Courage and Love

I have the pleasure of leading a group which meets regularly.  I know most of the folks in the group through various experiences in the past. Some have been in class with me.  Others I have met through some work I have done in various retreat centers.  But there are a few who have because of another friend in the group.  It is wonderfully diverse---but not in every way.  We are from all over the country and range in age from 20 to 90.  Not all are Quakers.  I cherish the chance to be with them and think about important things.

Each time we gather, I provide a small reading---sometimes only a paragraph or so.  Recently we looked at a passage from the Trappist monk, Thomas Merton.  In one of his better-known books, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, written near the end of his life (1966), Merton reflects on what it is like to live in the present.  That sounds simple enough, until we realize how often we are not in the present.  In this passage Merton first notes that “In a time of drastic change one can be too preoccupied with what is ending or too obsessed with what seems to be beginning.” (208)  I agree and even think that this happens in times when we are not facing drastic change.  Some of us have a hard time living in the present at any point of life.

Merton points out what happens when we don’t live in the present.  He says, “In either case one loses touch with the present and with its obscure but dynamic possibilities.”  This seems like such an obvious point, i.e., we lose touch with the present.  That does not sound that bad until we realize we are not really living if we are not in the present.  If we dwell on the past, then we are missing the present as it is.  There are many ways folks dwell on the past.

Probably one of the biggest ways to dwell on the past is to dwell on failure or on our mistakes.  We spend time lamenting our stupidity or our doing something wrong or inadequately.  There are ways of getting stuck in the past by our anger, our resentment and holding grudges.  I can be mad that something did not go my way.  Even if I can never get back to that place for a redo, I am still mad.  I want something in the past that did not happen.  I refuse to believe it never will happen.  I want it, but it is not even possible.  But I am stuck.

The same goes for the future.  I can be handicapped in the present by my fear or anxiety of what is to come.  I am frozen, instead of free, to respond to the present moment.  Even if I am told that much of what I fear never will happen, it does not happen.  I am scared nevertheless.  I can even fear making a mistake.  And when I do, the mistake ranks me into the past and now I resent it.  I had no time for the present.  And the present is only present in the moment. 

Fortunately, Merton helps me know what I can do to welcome the present moment.  First, he addresses what I might call our posture for the present moment.  He quips, “What really matters is openness, readiness, attention, courage to face risk.”  Those sound like wonderful words: openness and readiness.  Openness sounds somewhat like choosing to be vulnerable in the moment.  And in that vulnerability, I can be ready.  Readiness is different than hesitancy. Hesitancy makes me slow to respond.  Hesitancy usually means I will miss what comes my way.

Be attentive, Merton counsels.  As I teach about contemplative living, paying attention is core.  If I don’t pay attention, likely I am going to miss what the present can give me.  And then he adds a word about courage.  In fact, if we have courage, it is always going to be a present tense thing.  We don’t have courage in the past or in the future.  I know for sure vulnerability allows for---or maybe demands---courage.  That is how we choose to be vulnerable.

What Merton says next, I find reassuring.  He tells us, “You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going.”  Whew, I think.  I don’t need to know.  In fact, I don’t need to worry.  Let the future come.  Let it be present.  Then comes what I take to be Merton’s core teaching.  He says, “What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith, and hope.  In such an event, courage is the authentic form taken by love.”  If we can be present in the moment, then we give ourselves a chance to recognize the possibilities.  Of course, some of these possibilities will be challenges.

The major piece of advice Merton gives us is to “embrace.”  Embrace the possibilities with courage, faith and hope.  Those of us familiar with the Apostle Paul might have expected him to say love instead of courage: faith, hope and love.  But Merton cleverly suggests that courage is the form that love takes.  When I ponder that, I believe he is correct.  To love---and to love authentically---is a form of courage.  To love is to allow ourselves to be vulnerable.

Anyone who has loved knows we can be hurt.  But we also should know to refuse love because we might get hurt is to deny life.  It is to close off possibilities.  This is true for love in the personal sense and for love in a social justice sense.  To love demands courage.  For me Jesus models this kind of courageous love.  His love was self-sacrificial.  Anyone who loves deeply will need to be willing to sacrifice self.  

My prayer is that I become willing to be in the present, to love and to have the courage to love.