Merton and Prayer and Love

Merton and Prayer and Love

“If my prayer is centered in myself, if it seeks only an enrichment of my own self, my prayer itself will be my greatest potential distraction..”—Thomas Merton in Thoughts in Solitude.

Thomas Merton reminds us what our prayer life becomes when our prayers center on ourselves, our own desires, needs, and knowledge. Merton calls this kind of life a distraction that keeps us from the truth, a diversion, a disturbance of the mind, a hindrance.

We think we are doing everything right, but in essence, we are back where we started, with our world centered on ourselves rather than God.

We may think God is our co-pilot, but we are the pilot. This is because we have such good ideas.

God is there to ensure that our ideas and prayers are answered.

I think about all the prayers I prayed that went unanswered and learned would have been a disaster, the boyfriends who never gave me the time of day I would have sold my soul for. But, I also well remember the prayers that were answered that became harmful, the jobs I thought I had to have, and the co-workers I just knew would be perfect.

As friends in recovery say, “Our best thinking got us here.”

When we do not say to God, “Your will be done,” his answer may sometimes be, “Your will be done.”

Merton calls us to the prayer life of surrender, turning our prayers, our life, and our wills over to God, “thy will be done.”

This prayer life also calls for acceptance, forgiveness, gratitude, and most of all, love, knowing that we are loved and, in turn, offering that love to others.

Today, January 31st, is Merton’s birthday. He was born in 1915 in Prades, France, to an American mother and a father from New Zealand, both artists. His mother died when he was five, and his father died ten years later.

We honor Merton on his birthday by remembering and sharing one of the many things he taught us. I hope to do the same for so many others who will share their life with us during this new year.

Going Upstream

Going upstream

“We are very reasonable creatures, but to feel the grace of God, one must forget about reason and go on a pilgrimage to a place where we no longer ‘see as through a glass darkly,’ to a place where we are able to see with eyes of gratitude, rather than with eyes of conquest.”—George Grinnell in A Death on the Barrens.

I remember recently sitting by the Mississippi River near Memphis, watching barges travel slowly upstream on a late December cold, windy morning. The few dog walkers and runners along the shore move faster than the endless barges churning white water as they move against the current.

The barges are pushed by either towboats or tugboats, identified by either the flat or V-shape of their hulls. Some covered barges traveling upstream ride high on the water. They must be empty but are still straining to travel upstream to be filled more inland on the banks of this mighty river. They move slightly faster than the full barges.

I wonder where their destination is. St. Louis? What are the filled barges carrying?

I hope to remember these barges slowly being pushed upstream against the current. I enjoy leading my life more easily, moving downstream, going with the flow, and not making waves.

Sometimes, however, I am called to go against the crowd and navigate upstream. It will help if I remember the journey is easier if I travel lightly, not taking myself so seriously, not carrying a lot of my baggage, and not being on a right or wrong conquest.

The barges teach us that the journey upstream always moves slower than journeying downstream. Moving upstream means speaking our truth against the current culture. I pray that the boat pushing us upstream is the Holy Spirit, not our own ego. Grinnell also reminds us that a heart of gratitude can help discern our path and motives and keep us connected to that greater power, leading us on this more difficult journey.

Barge going upstream at Natchez. Mary Seni

Plain Speaking

Plain Speaking*

                                   Guest Writer: Ken Fellows

Ken Fellows: Stonington House

     Communication is the transmission of thought –and we should do what we can to reduce confusion and not introduce new barriers to understanding. We should all write the exact manner we speak; it isn’t all that hard once you get the hang of it.

Gustave Flaubert, the French novelist, said: “Whenever you can shorten a sentence, do. And one always can. When we speak, we almost always avoid the compound sentence. Only when we write, we swell up and get pompous …. lawyers and doctors more so than most.”

     Many years ago, Stinnett came into the possession of a book called The Art of Readable Writing by Rudolf Flesch, and he was captivated by two of his points. One was a list of “empty” words ---participles, prepositions, conjunctions, adverbs –that worked their way into language and made up more than 50% of all words commonly used. The list included “for the purpose of” (for), “for the reason that” (since, because), “in order to” (to), “in the neighborhood of (about), “with a view to” (to), “with the result that” (so that), and a few dozen more, all enemies of simplicity and clear speech.

     Flesch’s other thing was his vigorous defense of an author’s ending sentences with a preposition, which he said unfailingly turned stiff prose into idiomatic prose. Stinnett added that he personally liked a good prepositional ending and was delighted to read that the National Council of Teachers of English President said, “A preposition is a good word to end a sentence with.”

     Stinnett’s concern over abuse of the English language came at an early age when he was taken by his mother each Sunday to St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in a small Virginia town. A popular hymn at the time went
“And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am his own.”

Stinnett wrote that he never cared for the hymn because he never knew who Andy was, although he thought about him a lot and searched for clues.

     Peter DeVries, the novelist, must have suffered a similar bewilderment as a child. In one of his books, he told of having heard, for the first time, a hymn called “Oh, What a Cross I Bear.” What was so unusual, he wondered, about a cross-eyed bear that a hymn should have been written about it?

*Excerpted from “Get Me a Translator” by Caskie Stinnett in his book, Slightly Off Shore.

Ken Fellows

Joanna Seibert. joannaseibert.com