The Monk Who Lost His Faith-postcard 5

   

How did this amazing connection begin? 

It was a Fall day in Kentucky in the 70s when John and I watched our little kids tumble down a hill at the monastery. Such a joyful scene. We had come to the Monastery of Gethsemane, me being a huge Thomas Merton fan. He had passed a few years before but I wanted to be where he once was.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a crew cut haired man in denim jeans and shirt coming up a path. We waved. He came over with a big smile and we began to chat. It soon became apparent that something was amiss. I guess it was when he said: "I don't know what I am doing here." It seems our new friend, impressed by the amount of stars and galaxies, had come to an emptiness where belief had once been.

 We invited him to dinner, he came one Thanksgiving and was most kind not to mention the turkey, vastly undercooked, was bleeding. His first meat in twenty years. Poor monk.

We moved back to Georgia but wrote back and forth. He married and moved to Florida. I recall our first Christmas card exchange; mine was filled with angels and shepherds, his was a Christmas flower bordered in black. Once I sent a letter chiding him and his idol Carl Sagan for their hubris in being sure there was no Creator of this vast incredible universe. Pretty bold on my part.

The letters became less frequent but one day I received the above drawing of his monastery and written on the back was 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

What wilt thou find to love ignoble thee

Save Me save only Me."..."The Hound of Heaven" by Francis Thompson

  And I knew that the Hound had finally chased and worn my monk down; that he had turned to embraced the One Who loved him. We will meet again.