Merton finds peace in a noisy place . . .
Yet the room was not quiet, either. It was right on a corner next to the stairs, and when anybody on our floor was wanted on the telephone, someone would rush up the stairs and stick his head into the corridor right by my door and yell down the echoing hall. All day long I heard those voices bellowing, “Hey, Cassidy! Hey, Cassidy!” but I did not mind. It did not stop me from doing twice as much work in that room, in one year, as I had done in all the rest of my life put together.
It amazed me how swiftly my life fell into a plan of fruitful and pleasant organization, here under the roof with these Friars, in this house dedicated to God. The answer to this was, of course, the God Who lived under that same roof with me, hidden in His Sacrament, the heart of the house, diffusing His life through it from the chapel Tabernacle: and also the Office I recited every day was another answer. Finally, there was the fact of my seclusion.
By this time, I had managed to get myself free from all the habits and luxuries that people in the world think they need for their comfort and amusement. My mouth was at last clean of the yellow, parching salt of nicotine, and I had rinsed my eyes of the grey slops of movies, so that now my taste and my vision were clean. And I had thrown away the books that soiled my heart. And my ears, too, had been cleansed of all wild and fierce noises and had poured into them peace, peace—except for that yell, “Hey, Cassidy,” which, after all, did not make much difference.
Best of all, my will was in order, my soul was in harmony with itself and with God, though not without battle, and not without cost. That was a price I had to pay, or lose my life altogether, so there was no alternative but wait in patience, and let myself be ground out between the upper and nether millstones of the two conflicting laws within me. Nor could I taste anything of the sense that this is really a martyrdom full of merit and pleasing to God: I was still too obsessed with the sheer, brute difficulty of it, and the crushing humiliation that faced me all the time. Peccatum meum contra me est semper.
Yet, in spite of all that, there was in me the profound, sure certitude of liberty, the moral certitude of grace, of union with God, which bred peace that could not be shattered or overshadowed by any necessity to stand armed and ready for conflict. And this peace was all-rewarding. It was worth everything. And every day it brought me back to Christ’s altars, and to my daily Bread, that infinitely holy and mighty and secret wholesomeness that was cleansing and strengthening my sick being through and through, and feeding, with His infinite life, my poor shredded sinews of morality.
Here it is. Merton finds peace in this place, because he is reciting the Divine Office, and every day he is "brought back to Christ's altars, and to my daily Bread." He's praying, going to Communion, and removing things from his life that have acted as roadblocks in his faith journey. Like Merton, every individual finds his/her own way to God, no matter what name or form God takes. Yahweh, Jesus. Nature. The Universe. It's a very personal thing.
Something happened today that bothers me quite a bit. The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops voted (not unanimously) to draft a document that may, if adopted in November, be used to deny individuals, who hold public office and support abortion rights, the ability to receive the sacrament of Communion. The document hasn't been written, and the final vote hasn't been cast by the bishops. However, this step seems to cross the line, using a deeply personal and spiritual act as a way to influence public policy. And that, in my book, goes completely against what I know about Jesus Christ and his teachings.
Abortion is a very personal matter. Laws can be made to protect it or make it illegal. Abortion is not going away, no matter what politicians or bishops or judges say or do. I am not a woman. Therefore, I have never had to face that terrible choice in my life, and, rest assured, any woman who has faced that situation has agonized and suffered over the decision. Making abortion illegal again doesn't mean abortions will stop. They will simply become more dangerous and life-threatening.
Now, perhaps you're of the mindset that a woman who chooses to have an illegal abortion deserves to become sick or die. Again, I'm a lifelong Catholic, and that thinking really doesn't gibe with the Jesus Christ I know. If you are against abortion, I'm fine with that. Then you also need to do something to make sure that all mothers have social, financial, and medical support, not just for the term of the pregnancy, but until their children are fully grown. And you need to provide for those children, too--make sure they are healthy, cared for, eat well, get good educations. In short, you need to be in it for the long haul, not just nine months.
Using a sacrament of the Catholic Church as a way to influence public policy and servants is tantamount, in my mind, to going against something Jesus Christ said to Pharisees or Herodians or the spies of the chief priests: "Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's." This rebuke appears in the books of Matthew, Mark, and Luke in one form or another.
In short, at least in my thinking, the bishops who support the drafting of this document regarding Communion aren't trying to spread the Body of Christ, which, if you are a Christian, can be a force for great spiritual healing and understanding. Reread that passage from Thomas Merton, if you don't believe me. No, these bishops are using Communion like an allowance that's being withheld as punishment.
As I said earlier, abortion is a deeply personal matter, made between a woman, a medical provider, and whatever support system she has. No law is going to change that. The law is there to protect citizens' rights, to allow them to make good or bad choices (depending on your point of view). I don't believe in abortion, would do everything I could to help someone facing that decision, and love her no matter what. That's my choice. My neighbor who lives down the street may believe in abortion. That's her choice. Both of those choices are protected. Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's.
Communion is a deeply personal, spiritual matter, something that happens between you and God. It can heal a broken heart. Bring someone back to church. Change people's minds and souls. Nobody has the right to stand in the way of that. Render unto God the things that are God's.
I'm not trying to sway anyone's opinion with this post. You may disagree with me. I respect that and still love you. Because that's what it all boils down to, if you call yourself a Christian: love. Love is love is love.
Saint Marty grew up singing that song: "They'll know we are Christians by our love . . ." He tries to live by those words every day of his life.
No comments:
Post a Comment