NSoC 20: Tradition and Revolution

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Wow! Over halfway through the book...

Merton says here that the Church is framed by both tradition and revolution in apparent contradiction. As he writes of the "living Tradition of Catholicism" (yes, with capital letters), I feel somewhat left out, but I have no pangs of guilt by broadening his scope of Tradition to include the rest of us, and by doing so I found enough meat to keep me going.

When one thinks of human tradition one usually thinks stale and stodgy, robbed by time of value and influence and out of fashion. However, Merton says, the traditions of the Church are its life breath, the very spirit of God exhaling the truth of God. This tradition is revolutionary, he continues, because the truth never changes in the face of the societal constants of greed, power, and pleasure. There has never been a more satisfactory revolution. Other revolutions require the deaths of others to succeed; this one requires only one man's death - mine.

When one thinks of human revolution one usually thinks of complete change, charting a new course, with new blood and new vitality. Actually, Merton counters, just the opposite is true. Human revolutions are nothing more than status quo: swapping one set of minority overlords for another. The vices and lusts are the same, only the faces and names change. Only the revolution of change from within can be successful.

Men despise the authority of the Church, which they see as stony, dead, unbending. They would rather have "authority" that is capricious, misty, and nebulous. However, right doctrine is crucial. Merton says that every believer ought to have a strong understanding of what he believes, yet not get bogged down with the theologian's details to such extent as to lose the focus of what the doctrines point to. Theology is not "a body of distractions" but a "Living Reality Who is God Himself." (Merton likes the shift key). However, we must return to the theology to explain that relationship to the world.

Quaff:
One of the liturgical traditions I enjoy is reciting the Apostles' Creed or the Nicene Creed each Sunday. Thanks to Merton I can now feel revolutionary in doing so.

I also appreciate the use of the lectionary. I am in an ecumenical Bible study at work, and at our meeting after Ash Wednesday we were discussing the services in our various churches. The Catholic's priest used the same scripture as the Methodist's pastor and my pastor did. That gave me joy, and hope for the church and the world.

Quibble:
Merton's idea of the futility of revolution has legs in the current presidential campaign. Has anyone ever run for the presidency without "change" as their foundational plank? Reagan was elected for change. Clinton was elected for change. Bush was elected for change. Has anything changed?

Quip:
Somebody smarter than me said, "If you are wed to this age you will find yourself widowed in the next." I'll tell you who as soon as I remember.

NSoC 19: From Faith to Wisdom

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A long, muddy chapter that my brain struggled to process nevertheless yielded some gems.

God lies infinitely beyond our reach, Merton writes, and therefore any conception we may entertain of him is infinitely beneath him. We can't see him, so to find him we must pass the seen into darkness. We can't hear him, so to find him we must pass the heard into the silence. We cannot imagine him, so we must pass all likenesses into obscurity. We can't understand him, only he can, so we must pass beyond ourselves into completeness in him. I think. I didn't really understand this last part.

Regardless, faith, again, is that key that recognizes that we know him apart from likenesses and forms, in other words, intangibly.

He then addresses faith as more than mere submission to will, that deeper faith produces deeper doubt because of the anxiety that comes with heightened awareness, that deeper faith resides in deeper darkness because the light of the created images fades away until "...God Himself becomes the Light of the darkened soul..."

Communion begins with faith, continues Merton, and deepens with it. Known and unknown merge beyond what mere rationalization can provide, revealing the unknown mysteries of our selves. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what he means. After that, he begins to deal with the conscious and sub-conscious mind, explaining the Greek Fathers' concept of anima (psyche), animus (nous), and spiritus (pneuma), as sort of an image of the Trinity.

Then he ties all that somehow into the sophia (wisdom), but I think I missed a step somewhere. I love his closing sentence, though. "The darkness of faith bears fruit in the light of wisdom."

Quaff:
This chapter reminded me of the recent revelations about Mother Teresa's "dark night of the soul." Read about that here, here, and here. Then watch Lyle Dorsett here.

NSoC 18: Faith

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A wrong idea about faith will hinder your quest to be a contemplative.

So declares Merton, and to back that up he lists a variety of things that faith is not. When he gets around to saying what faith is, he defines it foundationally as an "intellectual assent," namely possessing truth that could not be obtained by mere natural means. In other words, there is no natural reason the things we have faith in are either true or false. Something else drives our acceptance of them. Our reason alone can't tell us anything about God. In the matter at hand, our intellectual assent to the truth that God has revealed himself is based on the authority we believe him to have to do so (if I've read Merton correctly).

Faith is more than just intellectual assent, Merton continues. It has substance, also. We don't assent to just an idea about God, but to God himself. Faith is not just beliefs about God, but trust in God. Arguments, controversies, hatreds and divisions result when our faith goes no farther than the idea. The ideas are important, of course, for we are seeking truth, and that truth is revealed to us through the ideas by the ultimate object of our faith, God himself. We must strive for the right ideas and defend them to the death, but we must not forget that they are to transform us, not transfix us.

Finally, Merton says, faith is "the only key to the universe." None of the critical questions we have about the meaning of life can be answered without it.

Quaff:
I recently heard a very brief synopsis of post-Enlightenment thought that bifurcated theology into branches: systematics and ethics. In other words, the study of theology and the practice of theology were separated. I see parallels in this definition and Merton's admonition not to divorce the idea of God from the person of God, or to keep climbing upwards once the idea is reached, for we aren't to the top yet.

Any time I speak, teach, or write I do so with fear of speaking, teaching, or writing something wrong. Sometimes that fear prods me to deeper study. Sometimes it paralyzes me from taking too great a stand. Most times, if I would just climb a little higher, and rest in who God is rather than what I think I know about him, these things might sort themselves out.

Query:

• How do I take the ideas I have about God and turn them into true faith in God?
• When I talk to others about God, do I direct them to him as an idea or as a person?
• How does the Church keep from majoring on the ideas it differs on and minoring on the relationships it shares in Christ?

NSoC 17: Hell as Hatred

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Short, short chapter, but powerful. Merton pictures hell as a place filled with people who share only this: they hate one another yet cannot rid themselves of one another.

The fire of their hatred is fueled the detestable things they see in others but identify with themselves.

He contrasts that with the consuming fire of God, a fire of eternal joy for those who allow God to transform them, but a mortal enemy to those who won't. God's love, to them become "our torment and our destruction."

Merton explains this formula:
Love God more than self = finding him and his joy in all things
Love self more than God = find enemies in all things

Merton sees evil as "the absence of a perfection that ought to be there." He says that men are attracted to whatever good there is in evil acts, and there is just enough good there to act as bait in a trap. Sinners, therefore, hate everything because of all the deceit they've been ensnared by. He equates sin with boredom, and sinners with boring scourges who subject the world to their uselessness, citing especially H_tler, Stalin, and Napoleon.

(UPDATE: "H_tler" is typed that way because if I spell it normally my internet filter marks my blog as "Hate/Violence" and won't let me read it.)

Quiz:
Merton died in 1968. If he were alive today, who might he add to his list of "boring" sinners?

