Merton receives some grace . . .
Yes, and from the secret places of His essence, God began to fill my soul with grace in those days, grace that sprung from deep within me, I could not know how or where. But yet I would be able, after not so many months, to realize what was there, in the peace and the strength that were growing in me through my constant immersion in this tremendous, unending cycle of prayer, ever renewing its vitality, its inexhaustible, sweet energies, from hour to hour, from season to season in its returning round. And I, drawn into that atmosphere, into that deep, vast universal movement of vitalizing prayer, which is Christ praying in men to His Father, could not help but begin at last to live, and to know that I was alive. And my heart could not help but cry out within me: “I will sing to the Lord as long as I live: I will sing praise to my God while I have my being. Let my speech be acceptable to Him: but I will take delight in the Lord.”
Truly, He was sending forth His Spirit, uttering His divine Word and binding me to Himself through His Spirit preceding from the Word spoken within me. As the months went on, I could not help but realize it.
Then, when I finished the Little Hours and closed the Breviary at the end of None reciting the Sacrosancte, and looked up out of the window to see the seminary of Callicoon momentarily appear on its distant hilltop, at the end of a long avenue of river, I no longer felt so much anguish and sorrow at not being in the monastery.
So, these last few days have been sort of filled with a kind of grace for me, as well. On Monday, Slow Dancing with Bigfoot was released. That's the spoken-word album I worked on with a good friend from the band STREAKING IN TONGUES. I have been working so long on this Bigfoot manuscript that I have sort of lost my sense of discernment when it comes to the poems. I can't tell if they're good or bad. I just keep revising and adding and subtracting.
However, this project has restored my faith in my work and abilities. People are telling me that it's good. Not just close friends. Everyone is listening and really digging it. The local paper published a really astounding review of the album, and someone showed up at the library where I work, asking if they had the album available for checkout. Amazing.
Here's the thing about grace: it's not something you earn. It's something that comes into your life when you need it. Yes, I've worked hard on these poems. Yes, my friend and I worked hard on putting this album together. And yes, some other people worked hard on the project, as well--a sound engineer and a really talented visual artist. It has been like a fever dream seeing all these disparate elements comes together.
That has been a great joy for me. All these people working on an artistic endeavor that literally sprang from my imagination. I've made movies. Directed plays. Acted on the stage. All of those things depend upon the collaborative talents of a group of passionate artists. This album is no different. Hours and hours of hard work with many artists to bring something new into the world.
But that's not grace. That's blessing. I've been blessed with artistic friends who share my passion. Grace is all the unexpected joy that's come my way since the album was released. Sure, Slow Dancing with Bigfoot isn't going to win a Grammy or Pulitzer. But people like it. Are excited by it. That's grace.
So, that's pretty much what I wanted to say tonight. I've experienced two grace-filled days. My problems haven't vanished. My struggles are still real.
But Saint Marty has grace and Bigfoot on his side.
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