"When I consent to the will and the mercy of God as it 'comes' to me in the events of life, appealing to my inner self and awakening my faith, I breath through the superficial exterior appearances that form my routine vision of the world and of my own self, and I find myself in the presence of hidden majesty."
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
Some days I just can't feel it. My heart feels barren, my prayers are flat, almost echoing as if I'm speaking in an empty room, alone. Worse, on days like today, I feel the dark tendrils of doubt, anger, frustration, and despair creeping in from the margins of my mind to cover the innermost regions of my soul.
This was my experience upon waking today. I have no explanation for it, but it followed me throughout the day, impervious to any distractions, even earnest prayer. It abides still.
And yet, I read a passage like this from Merton, and I am bowled over by its truth and beauty, even though it fails to dispel the darkness.
Days like today call me deeper within myself. Call me to silence, to solitude, to self-reflection. If I can abide in this inner space, and not panic at the darkness and doubt, but simply be with it, offering it to God's divine mercy...it doesn't pass, but something stirs within it, beneath it, a benevolent force that reassures me the whispers of despair are to be tolerated, but not heeded. I am not alone. Far, far from it.
Showing posts with label New Seeds of Contemplation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Seeds of Contemplation. Show all posts
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
Getting Saved
"It is a pity that the beautiful Christian metaphor 'salvation' has come to be so hackneyed and therefore so despised.... The word [in fact] connotes a deep respect for the fundamental metaphysical reality of man. It reflects God's own infinite concern for man...for all that is His own in man, His son. It is not only human nature that is 'saved' by the divine mercy, but above all the human person."
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
Growing up in the Bible Belt, "getting saved" was an essential moment in one's life. For the churched children like myself, it was a rite of passage of great significance, when one accepted Jesus as one's personal Lord and Savior. For the unchurched, the "lost," it could be a life-changing event, and I heard many a testimony as a child from adults who had repented of licentiousness and drunkeness and a variety of other sins that were, frankly, titillating to my young ears, but here were these nice, seemingly ordinary people who had transcended those wicked ways by God's grace.
And sadly, anyone who was not saved was indeed mortally "lost," bound for the eternal flames of hell. And this included any good people who might be Jewish, Muslim, agnostic or otherwise, none of whom actually lived in my small town or whom we had any dealings with. But the lost were everywhere, because it didn't matter if you were a church person, if you had never really surrendered your heart to Jesus, if your name was not written in the Lamb's Book of Life, you were a goner.
I am not trying to make light of these beliefs. The folks I heard these teachings from were by and large good people. But by my late teens, I had begun to see the world in less stark, less black and white terms. I rejected the notion that one had to abide by some theological formula to be "saved," and I began to have a different idea about what, exactly, we were being saved from.
In New Seeds, Merton tries to rescue the concept of salvation by showing how it is indeed more than an intellectual affirmation of a theological formula, but is nevertheless an experience that all us are called to, regardless of our religious labels, station of life, or circumstances.
"The object of salvation is that which is unique, irreplaceable, incommunicable--that which is myself alone. The true inner self must be drawn up like a jewel from the bottom of the sea, rescued from confusion, from indistinction, from immersion in the common, the nondescript, the trivial, the sordid, the evanescent."
Our normal way of looking at the world is "lost" in the sense that we assume we are an independent reality, cut off from all other people, alone and yet at the center of the universe. Even if we profess religious belief, our tendency is to doubt, to operate as though we are utterly alone. This leaves us with nothing but the mess of our own, self-centered fears and desires. We must give up this false sense of separateness, but to do so means that we give up making our normal sense of "self" the center. God becomes the center, and we have to surrender our whole person to be remade from that new centerpoint. And somehow by giving ourselves up, we find our true self, in all its wholeness.
"The person must be rescued from the individual... The creative and mysterious inner self must be delivered from the wasteful, hedonistic and destructive ego that seeks only to cover itself with disguises."
