I remember being quite surprised sitting up on my mountain with my dogs about 20 years ago and reading Thomas Merton’s description of life in his beloved Monastery, Getthsemani. “Deliberate cult of frustration and nonsense. Professional absurdity. Isn’t life absurd enough already without adding to it our fantastic frustrations and stupidities?”
It didn’t sound like a Trappist monk to me. But it touched my heart and woke me up.
Looking back on this outburst, I remember thinking that this is what I have often felt about my work, the people I worked for, and what people have often accused me of.
Two of the spiritual writers and thinkers I most admire are Merton and his colleague Henri Nouwen. They are the most penetrating spiritual thinkers (I’ve recently added Joan Chitttister to the list) I have read.
In their autobiographical writings, Merton and Nouwen both describe themselves as being impatient, petty, neurotic, selfish, testy, and often even mean. That’s not the usual way spiritual leaders describe themselves.
I wasn’t used to reading famous authors who were so candid about themselves; biographies and writings of influential and famous people are usually a vehicle for self-praise, preaching, boasting, and self-congratulation.
The other shocking thing about what I was reading was that I am guilty of those things at different times. Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I don’t like the face staring back.
Their honesty drew me to them and inspired me. That kind of authenticity is what I wanted, and it was a relief to realize that other people could forgive it and even support it.
Their writing opened some reality about spirituality: you don’t need to be a saint to achieve it.
I advocate for blogs; I recommend them to many people who ask me questions and are often unhappy with their lives.
But very few people start one; they tell me they are too uncomfortable sharing their lives with strangers on social media. I respect their caution. I appreciate my choice. They don’t wish to do what I did, which is their right.
This candid introspection attracted me even as I expected it would anger and even outrage some of my readers.
I’m embarrassed to say almost all of the hateful messages came from outside of the blog, not from my regular readers. Many have disagreed with me, but hardly anyone who reads the blog regularly has sent me a cruel or hateful message.
How foolish of me to miss that.
Our culture these days does not allow for mistakes or honest revelation. Media, online and off, is most often used as a device for puffing people up, not for admitting flaws and problems.
Any politician who makes a mistake risks cancellation and condemnation. We are a no-tolerance culture.
One of the things that struck me about the writings of these two men was that the flaws they admitted to having were the same things people began accusing me of over time. I had to think about that. Merton and Nouwen are heroes to me of a sort.
And the odd thing about it is that every one of these things were flaws and problems I had admitted to on my blog and openly acknowledged more than once
If you look carefully on Facebook or the nightmare Twitter has become, you will see people writing about how happy and gifted they and their families are. The photos are cheerful, cute, and upbeat, like Hallmark Cards.
For all the cruelty and hostility, it’s easy to see that more people want to be seen as happy and without life on social media. This makes it tricky for people – me too at one time – to deal with the realities of life when they strike.
I could be honest and still survive; that’s what I was learning.
It was a painful lesson but a meaningful one, and it brought liberation and happiness. Nobody could hurt me since I had faced the truth about myself. But I won’t lie. Some of the messages were just plain evil, and they hurt me.
I know a lot of people who have the most awful problems to face. Still, you would never know it by the happy stories and pictures that are everywhere on platforms like Facebook, Substack, or what is now called X. It makes sense when one realizes they are all about money.
Truth is in trouble in our society; lying and hiding is safer. You can’t be real if you can only be honest for money. Honesty has to come from inside.
Merton and Nouwen’s candor were revelations for me, shaping the heart of my blogging experience and ambitions.
Being open, I reasoned, would make my writing more relevant, not less, since every human being has similar flaws and neuroses, that is a part of being human. Public figures can no longer be human; the media won’t support it.
But living a false life was almost literally killing me and making me even crazier than I was. I needed to be authentic and honest with myself.
One day, a presidential candidate will recognize the power of truth and transform our constipated politics.
In his book “The Return Of The Prodigal Sun,” Nouwen wrote powerfully about his resentfulness and anger towards those who live “the high life,” his constant desire for forgiveness and, and the pressure of always having to be a good boy.
These profoundly spiritual men, brilliant writers, had many of the same problems I had and that I was fighting so hard to escape.
