Ode to Thomas Merton, patron saint of people like me

December 12, 2018Wednesday EucharistThomas Merton (December 10)

I feel like I won the lottery this week!

Sometimes when I’m on to preach for a Wednesday Eucharist I go looking at the possible saints to choose from and am not terribly inspired.  Sometimes they are people I haven’t heard of, or people whose saintliness feels like a bit of a stretch, or people so far in the past that I have trouble relating to them.  (Though I should admit -- thanks be to God -- that even in those weeks I do end up finding some nugget that speaks to me and inspires me, so the exercise is not in vain.)

But not this week.  This week there was no question in my mind who to choose.

Thomas Merton, of course!  Blessedly, his feast day was December 10, making my preaching gig today a piece of cake.  Thomas Merton, if you haven’t heard of him (which I would have trouble believing) was a 20th Century Trappist monk and one of the most-influential spiritual writers of recent times.

There are two pieces of Merton’s writings that rank on my Top 10 or 20 List of spiritual pieces that have impacted my life.  

The first is a prayer he wrote that has got to be the prayer of choice for all sincere but confused and befuddled people everywhere.  This prayer is what makes Merton the patron saint of all people who are terrible at making decisions, of whom I am queen. I keep thinking it would be a great spiritual practice to wake up everyday and say this prayer.  

Today I invite you to close your eyes and bring to mind:

Some decision you are having trouble making. Or maybe one you’ve already made and acted on but just can’t find peace with. Maybe there’s something that has been confusing you or causing you trouble. Or something you’ve been trying so hard at and just can’t get right. Maybe a situation or a person that you don’t understand. Whatever this piece of your life that comes to mind, hold that in mind for this prayer:

O Lord God, I have no idea where I am going, I do not see the road ahead of me, I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, And that fact that I think I am following Your will Does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe That the desire to please You Does in fact please You. And I hope I have that desire In all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything Apart from that desire to please You. And I know that if I do this You will lead me by the right road, Though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust You always Though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, For You are ever with me, And You will never leave meT o make my journey alone. Amen.

So much honesty there.  And so much promise. That is my gift for you this day.  (And I have copies to give you all on your way out, just in case you want to hang it up somewhere for future reference!)

The second Merton writing that I highly recommend is more of a challenge for us, I think.  

Again, I invite your imagination to help.  This time, picture some busy place that you’ve been recently or are likely to find yourself today.  Some place where you are surrounded by ordinary things, ordinary people. Maybe a school, or a mall, or your workplace, or a traffic light in Old Town.

That is just the kind of ordinary place where Merton was when he wrote this piece.  It comes from an experience of his in Louisville, Kentucky, on March 18, 1958. It was an ordinary day and ordinary people were going about their ordinary business. But for some reason there was a moment for him when it all changed - when he was able to see it all differently.  He writes:

“In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all these people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers.

It was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could all see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed.
This sense of liberation from an illusory difference among us was such a relief and such a joy to me that I almost laughed out loud. . . . It was like waking from a dream of separateness and self-isolation. . . . I have the immense joy of being human, a member of a race in which God Himself became incarnate. As if the sorrows and stupidities of the human condition could overwhelm me, now that I realize what we all are! And if only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.”

(Apologies to Merton - I edited this somewhat for ease of hearing for my listeners.)

Maybe that is my challenge - to myself, and to you if you want to take it. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s realistic that we can all go around seeing each other shining like the sun all the time. I wish we could. But I almost think it would be enough if for just one moment every day we tried. What if today while you are stuck in traffic, and tomorrow as you are riding on an elevator, and the next day as you push a cart down a grocery store aisle, and the next day as you watch your kid play basketball or sit in a board meeting or have a latte in Starbucks (or whatever ordinary place you find yourself among ordinary people), you try to look upon the people around you, and even yourself, as we are in God’s eyes -- vulnerable and flawed and broken, and also imperfect and incredibly beloved. And so a gift, and a challenge. Not so bad for a ordinary old Wednesday!