My forebears' understanding of what it means to "get saved" may have been limited by their own experiences, but that is true of everyone. What they had absolutely right was the understanding that we are all in some way lost, and that only by giving ourselves up completely to God can we discover who we really are.
"To be 'lost' is to be left to the arbitrariness and pretenses of the contingent ego, the smoke-self that must inevitably vanish. To be 'saved' is to return to one's inviolate and eternal reality and to live in God."
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
Growing up in the Bible Belt, "getting saved" was an essential moment in one's life. For the churched children like myself, it was a rite of passage of great significance, when one accepted Jesus as one's personal Lord and Savior. For the unchurched, the "lost," it could be a life-changing event, and I heard many a testimony as a child from adults who had repented of licentiousness and drunkeness and a variety of other sins that were, frankly, titillating to my young ears, but here were these nice, seemingly ordinary people who had transcended those wicked ways by God's grace.
And sadly, anyone who was not saved was indeed mortally "lost," bound for the eternal flames of hell. And this included any good people who might be Jewish, Muslim, agnostic or otherwise, none of whom actually lived in my small town or whom we had any dealings with. But the lost were everywhere, because it didn't matter if you were a church person, if you had never really surrendered your heart to Jesus, if your name was not written in the Lamb's Book of Life, you were a goner.
I am not trying to make light of these beliefs. The folks I heard these teachings from were by and large good people. But by my late teens, I had begun to see the world in less stark, less black and white terms. I rejected the notion that one had to abide by some theological formula to be "saved," and I began to have a different idea about what, exactly, we were being saved from.
In New Seeds, Merton tries to rescue the concept of salvation by showing how it is indeed more than an intellectual affirmation of a theological formula, but is nevertheless an experience that all us are called to, regardless of our religious labels, station of life, or circumstances.
"The object of salvation is that which is unique, irreplaceable, incommunicable--that which is myself alone. The true inner self must be drawn up like a jewel from the bottom of the sea, rescued from confusion, from indistinction, from immersion in the common, the nondescript, the trivial, the sordid, the evanescent."
Our normal way of looking at the world is "lost" in the sense that we assume we are an independent reality, cut off from all other people, alone and yet at the center of the universe. Even if we profess religious belief, our tendency is to doubt, to operate as though we are utterly alone. This leaves us with nothing but the mess of our own, self-centered fears and desires. We must give up this false sense of separateness, but to do so means that we give up making our normal sense of "self" the center. God becomes the center, and we have to surrender our whole person to be remade from that new centerpoint. And somehow by giving ourselves up, we find our true self, in all its wholeness.
"The person must be rescued from the individual... The creative and mysterious inner self must be delivered from the wasteful, hedonistic and destructive ego that seeks only to cover itself with disguises."
My forebears' understanding of what it means to "get saved" may have been limited by their own experiences, but that is true of everyone. What they had absolutely right was the understanding that we are all in some way lost, and that only by giving ourselves up completely to God can we discover who we really are.
"To be 'lost' is to be left to the arbitrariness and pretenses of the contingent ego, the smoke-self that must inevitably vanish. To be 'saved' is to return to one's inviolate and eternal reality and to live in God."
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Finding My True Self
Chapter Five of New Seeds comes to its climax with Merton's discussion of the "false self." Earlier, Merton described how human beings are called to express their individuality most fully by co-creating their identities and realities with God. But Merton warns that this is not some kind of Nieztschean "will to power" exaltation of the individual with no reference point beyond oneself. Because of the false self, we are perpetually at risk, not of becoming fully what we are meant to be, but of actually distorting our true identities.
"All sin starts from the assumption that my false self, the self that exists only in my egocentric desires, is the fundamental reality of life to which everything else in the universe is ordered. Thus I use up my life in the desire for pleasures and the thirst for experiences, for power, honor, knowledge and love, to clothe this false self and construct its nothingness into something objectively real."
