Merton My Mentor

I have told lots of young people that one of the most important developmental tasks of young adulthood is choosing a mentor. We envision ourselves as an adult in the world doing something we consider important and enjoyable, and we look to someone probably already in the field that is doing just that. One of the tasks is to shift our focus away from our family of origin towards someone else from whom we would model our beliefs and behaviors. 

In earlier times this would often be an apprenticeship. One would make a commitment to someone who had already ‘mastered’ the craft; then they would work for that person learning the craft as well. Over the course of time they would become a ‘journeyman’ who could literally travel to practice the trade until they, too, attained ‘master’ status. The apprentice would learn, practice, and grow by continually watching  and imitating the ‘master.’ 

I went through this pattern somewhat when I was learning to become a luthier. I went to trade school and watched how others worked. I listened to those who had years of experience in building, finishing, and fixing instruments. I worked at a variety of shops along the way picking up ‘tricks of the trade’ wherever I could find them. By the time I I got to Berea and started working at Woodcraft I had learned my trade well. Berea even did a catalog that focused on that process. 

But I had gone to Berea to learn something else. I was a Religion and Philosophy major. I was studying the faith, the history of the church, the deeper questions of life, ethics, and the like. Here, too, I found mentors that inspired and instructed me in the academic disiplines: Dr. John Wallhausser, Dr. Robert Hoag, Dr. David Hester, Dr. Fred Oscanyon, Dr. Robert Suder, Dr. Jim Holloway. All of them offering up their wisdom and insights and guidance to students like myself. There was a real sense of collegeality among us. 

It was during this time that I first learned of Thomas Merton. He was not in my faith tradition growing up. He was a Trappist Monk and I was a child in a Baptist Church. He was a poet and prolific writer of essays and poems and theology. He was someone who had been in academia before answering the call to become a religious. He came from another country and another time. 

He was familiar to some of those I mentioned above. Some, in fact, knew him personally and had stories to tell of their encounters. Merton was there in the background of my studies even before I had read the first word of his writings. He was there waiting for me to discover. Through the guidance of others I found his words and his words rang with the clarity of the monastery bells as if to call me. But it would be some time before I more fully heard that call. 

While in seminary I decided that I needed to visit the Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani in Trappist, KY. My friend Malcolm and I scheduled a brief retreat in January of 1990. We went and lived with the monks for a few days; I saw Merton’s grave among the others of Gethsemani—the same small white cross as all the rest. In the dining room I heard his voice as they played recordings of his talks with the novices. I chanted with brothers who had chanted the same Psalms when Merton was there living out his calling. It was a touchstone moment.

Through the years I continued to retreat at Gethsemani. I continued to read Merton’s writings. I continued to be drawn to the Cistercian charism of contemplation. I studied silence and solitude and his spirituality that I found deep and rich. 

Earlier this year I took a new interest in Merton. When I saw his Seven Storey Mountain offered on sale as a Kindle book for $1.99, I couldn’t resist. Yes, I have a hard copy that I read years ago. But I had been reading some on Kindle and I picked it up again. Once again I was reliving the story of Merton’s struggle with his spirit and call towards the priesthood and the monastery. It reminded me of my own struggles with God’s call on my life. 

When I finished rereading the Seven Storey Mountain I picked up other Merton titles to read or reread: New Seeds of Contemplation, The Sign of Jonas, The Ascent to Truth, The Inner Experience, A Course in Christian Mysticism, A Course on the Desert Fathers, Thoughts in Solitude, No Man Is an Island, Conjectures of a Guilty By-Stander, and the Asian Journal. For several months now I have been reading Merton again on a daily basis. 

I am amazed at the breadth of his knowledge. I am astounded at the depth of his faith. I am inspired by his devotion to his monastic calling of obedience and poverty and prayer. I am instructed by his grasp of history as well as the events of his day. I am captured by his sense of grace. There is so much here to be emulated.

Behind only the Bible itself, no other theologian or writer has had a bigger impact on my life. In Merton I find someone who lived a life of simplicity, silence, and solitude; he was a contemplative and a mystic. He lived close to nature in a way that reminds me of both Franciscan and Celtic Christianity. He studied Zen and connected with Asian monastics in a way that moves beyond the narrow, parochial focus of some churches. He was open to the Spirit as it blew through the woods of Gethsemani or through the world. I am so grateful for all of this. 

As Merton pointed out, we will always be beginners. Each day we begin again, and each day now I invite Fr. Louis (how appropriate for a monk from France) to offer up wisdom and love and grace for the day. I will always enjoy his tutelage. Another day, another lesson. 

I will never attain the depths of his insights, but I will seek to follow in the way he has trod before me. Merton will be my mentor. 

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone. —Thomas Merton — Thoughts in Solitude