NSoC 16: The Root of War Is Fear

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Fear and hatred lie at the source of all war, but not as conventional wisdom would suggest. It is not only the external hatred of others that fuels war but the internal hatred that we all have for ourselves. More serious is the self-hatred that is buried so deep it is not acknowledged. We see evil in others that we deny in ourselves, and we try to destroy them while justifying ourselves. Others "sin", we make "mistakes." We blame others to ease our guilt. We build ourselves up and tear others down. We become obsessed with eradicating evil by naming scapegoats for our guilt.

Merton suggests our "ethical and political problems" might be solved if we realized that all of us are wrong, in deed, intent, and response to evil. We stagnate because we fail to acknowledge that not all intentions of others are bad and not all of our own intentions are good. Our political system fails when we put all our eggs in the basket of one party or system.

Neither should we lean toward the everything-is-wrong camp, says Merton. We should accept the scriptural notion that we are of two natures and we should not emphasize one over the other.

How to deal with each other? Merton says we shouldn't force trust where none is trustworthy but we should commonly trust God, for only through him can we learn to love those who do evil. The fear at the root of war can only be repelled by love (humility, as he defined in an earlier chapter). He then rants against a nation which postmarks its stamps with "Pray for Peace" and then spends billions on armaments that could destroy the world. He says it is perfectly reasonable to pray for health while taking medicine, but to pray for peace while arming for war is akin to praying for health and then drinking poison.

He says he prays not only for change for "the Russians and the Chinese" but for himself and his nation to change as well. He says God doesn't answer our prayers for peace in the way we expect because we don't know what we are praying for. He says often God gives us the kinds of peace we ask for: peace to treat others as we wish without retribution, peace to consume at will without thought of the poor, peace from violence that might interfere with our standard of living.

He exhorts us to hate the attitude of the warmonger, not the warmonger himself. He says if we love peace we are to hate the injustice, tyranny, and greed that lives in us.

Quaff:
Clarence Darrow, the celebrated attorney of the early twentieth century, provided a defense of the infamous "perfect crime" murderers Leopold and Loeb by suggesting that they were products of their environments, not their own choices (see part of his argument here). This seems to support Merton's stance that "...we naturally tend to interpret our immoral act as an involuntary mistake..."

The Hebrew word for peace is shalom, and it means much more than the absence of war, as "peace" often contemporarily does. Shalom means wholeness, completeness, soundness. In our worship services on Sundays, we share the peace, exclaiming, "Peace be with you," or as Jesus would have said "shalom aliechem" (except he would have said it in Aramaic, but you get the idea). The Greek word for peace is eirene, and it is used in the New Testament to express that Jesus came into the world to bring spiritual peace with God.

Query:

• How do I keep from projecting my self-hatred upon others?
• How do I guard against their self-hatred aimed at me?
• How do I refrain from totally supporting or totally vilifying one political party when solutions are more than likely to be found in compromise with others? Is it too much to expect my fellow citizens and the politicians to do the same?
• Do I pray for God to change me as often as I ask him to change my enemies?

NSoC 15: Sentences

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This is a chapter of seemingly unrelated thoughts, a sort of Merton's Proverbs. Upon first reading I thought the title meant sentences, as in lines of words. He addresses writers a few times, which supports that thought. Subsequent readings, however, opened my eyes to the play on words (or in this case word) of the title, since he also addresses liberty, servility, and autonomy.

Some observations:

• Don't let the risk of failure keep you from trying.
• Modern men aren't interested in virtue unless it appeals to their intellect.
• "Our minds are like crows. They pick up everything that glitters, no matter how uncomfortable our nests get with all that metal in them."
• Merton admits that he doesn't know a much about the outside world but what he does know makes him believe that those living in it live "in ash cans."
• Writers afraid of criticism will never write anything worth reading.
• Faith requires doubt. Faith: "a judgment that is fully and deliberately taken in the light of a truth that cannot be proven."
• Faith is not just spiritual comfort. Before peace, there must be struggle.
• Memory of only the past is amnesia if not brought into the present.
• Men don't risk new life because they are afraid of new evils. They'd rather stick with the evils they know.
• Men who hang "Prepare to meet God!" signs make Merton think more about them than about Jesus. Are they forcing their version of Jesus on the rest of us?
• A difficult renunciation: resentment. It makes us live as slaves, when really the only person that keeps us from "living happily" is ourselves.
• Pretending to live in freedom from the gods is in itself slavery. Freedom from slavery is found only by serving God.
• "God did not invite the Children of Israel to leave the slavery of Egypt: He commanded them to do so."
• "The poet enters into himself in order to create. The contemplative enters into God in order to be created."
• Writing for God will bring joy to many. Writing for men will bring a little money and make a little noise. Writing for oneself will disgust you and make you wish you were dead.

Preach it, Fr. Louis.

Enjoy tomorrow's feast day. Back on Monday.

NSoC 14: Integrity

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Merton titles this chapter "Integrity" but spends most of his words on humility.

He regrets that the artist and the religious man alike waste their lives and talents trying to be other artists or other saints, writing other's stories, painting other's pictures, expressing other's spirituality. People want to "magnify themselves by imitating what is popular" because they are "too lazy" to think of alternatives, too rushed to be themselves.

Merton equates integrity and humility by explaining that the saint's humility is what separates him from everyone else. He defines humility as "being precisely the person you actually are before God," and since there is none other like you, to have humility means to be unique. But this uniqueness is not manifest in the external, for it has nothing to do with mere appearance or tastes. The truly humble man doesn't worry whether or not he is in conformity with others relative to what he wears or what other preferences he may have. His interests are only those things that help him find God. The rest is rubbish.

His peace comes from the knowledge that what edifies him might be a curse to someone else, and vice versa. But he has peace in this: "...[i]t takes heroic humility to be yourself and to be nobody but the man, or the artist, that God intended you to be."

This takes time. The reward for shortcutting the process is to be admired for the "spiritual disguise" that is crafted from the emulated externals of others. In fact, Merton says, the presence of a saint might be signified by the difficulty other have in knowing what to make of him. His life doesn't fit the patterns or the standards that others try to set for him. As an example, Merton briefly references Benedict Joseph Labre, who was dismissed by both the Trappists and the Carthusians as unfit for their orders, and who died as a wanderer in the streets of Rome, later to be canonized a saint.

Quaff:
This chapter hits really close to home. I've done a lot of work in recent years to peel away the layers of who I'm not, trying to get to who I am. I still have a lot of work ahead. How I long to be precisely the person I actually am before God.

NSoC 13: The Moral Theology of the Devil

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Merton gives the devil his due in this chapter, and I had a devil of a time keeping up with him.

He begins by defining the devil's systematic theology: everything is evil, God enjoys evil, God set man up to suffer evil, God was pleased to turn his son over to the murderers, all so that God could exercise his justice.

The devil, according to Merton, teaches that punishment was the fulfillment of the law, and that God is obsessed with the law, to the exclusion of mercy.

