By Jeff Kenney
Journal, Part II:
-1:00pm, Saturday: I am in the “meditation room” I discovered at the end of the hall on my floor, the 3rd, which at first had seemed to have nothing but guest rooms. So many places to study, pray, and meditate, and such silence and conducive decorum (the icons and arrangement of the rooms) in which to do it! I love this place more and more, and more and more find a spiritual “home” here in the sense that this seems like MY kind of Christianity – a Christianity that recognizes and embraces all that I have found in the Gospels’ message, and for which I don’t need to make excuses or allowances.
Before I forget, one more observance Fr. Kelty made last night, which stuck with me: he was talking about forgiveness and made the point, very eloquently, that we pray in the “Our Father,” “…forgive us our trespasses, even as we forgive those who trespass against us.” So, we’re asking God to forgive US as WE forgive others, so how important it is that we do forgive!
So I went walking and had a great walk – just time spent with God. Found it hard to pray “mentally” (i.e. with words) as it seemed inadequate, so small by comparison with what was going on in my spirit. Fr. James’ talk resonated in my head! He made the point that contemplation, in effect, begins when we have prayed our mental prayers out, when we have exhausted our ‘selves,’ come to the end of our ‘selves,’ and there is nothing left to say. There is God, there begins contemplation. He quoted St. Paul as saying, “When I am weak, then I am most strong,” for then God takes over “me” and I am guided by Him.
Followed a different trail than the last time I was here (which was six months ago, for just a few hours’ visit), a beautiful wooded trail to the statuary, or the ‘Garden of Gethsemani.’ It had a footbridge, etc…a wildflower garden near the beginning was marked by a little sign with a wildflower prayer. A little way later, another sign said, “Quiet please – wildlife in progress,” or something to that effect. All along the trail were occasional statues of Christ, Mary, Joseph, crucifixes, some made of sticks tied together. At one point, on a large, flat rock, someone had made a crucifix shape out of small stones they’d found. It was like that the whole way! I wish I could describe the effect it had, the peace it brought me, and the warmth with which it seemed to draw me deeper into the family of Christ.
"The Prayer of the Wildflowers" on the garden trail
Here, finally, was a Christianity which unabashedly expressed itself in spontaneity and fullness. There was nothing forced or obligatory about all of those handmade crucifixes. It was like all the silly New Age rock gardens, and other sorts of hippy icons that people put up in certain places, but here are Christians, recognizing God in nature, celebrating Him in unconventional, but spontaneous – almost childlike – ways! Christians so happy and glad of their faith, that they drew crucifixes in the gravel in front of one bench, or cover the statue of Christ in agony with handmade crucifixes from sticks (seeming to view him as in the anguished image of that statue, as the real, living, feeling person he was and is, not as an icon, an image, a concept, a dogma), or adorn the stations of the cross with wildflowers. Looking at the other retreatents, I saw mature, respectful adults here, not teenagers trying artificially to be ‘wild and free’ – and certainly the signs and statues were placed there by monks. There was just such pure love of the cross – and all it symbolizes – in all of this!
Statue of Christ's agony, Garden of Gethsemani
Further on (adding to the above), I saw a small woodshed, which I at first took to be someone’s hermitage. It was full of pictures, icons, crucifixes, scraps of handwritten paper, and randomly placed photos. Rosary beads hung around the place, and there was a desk with a pile of notebooks upon it. I took a few photos and ventured inside, feeling very violating. It took me a while to realize that the shack was a “Rosary House” for praying the Rosary, and much of what adorned the walls were photos of visitors and prayers for others. The notebooks, one for each year going back several years, were full of prayer notes and just general observances, many of them from people saying things like, “This is my first visit to Gethsemani, and…” and then going on to describe the peace they feel here, etc. I saw no notes of disrespect or vandalism, but freely expressed love, prayer requests, and spirituality. I added a few lines, among them a prayer for my three-year-old daughter, Cecilia, and all the children of the world. I should have left a note for S. (a friend going on a retreat here next year), and told her to look it up next year when she comes here for her retreat! Maybe I’ll go back and do so!
There was a large stone from Thomas Merton’s Zen Garden nearby, with a photo of its original location (seemingly near the monastery itself), and just generally a lot of great beauty. A statue of Mary in prayer was flanked by a sign that said, simply, “Pray Pray Pray.”
I made my way up to the top of a small but lovely hill, which was shared by an old oak tree and altogether made a picture out of paradise! Once I got to the top, the view was even more stunning – the knobs and valleys cradled the sky on every side, shrouded in ethereal mist and layered in a patchwork of gradually shrinking hills, further and further into an endless horizon of gray, tree-covered slopes, overlooking a sort of timeless mysteriousness – a denseness and majesty full of age-old secrets.
Amidst it all, there was the one great, treeless hill adorned with a large, stone cross, which overlooks Gethsemani. I thought of how, if ever a view merited one of those panoramic photos or internet 360-degree scope, it was this!
