Written on April 5:
Merton talks more about living with the pious Privats . . .
Those were weeks that I shall never forget, and the more I think of them, the more I realize that I must certainly owe the Privats for more than butter and milk and good nourishing food for my body. I am indebted to them for much more than the kindness and care they showed me, the goodness and the delicate solicitude with which they treated me as their own child, yet without any assertive or natural familiarity. As a child, and since then too, I have always tended to resist any kind of a possessive affection on the part of any other human being--there has always been this profound instinct to keep clear, to keep free. And only with truly supernatural people have I ever felt really at my ease, really at peace.
That was why I was glad of the love the Privats showed me, and was ready to love them in return. It did not burn you, it did not hold you, it did not try to imprison you in demonstrations, or trap your feet in the snares of its interest.
I used to run in the woods, and climb the mountains. I went up the Plomb du Cantal, which is nothing more than a huge hill, with a boy who was, I think, the Privat's nephew. He went to a Catholic school taught, I suppose, by priests. It had not occurred to me that every boy did not talk like the brats I knew at the Lycee. Without thinking, I let out some sort of a remark of the kind you heard all day long at Montauban, and he was offended and asked where I had picked up that kind of talk. And yet, while being ashamed of myself, I was impressed by the charitableness of his reaction. He dismissed it at once, and seemed to have forgotten all about it, and left me with the impression that he excused me on the grounds that I was English and had used the expression without quite knowing what it means.
After all, this going to Murat was a great grace. Did I realize it? I did not know what a grace was. And though I was impressed with the goodness of the Privats, I could not fail to realize what was its root and its foundation. And yet it never occurred to me at the time to think of being like them, of profiting in any way by their example.
I think I only talked to them once about religion. We were all sitting on the narrow balcony looking out over the valley, and the hills turning dark blue and purple in the September dusk. Somehow, something came up about Catholics and Protestants and immediately I had the sense of all the solidity and rectitude of the Privats turned against me, accusing me like the face of an impregnable fortification.
The Privats pretty much live their faith every day of their lives. That's why Merton seems drawn to them, why he both wants to be with them and like them. Yet, at this point in his life, he doesn't connect their goodness with their religious faith. He has no idea about grace.
It is Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week. The most important seven days in the Christian calendar. A time to focus on grace and blessings and forgiveness. It was a strange Palm Sunday for me, without waving palms or singing "All Glory Laud and Honor" or sitting at a pipe organ. It was a solemn day, full of the kind of silence I usually associate with Good Friday. A sense of loss and disquiet pervading every minute. And perhaps that's exactly the way Palm Sunday should be this year.
Because Palm Sunday is a reminder of all that is right and wrong in the universe. Christ riding on a donkey into Jerusalem as people shout "Hosanna!" And, on the opposite side of the coin, the Sanhedrin plotting against Christ and his followers. That's the way of the world, I guess. The haves always plotting against the have-nots. The people in power always scheming to hold onto that power, even to the detriment of the ones they are supposed to serve.
The past 24 hours has proven to me that the power dynamic in place that first Palm Sunday is still very much alive today. While I won't get into the details of my situation, I will say that sometimes leaders make terrible decisions, under the guise of public safety and interest, when those leaders are truly motivated by greed and power. It's simply a reflection of what's happening on a national and international level. People are going to get sick. People are going to die. All because our leaders can't or won't do the right thing. That makes me really sad for my community and country.
Perhaps none of what I've just written makes a whole lot of sense. I apologize for that. If I told the truth, without telling it slant, as Emily Dickinson advises, I would get myself into a heap of trouble. Let me just say that sometimes people I look up to disappoint me a great deal. The Sanhedrin could have done the right thing, but they didn't And Christ had to die on the cross in the Biblical narrative to atone for their offenses.
I'm just hoping that no one has to be crucified for the mistakes that are being made this Palm Sunday. But, Palm Sunday always leads to Good Friday. One person dies for the mistakes of others. It's the story of Easter. And it's the story of this time in human history. Mistakes are being made, and somehow those mistakes will be corrected by the universe. Every cross has its Easter resurrection and renewal.
That's story of Saint Marty's life at the moment. Take up the cross. Walk with hum for a while. At least until Friday.
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