Merton says the devil actually preaches against sin in the sense that all pleasure is sin and pleasure cannot be avoided, so neither can sin, and since sin cannot be avoided then one can't be accountable for it, therefore, there really isn't such a thing. As sin. I think.

After more of that sort, Merton characterizes the devil's moral theology as contrary to the contemplative notion of compassion for everyone's unworthiness (as he explained in an earlier chapter) by placing a premium on being "absolutely right" in the face of everyone else being "absolutely wrong," which promotes the need to eliminate those who are wrong (but who obviously think they are right) and starts a vicious cycle of war and disunity.

Quibble:
I felt dumb reading this chapter. I'm still not sure what Merton means by most of it. I was pressed for time today, so maybe I didn't chew on it enough. Oh, well, tomorrow is another day.

Quaff:
My pastor's first Lenten sermon was on the devil. He stressed the importance of acknowledging the reality that we have an enemy in Satan.

1. Satan is attractive. He was not repellent to Eve in the garden. He is winsome and warm, an angel of light, not a grim reaper, a wolf in sheep's clothing, "The Devil Wears Prada."
2. Satan is an engaging conversationalist. Silver-tongued, twists scripture, speaks Eve's language, sells her a bill of goods, and other such cliches.
3. Satan divides and conquers. Why Eve? She was alone, outside of community. He isolates and tempts. This tactic explains how horrors like Jonestown and Waco occur.
4. Satan's message is deceptive. Satan misquoted scripture to Eve, twisted God's word. Cast doubt in her mind.

How to deal with Satan? Call him what he is and tell him to go away.

Query:

• How can I make sure the devil doesn't have a foothold in my life? In my home?
• Do I know where I am vulnerable to attack?
• Does Satan know God's word better than I do?

NSoC 12: The Pure Heart

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The previous few chapters seem ethereal and mystical to me, but Merton cracks the whip in this practical chapter as he deals with barriers to the pure heart.

The desires and cares of this world interfere with interior solitude. Merton implores us to "avoid the noise and the business of men" and their grab-assing, as my father would say. We must be on guard against their salesmanship and advertising and the draw to be consumers, without mere self-righteous condemnation against these activities. Merton stresses that he is not against the "legitimate" pleasures of life but he does question what is now considered legitimate.

Merton calls for "ascetic self-discipline" among those who would be contemplatives. He says that one of the foundational moral truths that we have lost is that men and women should be able to occasionally say "no" to their appetites rather than being controlled or enslaved by them. He mentions smoking and alcohol directly, and then he hits the passivity of television pretty hard, though he admits to never watching it. He recommends the bucolic life but doesn't condemn those who dwell in cities, exhorting them to shun the noise and nurture their appetites for the "healing silence of recollection."

Merton kicks it up a notch when he drops the c-bomb: "chastity." He says that sex is the most difficult natural appetite to control and therefore more attention should be paid to it. Sex is not evil, but undue attention to it outside of the "ordinate norms" within marriage is. He says that placing guilt on people about it does nothing to help control it, but he stresses that its control is possible, desirable, and essential to the contemplative life. He says that discipline, properly exercised, fosters interior prayer as the contemplative relies on the strength of a higher power greater than himself and his nature.

Quaff:
I know too well some of the pitfalls Merton warns against in this chapter. For a long time the passivity of television was my drug of choice, my coping mechanism. I wish I had some of those hours back.

In the lives of my children I see the draw of the advertiser and the quest for instant gratification. I try very hard to point out to them the goals and methods of a consumer society, but $60 jeans and Hannah Montana beach towels pose a formidable enemy.

About all I should say concerning chastity is that I'm fortunate to be married. I had a temporary experience with what Merton talked about a few summers ago when my wife spent two months in China. What a struggle. We vowed never to put each other through that again. I try not to think about what circumstances may be one day in the future.

I've also witnessed a little too personally the effects of undisciplined chastity (if that's not an oxymoron). I've seen examples of carelessness, addiction, and brazen boldness in flaunting the bounds of chastity, and just those examples from church leaders. We must all be ever vigilant and discerning, keeping our eyes clear, our minds pure, and our egos in check. Piece of cake, no?

Overall, this was a very practical and thought-provoking chapter. Spank you very much, Fr. Louis.

Quip:
I'll never forget being on a mission trip with two other men whose wives were with mine in China. A newlywed couple were on the trip with us, quartered together in less than private accommodations. The new husband bemoaned the lack of privacy with his bride and the restraint the situation demanded of him. We three China-widowers trumped his restraint as we refrained from beating the crap out of him.

Quiz:
If Merton thought television was an affront to contemplation in the late 1960s, what would he think about it today? What would he think about the internet's contribution to chastity?

Query:

• What natural appetites should I say "no" to more often?
• What societal noises should I work on tuning out?
• How can I condition my children to be skeptical about the ways of the consumer world without being a raving fundamentalist?
• How can I maintain my chastity when circumstances make it difficult?
• How can I pass on chaste traits to my children?

NSoC 11: Learn To Be Alone

See Notes on this series...

Merton reiterates that solitude is not a means to escape people's presence or dealings but a pulling away in order to find people and learn to relate to them. He also restates that true solitude is internal, and though it is possible to experience internal solitude amidst a crowd, it is also important to find a physical space for solitude.

He suggests finding some corner of a room where others won't disturb or notice. He evokes Jesus' suggestion of the prayer closet from the Sermon on the Mount. He also mentions dark, quiet city churches where men and women can slip in and take advantage of the quiet and the secrecy and the anonymity.

Merton ends the brief chapter with a sarcastic example of the abuse of internal solitude in the midst of the world. He speaks of Godly men who have no desire to be alone because they fear it. They make busy work of conferences and meetings filled with noise and they leave their gatherings celebrating their "furthering" of the Kingdom.

Quaff:
Solitude. Retreat. Examen. Intimacy. Whatever it is called, it is scary. I avoid it. It isn't difficult to generate enough noise to cancel silence. That is shameful, because as Merton says, there is "no contemplation where there is no secret."

Query:

• Have I chosen and guarded my place of solitude?
• What can I do to embrace silence?
• How can I practice internal solitude within the crowds of my world?
• How can I maintain a proper focus during times of physical solitude?

NSoC 10: A Body of Broken Bones

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Merton declares that the remains of "slag and dross" as God refines our gold in his fire keep us from being pure and keep us separated from one another in him. He defines this separation as Christ's dismemberment, graphically reminding us that Jesus was physically crucified once by Pilate, et. al., but he is "drawn and quartered" by every successive generation since. Even saints, he says, are not exempt from the pain of disunion.

There are two responses to this pain: love or hate.

Hate stems from the refusal to deal with sacrifice needed to reunite. Merton says that hate sprouts from our loneliness, our unworthiness, or our inadequacy. Some people aren't aware of their self-hatred and they turn it outward, projecting unworthiness on others, often with feelings that they are justified by God in doing so. He calls this "strong hate." Some people are aware of their self-hatred and they turn it inward, including themselves with others who they see as unworthy. He calls this "weak hate" that is really "weak love," because it at least contains some degree of compassion.