The false self is not real. It is the identity that we create for ourselves, and that we spend our entire lives trying to protect and preserve, even as all of life and creation reveals that it is an illusion. The false self is our sense that we exist somehow independently and separately from the rest of creation (and from the Creator), and that this identity is somehow the center of the universe. According to Merton, all sin arises from this distorted sense of self, which leads us to engage in all manner of greed, hatred, delusion and a myriad of other, less obvious but equally insidious forms of self-aggrandizement.
So, how do we create ourselves as a real individual, while negotiating the pitfalls of the false self? I suspect Merton will elaborate on this throughout the rest of the book, but he concludes the chapter by saying that our real identiy is "hidden in the love and mercy of God," and only by surrendering ourselves completely to God can we create, with him, the person we are meant to be:
"Ultimately the only way that I can be myself is to become identified with Him in Whom is hidden the reason and fulfillment of my existence. Therefore there is only one problem on which all my existence, my peace and my happiness depend: to discover myself in discovering God. If I find Him I will find myself and if I find my true self I will find Him...
The only One Who can teach me to find God is God, Himself, Alone."
"All sin starts from the assumption that my false self, the self that exists only in my egocentric desires, is the fundamental reality of life to which everything else in the universe is ordered. Thus I use up my life in the desire for pleasures and the thirst for experiences, for power, honor, knowledge and love, to clothe this false self and construct its nothingness into something objectively real."
The false self is not real. It is the identity that we create for ourselves, and that we spend our entire lives trying to protect and preserve, even as all of life and creation reveals that it is an illusion. The false self is our sense that we exist somehow independently and separately from the rest of creation (and from the Creator), and that this identity is somehow the center of the universe. According to Merton, all sin arises from this distorted sense of self, which leads us to engage in all manner of greed, hatred, delusion and a myriad of other, less obvious but equally insidious forms of self-aggrandizement.
So, how do we create ourselves as a real individual, while negotiating the pitfalls of the false self? I suspect Merton will elaborate on this throughout the rest of the book, but he concludes the chapter by saying that our real identiy is "hidden in the love and mercy of God," and only by surrendering ourselves completely to God can we create, with him, the person we are meant to be:
"Ultimately the only way that I can be myself is to become identified with Him in Whom is hidden the reason and fulfillment of my existence. Therefore there is only one problem on which all my existence, my peace and my happiness depend: to discover myself in discovering God. If I find Him I will find myself and if I find my true self I will find Him...
The only One Who can teach me to find God is God, Himself, Alone."
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Creating Our Identities
"Our vocation is not simply to be, but to work together with God in the creation of our own life, our own identity, our own destiny. We are free beings and sons of God. This means to say that we should not passively exist, but actively participate in His creative freedom...To put it better, we are even called to share with God the work of creating the truth of our identity."
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
The fifth chapter of New Seeds continues with Merton explaining that, unlike the tree which automatically expresses its full individuality in God, we get to choose our identity, and not as one chooses which shirt to wear today, but rather as an artist who creates an identity through the work of his hands. It is not only our ability to choose freely which makes us in the "image and likeness of God." It's our ability to create, especially to create ourselves. In this sense, we are co-creators with God of our identities and our very realities. What an awesome power and responsibility. No room here for victims. We are fully in command of what we will become.
Of course, because we also carry around the "false self," we often squander this power and create ourselves very poorly. This is the topic of the remainder of chapter five.
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
The fifth chapter of New Seeds continues with Merton explaining that, unlike the tree which automatically expresses its full individuality in God, we get to choose our identity, and not as one chooses which shirt to wear today, but rather as an artist who creates an identity through the work of his hands. It is not only our ability to choose freely which makes us in the "image and likeness of God." It's our ability to create, especially to create ourselves. In this sense, we are co-creators with God of our identities and our very realities. What an awesome power and responsibility. No room here for victims. We are fully in command of what we will become.
Of course, because we also carry around the "false self," we often squander this power and create ourselves very poorly. This is the topic of the remainder of chapter five.
