Folks who know me know that I am someone who acknowledges an appreciation for the writings of the late monk, Thomas Merton. Even though Merton died in 1968, he has had a formative role in my spiritual faith and life. I never met him, although I know a few people who knew Merton. Part of the intrigue of Merton is his own pilgrimage from no faith to a life of faith.
Had you known the early Merton---from his birth in 1915 through university years in the 1930s, you would never has guessed his life would take him where it did. He became famous as a monk---an odd thing in itself. Paradoxically, you could say he left the world only to have the world find him. From an out of the way monastery in the hinterlands of Kentucky, Merton became a global spokesperson on a number of key issues in the 1950s and ‘60s. For people like me, his words still have a relevance more than half a century later.
Probably no one would have guess a kind of cottage industry would emerge around Merton. By that I mean, there is now an international Merton society dedicated not only to keeping his memory and influence alive, but seeking to show how his spirituality still offers guidance to people in their own lives in a different time than his. One of the features of this society is a periodical that contains articles and other helpful guides to understanding and appreciating the contemporary presentation of all things Mertonian.
In a past issue of The Merton Seasonal a Benedictine monk, Gerard Garrigan, offers a little poem which I find interesting and helpful for my own personal reflections. Garrigan entitles the poem, “On the Monastic Calling.” Allow me to quote it and then comment on it.
I live a life of prayer
I don’t do much for God
Though He’s done all for me
Unbelievers find this odd
As I read and reflected on this poem, I decided it is not only true for monks and their calling, but it is also true for anyone today who considers himself or herself a believer---a person of faith. While being a believer is not unusual, it is different than when I was growing up. In those days I did not know anyone who would have denied having some kind of faith. Today it is not unusual to hear folks claim to be an atheist or simply be dismissive by saying, “I’m not religious.”
Garrigan begins his poem with the declaration that he lives a life of prayer. As a monk, I understand this. However, we all know that prayer is not simply the thing monks do. I would guess every believer feels some desire to pray and, understood rightly, want to live a life of prayer. Of course, we can’t define prayer solely by words. I understand prayer also as attitude, openness, etc. In this sense I hope my life is also a life of prayer.
I like the slight orneriness of Garrigan when he says he doesn’t do much for God. I would agree that God is not sitting around waiting for us to do things for the Divine Self. Instead, I suspect God would be much happier if we did things for each other. As I have worked with the various virtues, it is easy for me to hear God say, “Of course, be virtuous.” This would entail treating all people with justice. It would be higher degrees of trust. It certainly means being willing to act with compassion. And so it goes. If we all did this---or even if only more of us did this---the world would be better and we would be that much closer to kingdom living.
Thirdly, Garrigan acknowledges that God does things for us. That’s for sure. Life itself is a gift from God, as I understand it. I did not create myself. Life is gift and in that sense all of life is grace. Of course, I make effort, work and all that. But the sheer givenness of life is grace. I am thankful.
Finally, Garrigan says unbelievers find this odd. And I am sure they do. Unbelievers have to see themselves as generators of all things. They usually do not have a good sense for the grace of life. Unbelievers have a different way of explaining things. I would not go so far as to say they are wrong. But their way of looking at themselves and the world is not sufficient or satisfying for me. As my students frequently say, there has to be something more.
I appreciate how Garrigan helps me understand the oddity of faith itself. Of course, by faith we prove nothing. Faith is a different order of knowing. It is not like math and science. Neuroscientists even talk about how our brain functions different when doing faith as opposed to more left-brain critical thinking. Faith is not fact in that analytical sense.
I have learned to be comfortable with the oddity of my faith. It forms and informs the way I see myself, others and the world. Odd as it is, I am relieved of proving anything.
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