been rereading various saints and spiritual writers over the past year, I’ve come across quite a bit to ponder. Aside from my original background in Charles de Foucauld and the thoughts that I’ve scraped together here from Văn, I’ve also been captivated by the imagery in Teresa of Avila—but that’s another, yet longer and more complex post. What I will say for the moment is that, like contemplation itself, the image of being “contemplative in the mud” seems to expand into new meanings as the Christian Truth, who is a Person, is gazed at, known, loved, and appreciated in its beauty. There will be more pearls to find. There will be more reflections to make. There will be more posts to write. And there is a lot more diving to do. It’s a compelling exigency of the Gospel.

[1] To = Marcel Van, Correspondence, trans. Jack Keogan (Complete Works 3; Versailles: Amis de Van Éditions, 2018).

[2] Conv. = Marcel Van, Conversations, trans. Jack Keogan (Complete Works 2; Versailles: Amis de Van Éditions, 2017).

[3] Gilles Berceville, Marcel Van, ou l’infinie pauvreté de l’Amour (Paris: Éditions de l’Emmanuel / Les Amis de Van, 2009), 97.