|
 Many things in life age quite well, others age poorly, and some, well, they just don’t seem to age at all; such are the words of literature—some age well, others age poorly, and some just don’t seem to age at all. The written word lays in rest and waits to be discovered by new people in new decades and in new stages and settings of life; when the proper moment arrives and the reader is engaged, oh what a pleasant dance ensues.
t don't seem to age at all; such are the words of literature-some age well, others age poorly, and some just don't seem to age at all. The written word lays in rest and waits to be discovered by new people in new decades and in new stages and settings of life; when the proper moment arrives and the reader is engaged, oh what a pleasant dance ensues.
I have just completed reading "The Seven Storey Mountain," Thomas Merton's autobiography of faith, and his words have proven to be without age. First published in 1948, his detailed account of life up through his entrance into the monastery at Gethsemani sold an amazing 600,000 copies during the first year. A writer's dream, Merton composed the manuscript in a private writing room in the monastery, during daily, two hour intervals. Taking readers through his nomadic childhood inspired by his father's quest for the perfect artistic landscape, his educational pursuits at Cambridge and Columbia, and into his conversion to both Christ and Catholicism, Merton's words wind themselves into every portion of the reader's experience.
To summarize a book that has been around some sixty years and influenced millions of people would perhaps be a waste of time, as many have surely done so. But, to present the gathered words that have collected themselves deeply within my mind, perhaps this would be of some value (if only to myself).
And so, as Merton records,
On baptism,
"My baptism, at Prades, was almost certainly my Father's idea, because he had grown up with a deep and well-developed faith, according to the doctrines of the Church of England. But I don't think there was much power, in the waters of the baptism I got in Prades, to untwist the warping of my essential freedom, or loose me from the devils that hung like vampires on my soul." (6)
On monastic prayer,
"There were many ruined monasteries in those mountains. My mind goes back with great reverence to the thought of those clean, ancient stone cloisters, those low and mighty rounded arches hewn and set in place by monks who have perhaps prayed me where I now am." (6)
On one's connected actions,
"Since no man ever can, or could, live by himself and for himself alone, the destinies of thousands of other people were bound to be affected, some remotely, but some very directly and neat-at-hand, by my own choices and decisions and desires, as my own life would also be formed and modified according to theirs. I was entering into a moral universe in which I would be related to every other rational being, and in which whole masses of us, as thick as swarming bees, would drag one another along towards some common end of good or evil, peace or war." (13)
On the devil and spiritual confusion,
"The devil is no fool. He can get people feeling about heaven the way they ought to feel about hell. He can make them fear the means of grace the way they do not fear sin. And he does so, not by light but by obscurity, not by realities but by shadows, not by clarity and substance but by dreams and the creatures of psychosis. And men are so poor in intellect that a few cold chills down their spine will be enough to keep them from ever finding out the truth about anything." (30)
On suffering,
"Indeed, the truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to our fear of being hurt. The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most: and his suffering comes to him from things so little and so trivial that one can say that is no longer objective at all...Souls are like athletes that need opponents worthy of them, if they are to be tried and extended and pushed to the full use of their powers, and rewarded according to their capacity." (91-2)
On unhappiness and salvation,
"The mere realization of one's own unhappiness is not salvation: it may be the occasion of salvation, or it may be the door to a deeper pit in Hell, and I had much deeper to go than I realized. But now, at least, I realized where I was, and I was beginning to try to get out." (136)
On worldly success,
"The logic of worldly success rests on a fallacy: the strange error that our perfection depends on the thoughts and opinions and applause of other men! A weird life it is, indeed, to be living always in somebody else's imagination, as if that were the only place in which one could at last become real!" (362)
On happiness,
"Because there is happiness only where there is coordination with the Truth, the Reality, the Act that underlies and directs all things to their essential and accidental perfections: and that is the will of God. There is only one happiness: to please Him. Only one sorrow, to be displeasing to Him, to refuse Him something, to turn away from Him, even in the slightest thing, even in thought, in a half-willed movement of appetite: in these things, and these alone, is sorrow, in so far as they imply separation, or the beginning, the possibility of separation from Him Who is our life and all our joy. And Since God is a Spirit, and infinitely above all matter and all creation, the only complete union possible, between ourselves and Him, is in the order of intention: a union of wills and intellects, in love, clarity." (406-7)
On pursuit,
"In one sense we are always travelling, and travelling as if we did not know where we were going. In another sense we have already arrived. We cannot arrive at the perfect possession of God in this life, and that is why we are travelling and in darkness. But we already possess Him by grace, and therefore in that sense we have arrived and are dwelling in the light. But oh! How far have I to go to find You in Whom I have already arrived! (459)
This week, as I finished reading Thomas Merton's "Seven Storey Mountain" at a public event, numerous people approached me to recall their story of reading and of experiencing Merton's words on faith. For most, it was a point, a marker in their life, and one that they will not soon forget. But, as most recounted, it is also a time that feels very distant and implausible in their present situation; Merton's emphasis of contemplative faith and slowed endeavors just doesn't jive with their interpretation of adulthood. Several shared these thoughts.
I do not know what it is about the progression of life that gradually speeds the pace of one's day; but it seems to me that as life gathers, there exists an increased need to return to the moment we read and reflected on Merton. My time with my son and my wife creates more need, my increase in responsibility creates more need, and certainly the thought of one day losing this place creates more need; more need for some mindful assistance.
Keep me Lord in this mindful, steadied place.
|
Subscribe to this comment's feed