He says that the Christian response to hate is not the will to love, but belief that one is loved, by God, regardless of one's worth. Hatred seeks to destroy everyone deemed unworthy. Love embraces all, for all are unworthy.

He returns to an earlier theme of God's will by evoking the Golden Rule (what he calls the Natural Law). He states again that contemplation cannot exist without compassion for others and a desire for reunion with our brothers and sisters in Christ. He says there is no flight from the suffering of the world, only flight from the disunity of other men. He says that to leave society in search of solitude is to take society with you into solitude, there is no freedom outside of God. He closes by warning of the danger of seeking solitude simply to be alone.

Quaff:
A couple of years after New Seeds of Contemplation was published, eight clergymen from Birmingham placed a newspaper ad (PDF document) questioning some of the demonstrations staged by the African-American community in protest of segregation. This document prompted Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s Letter from Birmingham Jail (PDF document). This letter should be required reading for professing Christians, for in it Dr. King challenges the white church's lack of response to the issues the African-American community faced. I couldn't help think of the letter while reading this chapter.

Merton is on to something, I believe, for resistance to union seems to be a root of a lot of hatred. I wonder what we could do as a nation with our immigration issues if we looked on illegal immigrants with compassion as fellow "unworthies" rather than projecting our unworthiness on them? They are a mission field that has come to us, but they are unlike us, so our desire is to eliminate them rather than facing the hardship that unity with them would entail. Folks, this is not a political issue. This is a moral issue.

Query:

• Do I project my unworthiness on others as strong hate, or lump them in with myself in weak love? How can I turn that into strong love?
• Merton says the response to hate is not the will to love but the belief that I am loved. Do I really believe I am loved? Do I treat others like I believe I am loved? Do I treat others like I believe they are loved?
• What is my motivation for solitude?
• What are my barriers to contemplation?
• Is God refining less slag and dross from me this year than he did last?

UPDATED: Keep looking up

I love the sky. Clear, blue, starry, cloudy - it doesn't matter to me. I'm 42 years old and I still look up when an airplane flies over. I love sitting in the cold looking for meteors. I love watching the lift of a thunderstorm. I love the hawk that soars over my neighborhood (and sometimes lands on my back fence). I love watching the Air Alabama balloon drift by.

David knew his stuff when he wrote "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork." (Ps. 19.1) This week proves his point:

1. Most of the Western Hemisphere (where it is clear) will be able to see a total lunar eclipse Wed, Feb 20. Details here.
2. Do you know when the International Space Station flies over your house? Heavens Above can help with that. Create a new user account, use Google Maps or similar product to help you figure out your lat and long, and check in periodically for fly-overs. Pay special attention during shuttle launches and you might see the shuttle trying to catch up to the station. They're moving at 17,500 mph, so don't blink.

UPDATE: ISS flyover tonight was incredible. At least -2 magnitude, horizon to horizon, just clipped the edge of the moon. If I was hip I would have YouTube video of this, but alas...

NSoC 9: We Are One Man

See Notes on this series...

Merton puts on his Trinitarian hat in this chapter, and frankly the chapter mirrors the trinity's mystery for me.

Merton stresses again that contemplation is not internal and that solitude is not isolation, calling out "self-hypnotism" as acontemplative. He reminds us that we are looking to identify with God and with others through God's love.

He evokes Jesus' prayer of unity from John 17. We become what we were meant to be when we live in Christ and Christ lives in us. Contemplative perfection, then, is not a bunch of individuals with their own ideas of God but God's love flowing through the one body of believers. For Merton, contemplative perfection is achieved only as it is shared, so the more, the merrier. More contemplatives = more joy.

This is not just a heavenly goal but an earthly one as well, albeit not as bright. Even in the darkness of this world our oneness with God translates to oneness with our neighbors. He returns to the idea of solitude from the previous chapter and tries to bind believers together through this solitude much the same way he sees the love that the Son shares for the Father through the person of the Spirit. We share the life of the "One God in Three Persons" if we live in love and contemplation with others.

Merton ends the chapter in full trinitarian mode. God: One Nature, Three Persons, "at once infinite solitude (one nature) and perfect society (three persons)." This, he says, is perfect contemplation, and one day we will live in God and in one another as the trinity does.

Quaff:
This was the cloudiest chapter yet for me so far, but it could be because it is Saturday or because it is about the trinity, which always causes me confusion. Thankfully tomorrow is a feast day because the next chapter is another long one. I am thoroughly enjoying this book so far. Be back Monday.

NSoC 8: Solitude Is Not Separation

See Notes on this series...

Merton tackles the idea of sanctity in this long chapter. One element of sanctity is solitude, and he defines true solitude in great detail.

For starters, true solitude is not isolation in the physical sense. The notion that solitude is escaping the presence of others is foreign to the contemplative. Quite the opposite: the contemplative goes "to the desert" to find others, in God.

More dangerous and more common in our society is the practice of solitude amidst the crowd. Just as pulling away from others doesn't guarantee solitude, neither does congregating with others guarantee communion, or even communication. Merton names this person "mass-man," and warns that he mindlessly assimilates with others through cliches, noises and mindless slogans that feign community. Where the spiritually prideful person of chapter 7 lived for the idea that he was not like other men, the mass-man is convinced that being just like others somehow covers his deficiencies. Where the spiritually prideful basked in his excellence, the mass-man has no self-esteem because he isn't even a person, just a particle of the whole.

Merton states that true solitude is internal. It has nothing to do with the external state relative to others. In fact, he says, the talents and gifts we have been given are not for our own amusement but for the benefit of the body as a whole. Sanctity is not realized by pulling away and then above others but by the clarity of service to and commiseration with others, appreciating our fallenness with theirs and the universal need for God's mercy.

Merton stresses the freedom found in humility and the stumbling block that a virtuous man's piety can be if his happiness, consciously or not, depends on his maintaining that virtue above those around him. The free man, whose external self is of no consequence, doesn't wear this millstone around his neck.

Love, selflessness, and holiness round out the chapter. God's love is found in his sanctuary, and entry is granted by holiness. Merton says this is a mad thought if he thinks he can imitate this holiness on his own. It is a mystery, totally beyond our comprehension. It is a contradiction: how a holy God emptied himself by becoming a man who knew no sin but was considered a sinner, was the perfect word of God but was condemned as a blasphemer, a perfect witness of God who was accused as a God-denier. "So God Himself was put to death on the cross because He did not measure up to man's conception of His Holiness..."

So if we desire to be holy, Merton declares, we must forsake our idea of holiness and empty ourselves like he did. We must be transformed by him.

Quaff:
Certainly a lot to chew on in this chapter and a lot of it strikes close to home. I've had seasons in my life where the idea of running off to the desert to escape seemed like a good option. In some ways I still grasp at that as ideal. Foolishness, I know, but the desire is sometimes strong...

The concept of holiness has always been a difficult one for me. In my psyche, holiness tracks with legalism or fundamentalism (Don't _____, don't _____, don't _____). I'm afraid I haven't given proper thought to it because of that. I realize I'm called to it and that it is mine through Christ but I still struggle with wanting to make it an external action rather than an internal reality.

