I Fled Him Down the Nights: The Monk We Met at Gethsemani

We met the monk on a gravel road at Gethsemani.

It was 1974, my small family of five had just uprooted and moved to Louisville, Kentucky. Having read about Thomas Merton and admiring his faith and writings, we made a pilgrimage to the Trappist Monastery that Fall. There was a lightness in the air. My children 5, 3 and 1 were tumbling down a small hill when I noticed someone walking towards us on a gravel path. He seemed to be heading to the monastery and had such a welcoming smile. Tall, slender, hair closely cropped, he wore a denim shirt and blue jeans. He looked like a farm worker but after introductions we realized he was a monk, Brother John. How lovely to meet another Thomas Merton, I naively mused. I asked how long he had been at Gethsemani and he said words that I will never forget: "I have been here 20 years and don't know why I am here." Then : "I don't believe anymore".

His honesty completely disarmed me. I liked this man so much. We chatted for awhile, left our phone number and he promised to call. He did call and joined us for Thanksgiving that year, the first one he celebrated out of the monastery. Monks are vegetarians and I saw him longing for a piece of turkey. He raved over it although I was beyond embarrassed to notice that it was bleeding a bit. It was a good day and his enjoyment was clear. 

Eventually, we moved back to Georgia, he left the monastery and married but a bond had been forged between us and we kept in touch for years. He even came by in 1980 and stayed with us for awhile.

The things I remember: his first Christmas card to us after he left had a Cardinal on the front and was bordered in black, wishing us a happy holiday. Mine to him was full of angels and hosannas in the highest. One memorable letter spoke of Carl Sagan and how, with his description of the immensity of the Universe, John couldn't believe that God chose to put people on a small blue marble. I wrote back that both he and Carl suffered from hubris and who can really know the Mind of God and what He can do and why. I look back on how cheeky that was but it's true. I think the hubris part made him chuckle. 

As things happen, soon, only Christmas cards were exchanged although we prayed for our good monk often.The last note I received I use for a holy card after laminating it. No salutation, no signature, on the back of a postcard of the monastery, just this:

"Strange piteous futile thing
Wherefore should any set thee love apart
Of all man's clotted clay the dingiest clot
Alack thou knowest not 
How little worthy of love thou art
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee
Save Me, save only Me"

"Hound of Heaven" - Francis Thompson