Merton gets an answer to a prayer . . .
I think I prayed as well as I could, considering what I was, and with considerable confidence in God and in Our Lady, and I knew I would be answered. I am only just beginning to realize how well I was answered. In the first place the book was never published, and that was a good thing. But in the second place God answered me by a favor which I had already refused and had practically ceased to desire. He gave me back the vocation that I had half-consciously given up, and He opened to me again the doors that had fallen shut when I had not known what to make of my Baptism and the grace of that First Communion.
But before He did this I had to go through some little darkness and suffering.
I think those days at the end of August 1939 were terrible for everyone. They were grey days of great heat and sultriness and the weight of physical oppression by the weather added immeasurably to the burden of the news from Europe that got more ominous day by day.
Now it seemed that at last there really would be war in earnest. Some sense of the craven and perverted esthetic excitement with which the Nazis were waiting for the thrill of this awful spectacle made itself felt negatively, and with hundredfold force, in the disgust and nausea with which the rest of the world expected the embrace of this colossal instrument of death. It was a danger that had, added to it, an almost incalculable element of dishonor and insult and degradation and shame. And the world faced not only destruction, but destruction with the greatest possible defilement: defilement of that which is most perfect in man, his reason and his will, his immortal soul.
All this was obscure to most people, and made itself felt only in a mixture of disgust and hopelessness and dread. They did not realize that the world had now become a picture of what the majority of its individuals had made of their own souls. We had given our minds and wills up to be raped and defiled by sin, by hell itself and now, for our inexorable instruction and reward, the whole thing was to take place all over again before our eyes, physically and morally, in the social order, so that some of us at least might have some conception of what we had done.
In those days, I realized it myself. I remember one of the nights at the end of August when I was riding on the subway, and suddenly noticed that practically nobody in the car was reading the evening paper, although the wires were hot with news. The tension had become so great that even this toughest of cities had had to turn aside and defend itself against the needles of such an agonizing stimulation. For once everybody else was feeling what Lax and I and Gibney and Rice had been feeling for two years about newspapers and news.
There was something else in my own mind—the recognition: “I myself am responsible for this. My sins have done this. Hitler is not the only one who has started this war: I have my share in it too...” It was a very sobering thought, and yet its deep and probing light by its very truth eased my soul a little. I made up my mind to go to confession and Communion on the First Friday of September.
One of the most common prayers today, I think, is for love. The continuing of it. The finding of it. The fixing of it. The longing for it. And, of course, prayers for love are often accompanied by "some little darkness and suffering," as Merton notes.
It is Valentine's Day night. I've been seeing all kinds of love posts in my Facebook feed all day. Photos of couples, surrounded by clouds of hearts. Wedding photos. Photos of homemade pizza, with captions like "My hubby made me this," The most common post this year: a form filled filled out by one partner with details about first dates and who said "I love you" first and who's the most stubborn.
For anyone struggling with love or pining for it, Valentine's Day is not the happiest of occasions. In fact, it can highlight loneliness and isolation almost as much as Christmas. Maybe even a little bit more. This holiday highlights everything that you have in your life, or everything that you lack.
Of course, the greatest love that exists in the universe is God's love for each and everyone of us. If you believe in God. Even the metaphor of God. A being that is all about unconditional love. It's what we all hope for. Aspire to be. Now, the question is whether unconditional love is really a healthy thing.
God forgives. Over and over and over. No matter how many times you wrong God, He will still love you. That's sort of the deal. There's something really beautiful in that. Yet, when it comes to human relationships, my therapist might call that dynamic a little unhealthy. Codependent. Abusive.
I've been married for 25 years. My wife and I have been together for over 30 years. There's been a lot of mistakes. Arguments. Betrayals even. And there's been a lot of forgiveness, as well. That's how we've made it this long. Over 30 Valentine's Days. I love my wife. Tried to love her unconditionally. I'm not sure if I've succeeded all the time, but I've tried.
And my wife has loved me, as well.
Human love is imperfect, because humans are imperfect. We make frequent mistakes. Sometimes, we make the same mistakes, over and over and over. and over. For a lot of reasons. That means, if we follow God's example, we also have to forgive. Over and over and over and over. That is the depth of God's love for us.
Yet, imperfect human love can be pretty heartbreaking. I can vouch for that, as well. Heartbreak and love go hand-in-hand. Two sides of the same coin. They define each other. One can't exist without the other.
Yet, I do have unconditional love in my life. In fact, I just put unconditional love to bed, after she slept next to me for the better part of an hour. She licked my face before she walked to her kennel.
When I look into my puppy's eyes, I know the face of unconditional love. The only things she expects of me are a hand to scratch her belly, water in her dish, food in her bowl, and a walk every day or so.
I look into her eyes, and there is unconditional love. Simple. Unquestioning. No human shortcomings to muck it all up.
So, Saint Marty hopes that all of his disciples know the miracle of unconditional love in their lives. Undying and infinitely compassionate. That is what Valentine's Day is all about.
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