Quibble:
Getting lost in the crowd is very easy in our culture today. In the past I've entertained a metaphysical idea while in artificial community (an airplane, for example, or a movie theater or on a roller coaster or in a restaurant) that all the participants are a part of some mutual experience, kind of a sappy "we're all in this together" microcosmic metaphor for life in general until reality crashes in as I accept that the guy reading the Wall Street Journal is probably gleaning new ideas to cook the accounting books and the lady in the print dress and heels probably told her husband she's flying to Chicago to spend the weekend with her sister and the guy in the Northwestern sweatshirt has flunked out of school but hasn't told his parents and that they would all laugh at my crappy metaphor and throw peanuts at me for dragging them into my little diluted community experiment. But then, I've also been in real community (a megachurch, for example) where the idea was not so metaphysical and the microcosmic metaphor for life in general was hanging on posters in the foyer and the guy in the Dockers and tassel loafers was cooking the books and the perfect father with the perfect wife and perfect children... Well, let's just say that one of the best places in the world to get lost in the crowd is in an American megachurch.

Query:

• Is my desire for solitude fueled by a need to escape someone or something, or to find them?
• How do you distinguish real communion from false communion in a crowd? What buzzwords or cliches serve as warning signs?
• How do I live out the mystery of the holiness I'm called to? Where do I find the patience I need for the gradual transformation that it truly is?

NSoC 7: Union and Division

(Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.)

See Notes on this series...
In this short chapter Merton tackles the pitfalls of individuality for both sinner and saint.

The person outside of God who lives for himself strives to set himself apart from others by trumpeting his distinctions. He, living in his false self, doesn't realize the concept of community or that man's reality is found in unity (as Merton partially quotes Ephesians 4.25). This person, who fosters division and lives in falsity, ultimately evokes an apparent eternal contradiction by an all-knowing God who must declare, "I don't know you."

The "saint" doesn't get a pass, however, for he is often guilty of what Merton calls "the disease [of] spiritual pride." The saint is stricken by this disease when he sees his own handiwork in some act of obedience God has equipped him to do or in surviving some trial God has brought him through. The thought of his own excellence and the admiration of others stokes a fire that can be mistaken for the warmth of God's spirit. Like the false self who distances himself from others, the saint, too, declares "I am not like other men." This man spirals out of control, doing more and more in God's name, shunning advice or authority, meeting resistance with cries of persecution, his martyrdom making him more and more unbearable, until he brings shame to the very God he professes to serve.

Merton declares that finding ourselves and isolating ourselves are mutually exclusive pursuits.

Quaff:
Read the parable of the pharisee and the tax collector for an example of the saint out of control.

In our In the Dust of the Rabbi study that I mentioned in chapter 4, Ray Vander Laan teaches an episode at the temple of Athena in Priene. The temple is in ruins, of course, with stone lying all about. He uses this to contrast the life of the believer, whom the Bible teaches is the temple of the Holy Spirit. Until studying this episode I always applied that teaching only to the individual (as in 1 Corinthians 6): I (singular) am the temple. However, Vander Laan (and the Holy Spirit) awakened me to the emphasis in 1 Corinthians 3: you all (plural) are the temple. This passage is concerns division in the church and fits right in this Merton chapter.

Query:

• How can I combat the urge to puff up with excellence when I actually get around to obeying God?
• How can I combat the urge to be a Lone Ranger believer when faced with potential conflicts with others?
• How do I let my guard down enough to connect with others on the journey of faith without compromising my convictions but without dogmatically defending them to the death?

NSoC 6: Pray for Your Own Discovery

See Notes on this series...
The paradox of "salvation" is explored by Merton at the beginning of this chapter. To be "saved" is to be lost in God, or to be found nowhere but in him. Merton bemoans the banal concept of salvation of those who reduce it to mere "ethical propriety." Merton feels that salvation properly reflects God's great concern and care for man, not just his physical actions but his whole being. Salvation is a rescue from the both the external world and the internal ego, from forces in the range of trivial to sordid. To be "lost" is to remain in that vaporous ego.

To find God (or more rightly, to be found by him) means more than just leaving behind the things of this world that are not God. Merton declares that I can empty myself of everything that is not God and still not find him. He must call out to me, else I remain like a rock, oblivious to the ground on which it lies.

God has to come to me, Merton says, because I cannot go to him. I don't know the way nor what I'd be looking for. Merton says we reach the reality of our true self and become contemplatives "when God discovers Himself in us." He explains that God knows himself in all his creation, of course, but that not all his creation knows or is even aware of him. Until he calls us and fills our emptiness with himself by "supernatural missions of His own life," we still dwell in our false self. Once we receive him, his word, and his spirit, then "my identity begins" and he lives within us, both as creator and our true self, as Merton interprets Galatians 2.20 ("I live, now not I, but Christ lives in me.")

Merton explains that this new life doesn't become practical to us until we choose God's will to become his instruments of love and mercy over service to our false self and its desires. But even as God awakens us, reveals us as sons (and daughters) and heirs, we remain earth-bound and our best efforts at pleasing him are tainted because of the selfishness we were born into.

One indication, Merton notes, that I have found him (or he has found me) is my level of interest in him or my desire for his presence. If my soul is his but my mind isn't, am I really his? If I am his only through formal prayer, am I really his?

Merton then launches into a beautiful prayer, praying not for mere justification but for a fire in the soul. He prays for strength to give God glory in all things. He prays for God to "keep him" from various sins and impurities. He prays for freedom from sloth, laziness, and cowardice. He asks for strength, humility, rest, presence. Again, a beautiful prayer.

He closes the chapter by enumerating some characteristics of seeking God perfectly. These range from shunning worldly anxieties, a renewed mind, silence, waiting, love of others, turning from spurious judgments, criticisms, and opinions, concentration, faith and trust. "It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord." Lamentations 3.26

Quaff:
I was reminded of an old saw about heaven and hell: Heaven is me saying to God, "Your will be done." Hell is God saying to me, "Your will be done."

My mind again turns to the greatest commandment: "The most important is, 'Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.' The second is this: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these." (Mark 12.28-34) Awakening to God's love for me and reciprocating that love among my neighbors, the will of God.

Quibble:
There are pockets of evangelicals by whom salvation is defined simply as "I'm heaven bound." Listen to some southern gospel music if you don't believe me: "One of these days by and by I'm gonna get my wings and fly outta here and float on a cloud with Jesus and leave this cruel world behind!" That's a happy thought, but it doesn't help much when your child has a temperature of 102 or your neighbor backs over your fence and doesn't want to fix it or a coworker's child is killed by a drunk driver. How do I live today? How does salvation affect me today? What does it mean to search for my true identity today? Where do I find the strength to keep searching in spite of my sin and imperfection today?

Query:

• Do I love God with all my heart, when I'm afraid of ______ or anxious about _____ or distracted by _____?
• Do I love God with all my soul, when my appetite longs for _____?
• Do I love God with all my mind, when my thoughts are drawn to _____ or I dwell on _____ or I think he _____?
• Do I love God with all my strength, when it is easier just to _____?
• Do I continually ask him to find me, to reveal me to myself, to lose me in him, or do I walk in a "heaven-bound" posture?

