All these things, all creatures, every graceful movement, every ordered act of the human will, all are sent to us as prophets from God. But because of our stubbornness they come to us only to blind us further.
“Blind the heart of this people and make their ears heavy, and shut their eyes: lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears and understand with their heart and be converted, and I heal them.”
We refuse to hear the million different voices through which God speaks to us, and every refusal hardens us more and more against His grace—and yet He continues to speak to us: and we say He is without mercy!
“But the Lord dealeth patiently for your sake, not willing that any should perish, but that all should return to penance.”
Mother of God, how often in the last centuries have you not come down to us, speaking to us in our mountains and groves and hills, and telling us what was to come upon us, and we have not heard you. How long shall we continue to be deaf to your voice, and run our heads into the jaws of the hell that abhors us?
Lady, when on that night I left the Island that was once your England, your love went with me, although I could not know it, and could not make myself aware of it. And it was your love, your intercession for me, before God, that was preparing the seas before my ship, laying open the way for me to another country.
I was not sure where I was going, and I could not see what I would do when I got to New York. But you saw further and clearer than I, and you opened the seas before my ship, whose track lead me across the waters to a place I had never dreamed of, and which you were even then preparing for
me to be my rescue and my shelter and my home. And when I thought there was no God and no love and no mercy, you were leading me all the while into the midst of His love and His mercy, and taking me, without my knowing anything about it, to the house that would hide me in the secret of His Face.
Glorious Mother of God, shall I ever again distrust you, or your God, before Whose throne you are irresistible in your intercession? Shall I ever turn my eyes from your hands and from your face and from your eyes? Shall I ever look anywhere else but in the face of your love, to find out true counsel, and to know my way, in all the days and all the moments of my life?
As you have dealt with me, Lady, deal also with all my millions of brothers who live in the same misery that I knew then: lead them in spite of themselves and guide them by your tremendous influence, O Holy Queen of souls and refuge of sinners, and bring them to your Christ the way you brought me. Illos tuos misericordes oculos ad nos converte, et Jesum, benedictum fructum ventris tui, nobis ostende. Show us your Christ, Lady, after this our exile, yes: but show Him to us also now, show Him to us here, while we are still wanderers.
Yes, we live in a world of broken people. That's what Merton is saying here. We are wanderers, exiles, strangers in a strange land. Most of us don't even realize this. We simply wander around, unsatisfied and empty. And we don't know how to fill that hole that exists in each and every one of us.
For Thomas Merton, that hole is God-sized. Perhaps it's the same for everyone else, too. Perhaps sex addicts, alcoholics, drug addicts--all that they need is what Merton needs: an assurance in God's eternal love. Maybe if the world wasn't such a broken place, people wouldn't suffer from mental illnesses or feel isolated and alone. If every person in this world somehow felt God's presence and love, all the time, there wouldn't be suicide or war or Donald Trump. Because despair and hatred wouldn't be possible or necessary.
If you are anything like me, however, that kind of faith in God is difficult to sustain. I certainly feel it sometimes, but then my human side takes over. What happens then? I slide into doubt and fear. If I could hang onto those grace-filled moments indefinitely, I would be, to paraphrase Clark Griswold, "The jolliest asshole this side of the nuthouse."
Today was my son's twelfth birthday. If you are a loyal disciple of this blog, you know that my son has had a very rough three or four weeks. Lots of anger and depression. Struggles at school and home. Suicidal ideation. As a parent, it has been very difficult to witness. I just want somehow to step in and make everything better. It just isn't that simple, however.
Yet, my son had a wonderful day of celebration. He woke up smiling and happy. Asked for ravioli for his birthday breakfast, which I provided. Went out to hang with some of his friends for a while. Had a birthday party at my mother's house with his aunts. Pizza and cupcakes and eggnog ice cream. Then he played computer games all night with his sister. In a twelve-year-old boy universe, that's about as good as it gets.
And he was genuinely happy. All day long.
For me, that's God's presence and love. To see my son laughing and engaged for an entire 14- or 15-hour span of time. It was grace on top of grace on top of grace on top of grace.
And for that miracle, and his son's birthday, Saint Marty gives thanks.
No comments:
Post a Comment