Here we go again. If you’ve followed this blog over the past few years you may recall that I get into streaks or fixations about topics for reading, study, etc. Last week, my wife and I watched a documentary (available on Netflix) about Thomas Merton. Similar to my experience with several of Merton’s books, I had tried to watch this film before but just couldn’t get into it. Although I understand that there are some things in life we will never find resonance with, I kept his books anyway in the expectation of revisiting them at some point in the future. My fascination with the documentary and subsequent start on his book, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, affirm that for me, the time has come.

In watching the film, I was struck by how Merton, even from within the walls of an isolated monastery and an order with a strict rule of silence, managed to fully engage the world. In that regard, I’m reminded of a song George Harrison wrote based on his own spiritual and mystical experiences. It’s called “The Inner Light” and it contains the following lyrics:

Without going out of my door,
I can know all things on earth
without looking out of my window,
I can know the ways of heaven.
The farther one travels
the less one knows
the less one really knows.
Without going out of your door,
You can know all things on earth
without looking out of your window,
you can know the ways of heaven.
The farther one travels
the less one knows
the less one really knows.
Arrive without travelling,
See all without looking,
Do all without doing.

Primarily through reading and written correspondence, Merton came to know the world and engage it - well before the “Internet Age” (he died in 1968). Despite his geographic isolation and the time consumed by the daily spiritual and physical demands of monastic life, Merton managed to live openly; maintaining “space” for the unforseen – that which he had yet to know and experience. This is a paradox because most of us would expect that the sequestered monastic life would isolate a person from the world and its faddish ideas, thus allowing for an unobstructed, untainted focus on God. As with many widely-held perceptions, this is true only in part. In Merton’s case, the disciplines and practices of the monastic life created a rock-solid foundation from which he could examine, then embrace or reject new ideas and experiences without fear of “contamination”. For him, the monastary was not a fortress protecting one from the world, but a place with permeable walls where ideas and philosophies (new and old) could be thoroughly examined. For this reason, Merton was a man who continued to be reshaped by God until the day he died.

Not that I would ever equate myself with Merton, but over the years I’ve come to realize that this is a philosophy of life I have also chosen to embrace. As a natural introvert, I have a need to consistently retreat into the “monastery of the mind” for reflection, insight, and refreshment. At the same time, I also feel compelled to “go out” (physically and intellectually) as a Christian and engage the world, examining cultural practices and philosophies, and trying to connect with people “right where they are”. To be sure, caution and discernment are required; but as Merton showed through the example of his life, if God is guiding the process – we need not fear the unknown or unforseen. I realize this perspective on life is somewhat out of the “Christian mainstream”, but the brief time I’ve spent reading Merton has already encouraged me that it’s OK to be different.