NSoC 5: Things in Their Identity

See Notes on this series...
According to Merton, every being in creation has its own identity and individuality and it brings glory to God by being what he created it to be. The more the being is like its true self the more it is like God. God receives less glory from his creatures who try to be other than what they were created for. Guess who bears that stigma most of all? That's right, me. God's other created beings don't bear the shame of diluting his glory, mainly because they have no choice in the matter. God makes a tree; the tree is powerless to be anything other than a tree. There will never be another tree just like it again, either in form or in circumstance, but as long as the tree sways in the breeze and shades the sun and drops its leaves at the appropriate time and bears its fruit and converts carbon dioxide into oxygen, it is fulfilling its destiny. It's the same for a mountain, or a horse, or a small yellow flower on the side of the road.

My problem is that God has given me the freedom to be whatever I like. On the surface that sounds like a great deal, but because I was born into sin my tendency is to choose to be other than what I truly am.

Merton suggests is it possible to go through life changing masks as circumstances dictate and never reveal my true self. There are consequences to this, he warns, for when I finally realize my need for truth, chances are it won't be there for me if I've consistently chosen "the way of falsity."

What to do? Merton describes my "vocation" as joining God in active discovery of the truth of my identity. He says this is what the Bible means by "working out our own salvation," and he declares that it is by far the more difficult path. But he says without partnering with God, the work won't get done, because he is the way, and the way is a way of faith.

Merton explains that I came into the world with a false self because of sin and if I do nothing but accept that false self I might as well not have been born.

He describes the false self as a hollow self without foundation, wrapped about with desires and thirsts that I seek to satisfy because I mistakenly see this false self as the center of the universe.

Where then is my hope? According to Merton, it is "hidden in the love and mercy of God." In other words, my hope of finding my true identity is found in him, and the only way I can find him is by him.

Quaff:
I remember listening to the ocean at night through the open window of a beach condo, the waves rolling ashore with regularity, and realizing that the cycle of crash and recede, crash and recede, had been uninterrupted since the water had been separated from the land. I used to think it a great example of faithfulness, but really it's just the ocean doing what it was created to do. Honor to God for his creative artistry, not to the ocean.

I agree wholeheartedly with Merton that "working" to find our true identities is hard. I know because of the work I've done on my own recovery, the work that I've seen others do on theirs, and the people who gave up and walked away from it. Celebrate Recovery's Principle 1 is a stumbling block to a lot of people: Realize that I am not God. I admit that I am powerless to control my tendency to do the wrong thing and that my life is unmanageable.

Quiz:
On a scale of 1 ("there is no lameness in you") to 10 ("you are as lame as is possible"), where do I rank on the scale scale of lameness if I am concerned about wearing the right mask in front of people at work, church, or home, who are most likely wearing masks themselves?

NSoC 4: Everything That Is, Is Holy

See Notes on this series...
Merton addresses the proper consideration of things in this chapter. With what he calls a new perspective, he believes that we erroneously detach ourselves from things in order to become closer to God when in fact we should become detached from ourselves in order to see the proper relationship between God and things. Failure to do so relegates God to a "thing" in competition with his creation for our affection.

Merton states that nothing God created has evil in it, nor can anything he created stand in the way of our relationship with him. It is our holding on to our false self that is the problem as we pervert things and corrupt the relationship. Our holding onto the false idol of our ego makes the use of things unholy.

He corrects what he sees as a false belief that saints and contemplatives of old had no love for things and shunned the world and people around them. He accuses those who hold this false belief of fostering a sense of morality that is nourished by a love of guilt. These people see the saints in perpetual turmoil over "spontaneity or enjoyment," even over something so base as a glass of cold water. He counters this caricature by explaining that the contemplative can love and enjoy created things and even give greater glory to God implicitly than one who has contempt for the created or one who uses tired cliches to connect God and his creation without sounding worldly or materialistic. He says beautifully that "[t]he eyes of the saint make all beauty holy and the hands of the saint consecrate everything they touch to the glory of God..."

Merton says that until we love God perfectly we live in bondage to our false self, and in this bondage all created things have the potential to cause hurt. He defines a contradiction that exists within this bondage where the things God created to attract us to him actually draw us away from him. We look to these things for joy but find sorrow, pleasure but pain.

Quotation:

In all created things we, who do not yet perfectly love God, can find something that reflects the fulfillment of heaven and something that reflects the anquish of hell. We find something of the joy of blessedness and something of the pain of loss, which is damnation.

The fulfillment we find in creatures belongs to the reality of the created being, a reality that is from God and belongs to God and reflects God. The anquish we find in them belongs to the disorder of our desire which looks for a greater reality in the object of our desire than is actually there: a greater fulfillment than any created thing is capable of giving. Instead of worshipping God through His creation we are always trying to worship ourselves by means of creatures.

But to worship our false selves is to worship nothing. And the worship of nothing is hell.

Merton clarifies that he is not talking about the body when he talks of the false self. If the body is "the temple of God," then we aren't to scorn it or misuse it, especially by dividing it from the soul by saying one is good and one is bad. He reminds us that being created in God's image means that it is a package deal. Too much emphasis on the soul to the demotion of the body results in "angelism." The other way around reduces life to the confines of the five senses and denies any reality outside of sensory experience. This person finds security within the confines of the senses and refuses heed God's call to the risk of faith.

Quaff:
We are studying Ray Vander Laan's In the Dust of the Rabbi on Wednesday nights at St. Peter's, and in one episode Vander Laan explains a fountain that would have flowed from the temple of Athena in the ancient Greek city of Priene. Anyone of that day who stopped for a drink or to wash their face or feet would have believed that the water came from the goddess Athena, since it flowed from her temple. Vander Laan challenges his students, who had stopped their hike at a waterfall prior to reaching the temple ruins, to see if any of them had even thought about God as they partook of the cool water there. Of course, none of them had. As a culture we aren't conditioned to. If we want water, we turn on a tap. Water comes from the water works through a series of filtration stations, pipes, and faucets. Right?

The "love of guilt" is a thorn in my flesh. It has been pervasive in my life. When conditions are marginal around here for wintry precipitation, I sometimes pray for snow so my kids can enjoy it. Then I realize that if I get my wish for snow, some homeless guy's cardboard box will get wet. I feel guilty. I throw out a bowl of soup that stayed too long in the refrigerator and I remember some of the poor villages I've been to in Ukraine and how welcome that soup, even a week old, would be. I feel guilty. I shred a box of old receipts, pay stubs, and bank statements, and ponder how much money has passed through my fingers in my lifetime. I feel guilty.

I served for a time in a recovery ministry, and I am convinced that Merton is spot-on in his assessment of the contradiction things provide when we don't love God perfectly. A hearty meal in one context loudly proclaims the glory of God, the bounty of the earth, the artistry of the chef, the diversity of the ingredients, but in another context... A fine wine, the form and function of the opposite sex, a pile of money, a five-mile run, a sleek automobile, a church sanctuary, a sandy beach; all hang in the balance between heaven and hell.