Monday, January 05, 2009
A Tree Like No Other
The fifth chapter of New Seeds strikes me as one of the finest expositions of Christian existentialism. Here Merton focuses on the essence of what it means to be a human, and the unique human experience of discovering oneself and one's purpose and meaning in life, a purpose inextricably linked to God.
"A tree gives glory to God by being a tree. For in being what God means it to be it is obeying Him. It "consents," so to speak, to His creative love...No two created beings are exactly alike. And their individuality is no imperfection...This particular tree will give glory to God by spreading out its roots in the earth and raising its branches into the air and the light in a way that no other tree before or after it ever did or will do."
This passage reminds me of the Islamic concept that all created things besides humans are already "Muslim." That is, they are surrendered to God (for a Muslim is "one who surrenders to God.") I love this idea, that all of creation is already conformed to God's will and purpose and plan, except us humans, of course, though this is also God's ultimate desire for us. A tree is Muslim, then, by being a tree. And not just any tree, according to Merton, but by fulfilling its full capacity as an individual, ordered to God's vision and its place in the universe of created things.
Similarly, we reach the apex of our being, the meaning and purpose of our lives, when we manifest ourselves in our full individuality, co-created with God. I'll write more on this idea tomorrow.
"A tree gives glory to God by being a tree. For in being what God means it to be it is obeying Him. It "consents," so to speak, to His creative love...No two created beings are exactly alike. And their individuality is no imperfection...This particular tree will give glory to God by spreading out its roots in the earth and raising its branches into the air and the light in a way that no other tree before or after it ever did or will do."
This passage reminds me of the Islamic concept that all created things besides humans are already "Muslim." That is, they are surrendered to God (for a Muslim is "one who surrenders to God.") I love this idea, that all of creation is already conformed to God's will and purpose and plan, except us humans, of course, though this is also God's ultimate desire for us. A tree is Muslim, then, by being a tree. And not just any tree, according to Merton, but by fulfilling its full capacity as an individual, ordered to God's vision and its place in the universe of created things.
Similarly, we reach the apex of our being, the meaning and purpose of our lives, when we manifest ourselves in our full individuality, co-created with God. I'll write more on this idea tomorrow.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Let Your Life Speak
"A saint is capable of loving created things and enjoying the use of them and dealing with them in a perfectly simple, natural manner, making no formal references to God, drawing no attention to his own piety, and acting without any artificial rigidity at all. His gentleness and his sweetness are not pressed through his pores by the crushing restraint of a spiritual straight-jacket. They come from his direct docility to the light of truth and to the will of God. Hence a saint is capable of talking about the world without any explicit reference to God, in such a way that his statement gives greater glory to God and arouses a greater love of God than the observations of someone less holy, who has to strain himself to make an artibrary connection between creatures and God through the medium of hackneyed analogies and metaphors that are so feeble that they make you think there is something the mattter with religion."
--New Seeds of Contemplation
I must confess that I have a judgmental prejudice against people who make an outward show of religion. This is a flaw in me, and I am also vulnerbable to the charge of hypocrisy, given that I write a blog about spirituality. I am acutely aware of this vulnerability, and hope that I write for good reasons, and certainly not because there is some special holiness about me (as those who know me well can attest otherwise).
My point is that I shouldn't feel such glee at reading Merton's words, because I have my own set of flaws, but I can't help but appreciate his point. I live in the so-called "Bible Belt," where trite, bumpersticker theology abounds. I have no doubt that the outward show of religion notwithstanding, folks around here have no corner on the holiness market compared to places where religious expression is a more private matter.
I always felt that the Quakers had the best overall advice for saintliness: "Let your lives speak." And leave it at that.
--New Seeds of Contemplation
I must confess that I have a judgmental prejudice against people who make an outward show of religion. This is a flaw in me, and I am also vulnerbable to the charge of hypocrisy, given that I write a blog about spirituality. I am acutely aware of this vulnerability, and hope that I write for good reasons, and certainly not because there is some special holiness about me (as those who know me well can attest otherwise).
