July 28-31: Shattered My Heart, Calling, Stumbled into Things

Something inside Merton breaks open . . .

Outside in the world were holy men who were holy in the sense that they went about with portraits of all the possible situations in which they could show their love of God displayed about them: and they were always conscious of all these possibilities. But these other hidden men had come so close to God in their hiddenness that they no longer saw anyone but Him. They themselves were lost in the picture: there was no comparison between them receiving and God giving, because the distance by which such comparison could be measured had dwindled to nothing. They were in Him. They had dwindled down to nothing and had been transformed into Him by the pure and absolute humility of their hearts. 

And the love of Christ overflowing in those clean hearts made them children and made them eternal. Old men with limbs like the roots of trees had the eyes of children and lived, under their grey woolen cowls, eternal. And all of them, the young and the old, were ageless, the little brothers of God, the little children for whom was made the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Day after day the round of the canonical hours brought them together and the love that was in them became songs as austere as granite and as sweet as wine. And they stood and they bowed in their long, solemn psalmody. Their prayer flexed its strong sinews and relaxed again into silence, and suddenly flared up again in a hymn, the color of flame, and died into silence: and you could barely hear the weak, ancient voice saying the final prayer. The whisper of the amens ran around the stones like sighs, and the monks broke up their ranks and half emptied the choir, some remaining to pray. 

And in the night they also rose, and filled the darkness with the strong, patient anguish of their supplication to God: and the strength of their prayer (the Spirit of Christ concealing His strength in the words their voices uttered) amazingly held back the arm of God from striking and breaking at last the foul world full of greed and avarice and murder and lust and all sin. 

The thought of those monasteries, those remote choirs, those cells, those hermitages, those cloisters, those men in their cowls, the poor monks, the men who had become nothing, shattered my heart. 

In an instant the desire of those solitudes was wide open within me like a wound.

I believe that's pretty much the textbook definition of "a call."  God tapping you on the shoulder and saying "hey."

I don't think that I've ever experienced a call like that.  Nothing that clear.  I think that, for most of my life, I've stumbled into things blindly.  When I was about to graduate with my BA, one of my professors asked me if I'd considered applying to the Master's program.  So I did.  When I needed a job with health insurance, my sister asked me if I wanted to work in the medical office of an outpatient surgery center.  So I did.  Eventually, the Head of the English Department at the university called me up and asked if I wanted to teach a tech writing class as an adjunct professor.  So I did, and thus began my teaching career in academia. Then one of my mentors asked me if I was interested in applying for the MFA program in poetry.  So I did.  Last year, a friend told me that there was a job opening that I would be perfect for at the library.  So I applied and got it.

So, as you can tell, most of the things that I've done in my life have been suggestions from family and friends and mentors.  I don't think that qualifies as a calling.  Or callings.  More like being in the right place at the right time.  Maybe it was luck.  Or maybe it was God.

Perhaps, if I were closer to God at the moment--or if I lived in Biblical times--divine messages would be easier to recognize.  It wasn't unusual in the Old and New Testaments for angels to knock on your door and ask for dinner.  Or appear in your dreams with clear instructions from the Big Guy.  Or show up in your bedroom, saying things like Ave.  That doesn't happen anymore.  God is sort of like Elvis these days.  Doesn't play the big venues.  Instead, He shows up outside Burger King, looking a lot like a homeless guy, holding a sign that says, "Haven't eaten in 5 days."

Maybe God did send angels to me when I needed them.  Instead of Gabriel singing in my dreams, I got professors, sisters, department heads, and friends.  No wings or white robes or harps.  Just people with good intentions and advice.  And maybe that's the way it has always been.  When you need a hand up, there's someone there, arm outstretched.  It's always happened that way for me.

For those of my disciples who don't believe in God, call it luck or coincidence.  For those of you with religious beliefs, it's God or Yahweh or Jesus or Muhammed or Buddha or Brahma or Vishnu or Shiva.  Here's the thing:  when all you see is darkness, remember there's always light on the way.  Whether it feels like you stumble into that light, or that light finds you.  

That's the gospel according to Saint Marty.