Quibble:
I keep one eye open to the goings-on in the SBC even though I aren't one anymore, and the debate continues in many quarters over the evils of alcohol. People who shout long and loud over the inerrency of scripture and castigate other denominations for reading things into the text have no qualms about projecting their holiness about alcohol into the pages of the Bible by stating that "wine" in scripture doesn't mean "wine" like we mean today, but that Jesus created and drank a watered-down version more akin to juice. Nevermind that the Bible warns against drunkenness, which I assume would only be a valid admonition if the juice was actually strong enough to make one drunk, in which case it would be wine. After pondering that convoluted eisegisis I needed a drink, so I had one. I didn't particularly care for it but I drank it on principle, without sin, and the sky didn't fall and I didn't drop dead and the clank the link of chain made as it struck the ground was pleasing to my ears.

Query:

• What does "love God perfectly" mean?
• How can I see the Creator of all things instead of the createdness of all things?
• How fine a line is there between innocently enjoying the things God has created and justifying as enjoyment my misuse of them?

NSoC 3: Seeds of Contemplation

See Notes on this series...
The lofty themes of God's will and God's love are exposed as the seeds of contemplation in chapter 3. Not surprisingly, Christ's parable of the sower is foundational to Merton's thesis, and he takes the illustration deeper than its normal application as the mere word of God preached. The source and sort of the seed and the fertileness of our fields to receive it are probed here.

Merton says that every expression of God's will is in a sense a word of God and thence a seed. This opens the possibility of continual dialog with God that transcends mere conversation but, as he beautifully describes, "a dialogue of love and of choice[, a] dialogue of deep wills."

This will of God is manifest in our lives not as tangible rote law of a dictatorial and domineering father but as "interior invitation of personal love." The former more often results in seeds of hatred and our desire to "fly as far as possible" from this God. He places a lot of significance in what our ideas about God are, even though we are incapable of describing him as he is. He says that our idea of God says more about us than it does about him.

Merton then explains that our ability to respond to this love depends on how attached we are to that external self he defined in the previous chapter. If I am prisoner to that self, how can God plant seeds of liberty in me? How can I see God if my focus is on maintaining that external self?

Merton paints a beautiful picture of God's love in the midst of heat, cold, fulness, hunger, and labor. He says that if we only consider the cold, the heat, the hunger, the thirst, the success, or the failure that we will only find emptiness. But our goal is not mere success or pleasure, but finding the will of God in the midst of the journey.

How is that done? Merton defines God's will as the demands of truth, justice, mercy, and love. Seeking truth, respecting others, and sharing in God's love for our neighbors exemplify the will of God.

Merton states then that work itself can be an expression of the will of God. I am obeying God in my work if I am true to the task at hand, whatever it may be. Care, excellence, respect, and attention allows God to use me as an instrument, and thus work cannot be considered an acontemplative act though my mind might be occupied with the task. However, "unnatural toil," such as work for greed or fear, "unnatural, frantic, anxious work" done in distraction due to either our sin or the sin of society, cannot be blessed along with "sound, healthy work." We must seek the truth in all we do.

Quaff:
Several thoughts from contemporary and theological sources came to mind as I mulled over this chapter. First, the idea that every moment of our lives plants something in our souls is used by Natalie Goldberg in her book Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within, as she describes the writing life. All our experiences are tossed like "...thrown-out eggshells, spinach leaves, coffee grounds, and old steak bones..." to produce, eventually, the flowers of poems and stories, nourished in rich black dirt.

Second, Merton's description of our ideas about God reminded me of A. W. Tozer's writing in The Knowledge of the Holy, where he states that "the most important thing about us is what we think about when we think about God," and "the essence of idolatry is entertaining thoughts about God that are unworthy of Him." Tozer really eats my lunch.

Merton says God's will is all around us, and in reading his description of it I couldn't help but think of Jesus' answer to the greatest commandment question: "The most important is, 'Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.' The second is this: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these." Someone asked him once how to inherit eternal life, and his answer was essentially the same as the greatest commandment question, but he used as an explanation the parable of the Good Samaritan, which is essentially Merton's definition of doing the will of God.

Quibble:
The will of God is one of those God-talk phrases that I fear evangelicalism has corrupted, or at least grossly misunderstood. Often, the will of God is presented as some lost treasure or unsolved puzzle, and our assignment as Christians is to either stumble upon it somewhere just off an uncharted jungle trail or twist the cryptex until the right combination is registered and the secret pops out. "God has a wonderful plan for your life" has set many an explorer off on an adventure, scavenger list in hand, fearful of making a wrong turn or a wrong decision, or even worse, paralyzing some against movement at all.

Quip:
I love Ted Kooser's definition of "love thy neighbor" in his poem Boarding House:

The blind man draws his curtains for the night
and goes to bed, leaving a burning light

above the bathroom mirror. Through the wall,
he hears the deaf man walking down the hall

in his squeaky shoes to see if there's a light
under the blind man's door, and all is right.

Query:

• Do I see and respect the rights and needs of my neighbor?
• Do I see my work as doing the will of God?
• Do I entertain proper thoughts about God and who he is?

NSoC 2: What Contemplation Is Not

See Notes on this series...
As Merton built a tower to transcendence in chapter 1, he tears down some of our monuments to contemplative life in chapter 2.

First, he explains that contemplation cannot be taught. The more we try to define, objectify, and order it, the further away from true contemplation we get. The closer we get to defining it the closer we get to a non-existent psychology of contemplation. Contemplation is not found or described by our actions or feelings, neither is it quantifiable or observable.

Merton explains that true contemplation cannot be a function of our external selves. The "I" that we show to the world is not the real self that is united with God in Christ. The "I" is "...the vesture, the mask, the disguise of that mysterious and unknown "self" whom most of us never discover until we are dead." This "I" is not our eternal beings nor our spiritual beings.

Then he deconstructs one of the philosophical cornerstones, Descartes' cogito ergo sum: I think, therefore I am.

Next, he debunks the idea that contemplation is just for "a passive and quiet temperament." It is not merely thoughtfulness or reflection. Neither is it a prayerfulness or an affinity for liturgy. Temperament, prayer, and liturgy can all prepare one for contemplation but neither are that experience in and of themselves. He contrasts a passive man and an active man and their dispositions to contemplation, finding fault with each of them. The passive man who "sits and thinks" is not necessarily contemplating, though he finds it easy to be mislead into thinking he is. The active man struggles with finding contemplation, though he may be motivated, because his tendency is to objectify it as just another goal.

He removes contemplation from the realm of the mystical by means of emotion and imagination, relegating these to awakenings of contemplation but not the work of the "deep self" itself. Contemplation is not prophetic, discerning the secrets of others.

Nor is it characterized by "escape from conflict, anguish, or doubt." In fact, contemplation might cause us to doubt the "faith" of every day life and its conventional wisdom. Contemplation is no "pain-killer."