My point is that I shouldn't feel such glee at reading Merton's words, because I have my own set of flaws, but I can't help but appreciate his point. I live in the so-called "Bible Belt," where trite, bumpersticker theology abounds. I have no doubt that the outward show of religion notwithstanding, folks around here have no corner on the holiness market compared to places where religious expression is a more private matter.
I always felt that the Quakers had the best overall advice for saintliness: "Let your lives speak." And leave it at that.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Reason for the Season
"Detachment from things does not mean setting up a contradiction between 'things' and 'God' as if God were another 'thing' and as if His creatures were His rivals. We do not detach ourselves from things in order to attach ourselves to God, but rather we become detached from ourselves in order to see and use all things in and for God. This is an entirely new perspective which many sincerely moral and ascetic minds fail utterly to see."Today my pastor--one of the best homilists anywhere--noted the now-annual hysteria of people who freak out this time of year because we need to put "Christ" back in Christmas. As if we are a totally pagan nation with no religious reference point for this grantedly commercialized holiday. My pastor went on to say something very striking and profound: "Jesus is not the reason for the season," he said. "We are."
His point was that God intervenes in the experience of human life to redeem and transform it. Christmas is not about God in the clouds or God who transcends the messiness of human experience. On the contrary, Christmas is about the God who descends into our very lives, who meets and encounters us in the very human world of our jobs, our families, and the mundane, boring, broken, and yes, commercialized, securalized, and religiously pluralized world that we live in. God comes for us, in God's mercy and grace and love, so that this messy life of ours might be redeemed. We are the reason for the season.
Merton's point seems to be a similar one. As contemplatives, we do not detach from "things" so that we can know God. We detach from our false, alienated self so that we can encounter God in the things of this life.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
The Gift of Contemplation
"The only way to get rid of misconceptions about contemplation is to experience it...For contemplation cannot be taught. I cannot even be cearly explained. It can only be hinted at, suggested, pointed to, symbolized."
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
In Chapter 2, Merton goes on at some length discussing "what contemplation is not," first by noting its ineffable character, and then naming numerous things that it specfically is not, such as mental reactions, ideas, emotions, trances or ecstatic spiritual phenomena, or special psychic powers. What complicates matters is that contemplation may sometimes be accompanied by some or all of these things, but that is not contemplation itself.
Merton notes that having a quiet, peaceful disposition may not make one more likely to experience contemplation, as many active, passionate people also have tasted of these things. Even being prayerful or religious doesn't guarantee it, though "they are almost necessary preparations." But he does say that one kind of "active" person is not disposed to contemplation, and those folks should probably not even think about it:
Such people, given to imagination, passion and active conquest, exhaust themselves in trying to attain contemplation as if it were some kind of object, like a material fortune, or a political office, or a professorship, or a prelacy. But contemplation can never be the object of calculated ambition.
And therein lies a lot of the frustration of my own spiritual life. Until very recently, I have strained after spiritual understanding as an object, and found myself frustrated again and again. And I have known many other spiritual "seekers" in that same, self-inflicted predicament.
What has changed for me? I think I will alwasy face that temptation to materialize the spiritual life (and there are worse kinds of materialism, to be sure), but something fundamentally has shifted in recent years. Two books have impacted me deeply: The Sacred Romance and The Shack, but in many ways I was ripening to this new kind of self-understanding for a long time. Grounded in the realization that I cannot attain wisdom through calculated ambition, I began to see my seeking as a kind of frantic effort at control, rooted in a deep existential fear that I was not good enough, that I was fundamentally flawed. And of course, I am fundamentally flawed. I am human. But what I am slowly coming to believe is the Gospel promise that we are loved and complete in spite of our brokenness.
After almost four decades of life, I am finally starting to have a little bit of faith. The freedom that comes with that faith is an overwhelming relief, and it leaves me free to explore spiritual pathways without having to obsess about the final destination. I am free from the burden of awakening, because, as Merton says, "It is not we who choose to awaken ourselves, but God Who chooses to awaken us."
