Prayer is attractive enough when it is considered in a context of good food, and sunny joyous country churches, and the green English countryside. And, as a matter of fact, the Church of England means all this. It is a class religion, the cult of a special society and group, not even of a whole nation, but of the ruling minority in a nation. That is the principal basis for its rather strong coherence up to now. There is certainly not much doctrinal unity, much less a mystical bond between people many of whom have even ceased to believe in grace or Sacraments. The thing that holds them together is the powerful attraction of their own social tradition, and the stubborn tenacity with which they cling to certain social standards and customs, more or less for their own sake. The Church of England depends, for its existence, almost entirely on the solidarity and conservatism of the English ruling class. Its strength is not in anything supernatural. but in the strong social and racial instincts which bind the members of this caste together, and the English cling to their Church the way they cling to their King and to their old schools: because of a big, vague, sweet complex of subjective dispositions regarding the English countryside, old castles and cottages, games of cricket in the long summer afternoons, tea-parties on the Thames, croquet, roast-beef, pipe-smoking, the Christmas panto, Punch and the London Times and all those other things the mere though of which produces a kind of warm and inexpressible ache in the English heart.
I got mixed up in all this as soon as I entered Ripley Count, and it was strong enough in me to blur and naturalize all that might have been supernatural in my attraction to pray and love God. And consequently the grace that was given me was stifled, not at once, but gradually. As long as I lived in this peaceful hothouse atmosphere of cricket and Eton collars and synthetic childhood, I was pious, perhaps sincerely. But as soon as the frail walls of this illusion broke down again--that is, as soon I went to a Public School and saw that, underneath their sentimentality, the English were just as brutal as the French--I made no further effort to keep up what seemed to me to be a more or less manifest pretense.
At the time, of course, I was not capable of reasoning about all this. Even if my mind had been sufficiently developed to do so, I would never have found the perspective for it. Besides, all this was going on in my emotions and feelings, rather that in my mind and will--thanks to the vagueness and total unsubstantiality of Anglican doctrine as it gets preached, in practice, from most pulpits.
It is a terrible thing to think of the grace that is wasted in this world and of the people that are lost. Perhaps one explanation of the sterility and inefficacy of Anglicanism in the moral order is, besides its lack of vital contact with the Mystical Body of the True Church, the social injustice and the class oppression on which it is based: for, since it is mostly a class religion, it contracts the guilt of the class from which it is inseparable. But this is a guess which I am not prepared to argue out.
Keep in mind that, at this point in his life, Merton is pretty much unschooled when it comes to any kind of religion, Catholic or Anglican or Lutheran. His experience of God and faith is limited to a few prayers learned from his paternal grandmother, admiration for the architecture of church buildings, and some pretty negative experiences with religion in school settings. In short, Merton doesn't know anything about grace.
Two nights ago, I wrote a little bit about the crappy week that I'd been having. So much went wrong this week that I am absolutely drained tonight. Emptied out. If I explain the source of this discord in my life, I may get myself into trouble with my place of employ. It's a huge healthcare organization that doesn't really appreciate negative social media commentary by any of its employees. So, I will simply say that there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of grace in the place. I will have to leave it at that.
I find myself craving grace at the moment, since it seems to be in pretty short supply. Now, that comment reflects my own belief in what I need for happiness. Therefore, I'm a little biased. The thing is, God's grace is always at work in my life. I know that. I just sort of like telling God exactly what kind of grace I want. God doesn't like that too much. Instead, He pulls a worldwide pandemic out of his top hat, and basically changes the rules of the game.
So, instead of providing a litany of ways in which my life seems to be going wrong, I am going to provide a litany of graces. Couldn't hurt, right? Usually, when you're reciting a litany in Church, there's a repeated refrain, like "Pray for us" or "Lord, hear our prayer." I'm going to make it a little simpler than that. My response will be simply "Thanks." Here goes:
- For my continued good health. Thanks.
- For the continued good health of my family and friends. Thanks.
- For my puppy, Juno, who loves me unconditionally. Thanks.
- For poetry. Thanks.
- For a sharp mind. Thanks.
- For a job that helps pay some of my bills. Thanks.
- For teaching. Thanks.
- For the time off from work I will be taking in the coming few weeks. Thanks.
- For playing croquet with my son. Thanks.
- For the movie Lost Horizon, which I watched this morning and soaked in its message of goodness. Thanks.
- For the movie Casablanca, which I watched this evening with my wife. Thanks.
- For the drive I took in the cool afternoon sun, listening to the waves of Lake Superior. Thanks.
- For the fact that I didn't throat punch any of my coworkers this week. Thanks.
- For the poetry workshop I taught on Thursday, and all the wonderful people who participated in it. Thanks.
- For the omelet I had for breakfast this morning. Thanks.
- For the laughter I shared with my wife today. Thanks.
- For my kids. Thanks.
- For chocolate. Thanks.
- For cold water to drink. Thanks.
- For the heat in my house. Thanks.
- For my sister-in-law, who dropped off some hand sanitizer for me tonight. Thanks.
- For all the people who send me private messages of love and support. Thanks.
- For the walk I took tonight my my puppy. Thanks.
- For the food in my cupboards. Thanks.
- For my bed and pillows. Thanks.
- For birdsong. Thanks.
- For water song. Thanks.
- For moon song. Thanks.
- For the first dandelions of spring, bright and beautiful. Thanks.
And Saint Marty says, Amen.
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