He ends the chapter by explaining that the contemplative suffers because he realizes that he doesn't know what God is. The sooner he realizes that this is a gain, not a loss, the better off he is, for "God is neither a "what" or a "thing" but a pure "Who.""

Quaff:
Ouch. Where to begin? I've written reams (not all for public consumption) dealing with my own struggles with the superficial, external "I". I know my weakness there. I need reminding that that "I" is not the "I" I present to God, in contemplation or otherwise.

I've also dealt somewhat with God as "Who" not "what." Again, reminders that he is personal, and that transcendent person calls me out of myself in confession and contemplation with him as both the source and objective of the experience. I can't find him within myself, nor within ritual, nor even within prayer, if I don't recognize his transcendence calling to my real self, the one inside, the one I suppress and avoid and deny and hide. It is great wonder that ever the twain shall meet.

I also stated earlier that just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I'm contemplative. That's what Merton said, too. So there.

Query:
Will the real Brian please stand up?

Quip:
Descartes: I think, therefore I am.
Watkins: He Is, therefore I am.
God: I AM, therefore you too.

NSoC 1: What Is Contemplation?

See Notes on this series...
Merton begins the book in a necessary way by defining contemplation. In his Preface he warns that contemplation can be a misleading word by becoming magical or inspirational, and yet, he states in his Author's Note, contemplation is one thing that we all need - provided it springs from the love of God.

So he starts loftily and builds a tower from there. He speaks of contemplation as man's highest intellectual and spiritual realization that he is alive, and that realization is manifest in responses of awe, gratitude, and recognition of the source of life.

He adds height to the tower when he speaks of the "unknowing", even beyond "unknowing", transcendence of contemplation as it surpasses the mere aesthetics of poetry, music, and art. He suggests that contemplation is beyond all, and to enter its realm, one must die.

He builds higher still by further defining contemplation as a call from a voiceless God who has spoken all things into existence, especially us, and our echoing response to that call. Merton says we are both a question God asks and answers, implying two levels of awareness that culminate in the experience of "I AM." He explains that this is not some religious abstraction, but a "religious and transcendent gift" from God as the Scriptures teach of sonship, given by God as he awakens us to the fact that He dwells in us and we in Him (Gal 2.20).

Quaff:
I once taught a canned Bible study lesson that had C-O-N-F-E-S-S as its acrostic and 1 John 1.8-10 as its scripture reference. I try to tailor canned stuff to my audience and in order to do that I dwelt on the word confess. It is a word that loses it scriptural power when contemporary usage overlays it. In the contemporary sense, to confess is to admit to or to make known or to own up to. Often in our society it is done to confirm something dark after it has been uncovered. It is rarely voluntary.

Scripturally, however, I think it means something altogether different. The word confess in 1 John 8.9 is the Greek word homologeo, a compound word from homos (the same) and lego (to say). Literally it means "to say the same thing." Back in the day the word was used in contracts and covenants. To confess to God means more than a mere admission but a coming to terms. To confess to God means to agree with God when he says what he says about us and our sin. In order to come to this agreement, we must be drawn by a power outside ourselves. We don't have it in us to do this on our own. On our own, we will do whatever we can to justify ourselves and our actions.

Just as confess loses its meaning contemporarily, I believe contemplation does as well, if I'm reading Merton correctly. In our culture, contemplation is the opposite of transcendence. To contemplate is to meditate, and to meditate is to empty oneself of the external, turning inward for definition and validation. For me, that is the wrong direction entirely, for I know what a vile creature I can be. Thankfully, God awakened me to that realization, and I can say like David "Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you may be justified in your words and blameless in your judgment."

Query:
How can I focus on the transcendent when I hear the call to contemplate?

Notes on New Seeds of Contemplation Series

I don't pretend to be a Thomas Merton scholar, so I've jumped into New Seeds of Contemplation without much context. But the point of the series is not to become a Merton scholar, or even fan. The point is to explore the idea of contemplation during this season of Lent and to put into practice the call for reflection that the ashes from Wednesday night provided.

I realize that there will probably be points where I theologically disagree with Merton, however, I don't see dealing with those differences unless I just can't help it. My plan is to keep this devotional. Like when I eat ribs, I throw out the bones, but only after I've gnawed all the meat off them.

I also reserve the right to totally misunderstand Merton. Why should he have special privileges over everybody else?

I would also like to include some choice quotations from the book but that depends on whether I get permission to do so. Copyright stuff, you know...

If you are interested, here are some good Merton references:

• Abbey of Gethsemani
• The Thomas Merton Center
• Wikipedia
• The Monk Who Wouldn't Go Away, by Michael Spencer
• Serious About Merton?, by Michael Spencer

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

My exposure to the church calendar has been gradual.

I've been a church-goer for just over half my life. For most of that time I thought the church calendar consisted of Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, Mother's Day, and Baptist Men's Day, and not necessarily in that order. Before I became a regular church-goer I don't remember ever going to church on Christmas, and Easter was just a reason for someone to give me a new polyester suit, stand me in front of their azaleas, take my photo, and then hide eggs and make me find them. Thankfully I grew out of that and came to know the real joy of Easter, and then a few years later one of my pastors introduced the idea of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday commemorations. I began to spend Christmases in church, and then in the year of our church sabbatical, I discovered Advent.

This year I add Lent to the list. Tonight, for the first time ever, I attended an Ash Wednesday service.

Pastor John shared from Joel 2.1-2, 12-17, Matthew 6.1-5, and Psalm 51. John challenged me to evaluate the state of my heart. Is it hard, covered with scar tissue from the hurts of the world, not allowing love to come in or to flow out? Is it broken by those who should have loved me well but have abandoned me? Is it fearful, asking the dreaded "what if" questions of life? Is it restless, searching for something more for fulfillment? He reminded me that the state of my heart is what matters to God, not the sacrifices I make or the good deeds I do. He challenged me, like Joel, to rend my heart and not my garment, putting my heart on the altar for Lent instead of simply setting aside some pleasure for a season as a token of tradition.

So what am I giving up for Lent? That's not really any of your business, but I will share with you that for the next forty days I plan to read and blog Thomas Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation.

I don't really consider myself a contemplative. I'm generally a quiet person and that sometimes evokes impressions like "still waters run deep," but I'm here to tell you, that ain't necessarily so. If I don't say much, it isn't because I can't think of anything to say as much as what I'm thinking isn't worth saying. It's not often that I'm pondering the great questions of the universe or evaluating the state of my heart. That's hard work and much too intimate. Better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you're stupid than to open it and prove that you are, right?

There are thirty-nine chapters in New Seeds of Contemplation. I plan to read one on each fast day of Lent and then post some thoughts and impressions. I'm hoping I haven't bitten off more than I can chew. We shall see. Since I've already told you how uncontemplative I am, I have no idea what form these posts will take. I expect they will evolve along with whatever contemplative skills I pick up along the way. I look forward to the attempt.

Super Bowl XLII

My regular readers (both of you) will remember that just after the NFC championship game I predicted a Giants victory in the Super Bowl. So in a spirit of humility, let me just say:


Carry on.