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
The Question and the Answer
"The life of contemplation implies two levels of awareness: first, awareness of the question, and second, awareness of the answer. Though these are two distinct and enormously different levels, yet they are in fact an awareness of the same thing. The question is, itself, the answer. And we ourselves are both. But we cannot know this until we have moved into the second kind of awareness. We awaken, not to find an answer absolutely distinct from the question, but to realize that the question is its own answer. And all is summed up in one awareness--not a proposition, but an experience, 'I AM.'"--Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
What is Merton talking about here?
How am I the question? My life longs for meaning, clarity, continuity of purpose. I live through all these extended "selves" that I present to the world--in my work, in my roles as husband, son, friend, in my writing, my activities as a citizen, the questions I ask myself and others. There is a kind of fragmentation of the true self in this process, and I long for wholeness, my life in fact begs for it. Living my life as a question is not unique to me. I happen to live "out loud" in a manner and volume different from many people, I suppose, but I think the basic features of my inner life--this sense of fragmentation and longing for unity and completeness--is common to all of humanity. Perhaps many are unable to hear the gentle whisperings of their own hearts, but those quiet stirrings are still there.
How am I the answer? Perhaps because the the true self knows that it is meant for wholeness, can actually apprehend it, can smell the faraway fragrance of joy and wholeness and love, and this is why we experience fragmentation when we live out all of the partial "selves" we present to the world. We ask the question because we already know the answer, though we are terrified to believe--we are meant to be sons and daughters of God.
In this sense, the question and the answer are one. Contemplation is our most natural state, our source and our destination.
What is Merton talking about here?
How am I the question? My life longs for meaning, clarity, continuity of purpose. I live through all these extended "selves" that I present to the world--in my work, in my roles as husband, son, friend, in my writing, my activities as a citizen, the questions I ask myself and others. There is a kind of fragmentation of the true self in this process, and I long for wholeness, my life in fact begs for it. Living my life as a question is not unique to me. I happen to live "out loud" in a manner and volume different from many people, I suppose, but I think the basic features of my inner life--this sense of fragmentation and longing for unity and completeness--is common to all of humanity. Perhaps many are unable to hear the gentle whisperings of their own hearts, but those quiet stirrings are still there.
How am I the answer? Perhaps because the the true self knows that it is meant for wholeness, can actually apprehend it, can smell the faraway fragrance of joy and wholeness and love, and this is why we experience fragmentation when we live out all of the partial "selves" we present to the world. We ask the question because we already know the answer, though we are terrified to believe--we are meant to be sons and daughters of God.
In this sense, the question and the answer are one. Contemplation is our most natural state, our source and our destination.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Infused Faith
"Contemplation is the highest expression of man's intellectual and spiritual life. It is that life itself, fully awake, fully active, fully aware that it is alive. It is spiritual wonder. It is spontaneous awe at the sacredness of life, of being...It is a vivid realization of the fact that life and being in us proceed from an invisible, transcendent and infinitely abundant Source."
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
I recently picked up Merton's New Seeds again to study it thoughtfully. It was one of the first Merton books I read, probably just under 20 years ago. I remember reading it breathlessly then, rapidly, with awe and wonder. It moves me just the same now that I am more mature and weathered in my own faith and understanding, but I resist the urge to plunge through it this time, opting instead to meditate with it one sentence, one paragraph at a time.
Merton begins with an extended reflection on what contemplation is. The definition is extremely important, because as an adjective (as in "contemplative spirituality"), the word describes a particular, unique state of being that is, according to Merton, the summit of all spiritual life, the essence of faith itself lived this side of the grave. According to Merton, contemplation is not an intellectual or emotional experience, though it holds intellect and emotion within itself. In fact, contemplation embraces the totality of human experience, while transcending any particular form of intuition or experience.
