We are treated . . . as having nothing and yet possessing all things. // 2 Corinthians 6:8-10

I walked into the bare room, devoid of any color or decorations. I lamented that there were no pictures on the walls. But then I reminded myself that it wasn’t my college dorm room, after all, but my new cell in a Carmelite monastery. The straw mattress, wooden kneeler and a small shelf up on the wall plus the big cross at the head of my new bed was all I had. They were not even mine because in the Garden of Carmel, everything is referred to as “ours.”

There I was, supposedly poor by the world’s standards, yet in just one year, I would be leaving back out through those doors, rich by Heaven’s standards. What does it mean to have nothing, according to society, and yet “possess all things” (2 Corinthians 6:10)? I thought it meant leaving my whole life as I knew it—my family and friends who loved and supported me, my ministry and public life—for a hidden life in the austerity of Carmel. That must be it, I thought. 

Yet, truly, how abundant was my pride and self-reliance. I was stripped of all things exteriorly, but my heart was not yet poor enough to turn fully to Him who is the greatest treasure. 

Most of my life I struggled with pride and vanity. In that small cell of the cloister, I experienced the extent of my true lack and my dire need for Him. I had become so rich in possessions: things, comforts, people, and their opinions of me. In the safe place of the enclosure, He slowly, but steadily, began removing from my hands all that I clung to. Until all that was left was Him and His steadfast love. 

Sister, more than serving Him, more than being known, more than others considering us to be whatever it is we hope they see in us, more than all of these things, it is about Him. Possessing Him, knowing Him and loving Him—that’s it. That is what it means to be rich and yet have nothing to your name. He is our greatest treasure.