"Calvary" Hill, Gethsemani
Made my way down and discovered I was very close to the only trail I’d taken last time I visited, the wide gravel trail leading into the dense woods. I’d had high hopes, from talking with S., that that trail was going to lead to Merton’s first – and temporary – hermitage. St. Anne’s. I had been looking at a map in Mott’s bio of Merton, which said that St. Anne’s was just beyond the ‘petrified forest,’ a nickname given a wooded area full of statues which once resided inside the Abbey. The trail looked very close to the old grain barn and lake, which I took to indicate the trail I’d taken. But I wound up walking that trail for at least 2 or 3 miles before turning around to make it to lunch.
I prayed to beat the rain, as I had my camera with me, and not five minutes after I finally walked into the Retreat house, it began to pour!
I spent much of the walk back trying the Jesus Prayer, and did feel a definite presence and deepening awareness of God. But this was just a poor, shallow attempt at meditation! Besides, important to remember what one of those books I’m looking at said: not to seek the gifts of contemplation, but the GIVER of the gifts!
I was considering heading out walking again soon, but it just started pouring again! This time a real torrential downpour! Beautiful, though – the view from the meditation room is stunning. I am seated facing the big bay window and the layers of trees and hills rise gradually into great, misty forms on the horizon. right: a view of the knobs as seen from the "Meditation Room"(click to enlarge)
Another book I stumbled across in the library: “Lives of the Desert Fathers” translated by Norman Russell. Great stories, several ancient sources in one volume, I am beginning to discover where I’m headed next, perhaps! At least it feels good to dig deeper than reading Merton’s IMPRESSIONS of all of these ancient texts, which is what I’ve been doing, essentially.
Just this weekend, much more of the history and development of contemplation, Christian asceticism, etc., is coming into focus for me. And I’ve gotten tired of feeling like a Merton groupie, so it’s good to do some research on my own and not have to feel lost in the wilderness as to where to start! Can’t wait to try and track down some of these books once I get home, so I can dig in (as if I didn’t have enough reading piling up!).
Wow, what a downpour! God must be preventing me from going looking for Merton’s hermitage!
Attended Sext at 12:15 – nice. Then lunch. Showed some nice old ladies the way to the cafeteria, where they were stopped by a woman who was serving there (several lay people work here in the Retreat House cafeteria…in fact, it appears ALL lay people), who asked them if they were retreatents. They said no, and asked if it were possible to get something to eat, and she firmly told them, “Retreatents only.” I felt bad continuing on, and almost offered them some of my meal – I don’t think the monks would have been so ungracious in their demeanor, if they’d have turned the ladies away at all! It seemed to go against the spirit of hospitality and charity of the place, though I know the woman was just doing her job.
-2:30 pm, Saturday: Thought that None was performed (chanted) at 2:30, but the ringing of the bell told me it was 2:15 instead! So, being in a hurry, I slipped out of the meditation room and remembered the balcony, and so went there.
Reminded me of a nun who was at a Thomas Merton retreat at Ancillary College a few months ago with me. She recalled visiting Gethsemani in the 1950’s and being led to the balcony to hear the monks chant – at the time, women were pretty much completely forbidden at Gethsemani, so the nuns were apparently shuffled quickly through. Anyway, she recalled the priest pointing to one monk and saying, “THAT’S Thomas Merton.”
I had not actually been to any of the Hours from the balcony, and it was somehow much more beautiful – the view, perhaps the lack of crowdedness….maybe it was more what I had envisioned. I felt somehow less like a tourist!
This time, at any rate, the whole thing was gorgeous, and I felt – and still feel – a prickling, emotional joy and peace. I can’t describe the feeling of it this time…beautiful! The chanting: the words each resonated with meaning and glory – God, how the timelessness of those voices echoed off the walls, how present Christ was! I think perhaps I’m getting into the rhythm of it, know what to expect now, know when to bow at the Cross, what to say…the Doxology, understand what they are doing, going through the Psalms.
It is really similar to what I have been doing with the Book of Common Prayer (the Episcopal prayer book), but so beautiful. Interesting that the beauty of it didn’t hit me suddenly when I first saw it at Compline, or at Lauds or Sext today, but gradually I acclimated to the flow of it, and am overwhelmed by its beauty.
Should I stop and go for a walk now, with three hours before Vespers – maybe look for the hermitage? The rain has stopped; will it stay stopped….hmmm…
O how I wish I could live this way always! But would I get discouraged with this? One weekend is one thing, but always? And to cut contact down to almost nil, with my friends and family?
Yet being HERE, where Christ is everywhere (as if He isn’t everywhere else as well!) is the kind of framework, safety-net – if you will – that someone like me would need, to be able to do it. I certainly couldn’t do it in the ‘outside’ world. So different! So much secularism (by definition, of course!), so little spirituality!
Go on to the Journal, Part III...