Contemplation is awareness of God, and it is something that I speculate all people have experienced, though they might not have had the vocabulary to name it as such. Understanding Merton's meaning of the word, I can say I have been blessed to experience contemplation myself, probably on a regular basis. I emphasize that I am "blessed" with this experience because one of the things Merton emphasizes, along with many other saints, is that contemplation is a grace. It is not something we earn or achieve. It is something that comes to us, though it is not simply available to a chosen few, but is the birthright and destiny of every soul.
Contemplation wraps itself around me in those fleeting moments of human experience when I intuitively feel my own, infinite connection to all other people, when I am suddenly stunned by the tragic beauty of life, the vast interconnection of all things. In those moments, I am keenly aware of my own human brokenness, along with the brokenness of all creation, but I am also aware of a loving Presence, a sense of underlying wholeness and completeness that heals my individual woundedness and the wounds of the entire universe. I experience a kind of unconditional love that embraces all beings and being itself.
The experience is not an emotion, per se, though it is usually accompanied by a host of emotions and thoughts, especially gratitude and humility and compassion. And it usually passes pretty quickly. It is a foretaste of the fulfillment we are destined for in eternity, and it is a consolation offered to all people. It is exquisite, undeserved, and partial enough to leave us filled with a yearning for more. It is God's self embracing us, promising completeness beyond our wildest imagination. When we experience it, we experience infused faith, a confidence of heart that is beyond intellectual assent or emotional response.
While contemplation is not something we can achieve, as the essence of spiritual experience itself, it is worthy of study and observation, and as I understand it, it can sometimes be the fruit of a life well lived. I pray today that my meditations on this book bring more abundant life to myself and others.
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
I recently picked up Merton's New Seeds again to study it thoughtfully. It was one of the first Merton books I read, probably just under 20 years ago. I remember reading it breathlessly then, rapidly, with awe and wonder. It moves me just the same now that I am more mature and weathered in my own faith and understanding, but I resist the urge to plunge through it this time, opting instead to meditate with it one sentence, one paragraph at a time.
Merton begins with an extended reflection on what contemplation is. The definition is extremely important, because as an adjective (as in "contemplative spirituality"), the word describes a particular, unique state of being that is, according to Merton, the summit of all spiritual life, the essence of faith itself lived this side of the grave. According to Merton, contemplation is not an intellectual or emotional experience, though it holds intellect and emotion within itself. In fact, contemplation embraces the totality of human experience, while transcending any particular form of intuition or experience.
Contemplation is awareness of God, and it is something that I speculate all people have experienced, though they might not have had the vocabulary to name it as such. Understanding Merton's meaning of the word, I can say I have been blessed to experience contemplation myself, probably on a regular basis. I emphasize that I am "blessed" with this experience because one of the things Merton emphasizes, along with many other saints, is that contemplation is a grace. It is not something we earn or achieve. It is something that comes to us, though it is not simply available to a chosen few, but is the birthright and destiny of every soul.
Contemplation wraps itself around me in those fleeting moments of human experience when I intuitively feel my own, infinite connection to all other people, when I am suddenly stunned by the tragic beauty of life, the vast interconnection of all things. In those moments, I am keenly aware of my own human brokenness, along with the brokenness of all creation, but I am also aware of a loving Presence, a sense of underlying wholeness and completeness that heals my individual woundedness and the wounds of the entire universe. I experience a kind of unconditional love that embraces all beings and being itself.
The experience is not an emotion, per se, though it is usually accompanied by a host of emotions and thoughts, especially gratitude and humility and compassion. And it usually passes pretty quickly. It is a foretaste of the fulfillment we are destined for in eternity, and it is a consolation offered to all people. It is exquisite, undeserved, and partial enough to leave us filled with a yearning for more. It is God's self embracing us, promising completeness beyond our wildest imagination. When we experience it, we experience infused faith, a confidence of heart that is beyond intellectual assent or emotional response.
While contemplation is not something we can achieve, as the essence of spiritual experience itself, it is worthy of study and observation, and as I understand it, it can sometimes be the fruit of a life well lived. I pray today that my meditations on this book bring more abundant life to myself and others.
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