I could be mean and often was when criticized; I could be petty, neurotic, fearful, irritable, and nasty. I couldn’t be as bright as either, but I could be as authentic.
I feared that these revelations would turn people away from me, and that happened.
But I knew it was also bringing many honest people to me and my blog, people who yearned to do good but had obstacles to climb, both in life and in their spiritual wishes.
Some were fighting the same struggles; some just wanted to see what would become of me.
When I acknowledged that I suffered from severe anxiety disorders and depression at one time and was being treated for mental illness, I was warned that it would turn people away from my blog and writing.
It wasn’t done on most blogs; it was mostly about selling things. And self-promotion.
But the opposite happened. As long as I was honest, people were curious about me, accepted me, and related my troubles to theirs. It was when I hid, lied, or got angry that I failed in my own goals.
The “confessional style” is a familiar writing style in the spiritual realm. That turned out to be my style. It wasn’t a conscious choice but a powerful feeling from inside.
Open, self-confessional memoirs were the mainstays of Christian literature – Saint Augustine, Saint Teresa of Avila, Saint Ignatius Loyola, C.S. Lewis, etc. Those were the writers and philosophers who helped launch my spiritual experiment.
I read almost all of them.
They all shared one treat – honesty. They had walked the walk.
The flawed and wounded writer – I guess that’s me too – was and is appealing to ordinary, thoughtful, and sometimes broken people, and that, I have learned, is almost everyone who can face the truth about themselves.
As I have also learned, my admitted flaws are off-putting and distancing for many others. For many people, the more troubled they are, the angrier they can get at having troubles thrown in their faces by people who presume to be open and share their lives.
I was again surprised by people who accused me of things I had admitted quite openly. They didn’t know what or who I was. Nor do they want to learn.
I have finally learned to let go of them and share my life with people who know what I am talking about and want to share the experience.
For me, this was a wise and intuitive move.
My reading audience has grown, and I have felt closer and closer to the people who have been reading to me and are still coming to read me. I am learning to trust them, not hide from them.
I think this is because my flaws seem to be some of their own, and they are eager to see if they can learn from it.
My blog is deliberately about many more things than my shortcomings, but at the core, I think, is what Merton and Nouwens taught me about being honest about myself.
If you follow nothing but our social and mainstream media, it’s easy to think of our country as an angry, seething, and hostile culture, but my experience has taught me otherwise. That has made my life otherwise.
My world has filled up over the years with people who want to see the truth in others and themselves and look for safe places to explore it (the animals don’t hurt, and neither does the photography or Maria).
My thank you messages far outweigh the loving and supporting ones.
The great spiritual thinkers I love the most are restless and uncertain. Merton and Nouwen never stopped doubting their faith and wisdom to the end.
Reading Merton’s journals up on my mountain, I will never forget my surprise at the time of his confessed affair with Marge, a nurse who was treating him in the hospital. Merton asked visitors to his hermitage to bring fistfuls of quarters to him so he could sneak off the grounds to call her on the telephone, something strictly forbidden in his Trappist order.
During this chaotic period, Merton finally found the romantic love that had eluded him his whole life. He had finally met a real woman, not a mythic Christian, a Blessed Mother, or a saint.
It did blow my mind a bit that he and I were looking for the same thing, something I would never have known if I had taken the public Merton at face value. It was okay to be me and still have a spiritual life.
He didn’t get the girl. I did.
For me, the lesson was clear. Acknowledge my flaws, never stop wanting to be better, and share what I was learning. I find this a good direction as the blog, and I age.
The process led me to be honest with my readers, which was impossible without being honest about myself. I wanted the blog to be a safe gift for people willing to examine their lives and go inward.
I now have perspective on the sometimes angry and cruel people who hated what I was doing, but it makes sense now. It isn’t personal, and it’s no excuse to be mean. Telling the truth about my many shortcomings opened the way for the blog to be successful and for me to be a better person and a creative one.
I learned these trolls were cowards. When challenged, they vanished instantly and didn’t come back.
When Henri Nouwen was depressed and sometimes suicidal, he asked a teacher what he should do to heal. The 10-word response changed his life: “If you can’t get out of it, go into it.” So he did. So did I.
Having nothing to hide is liberating and healthy beyond that. It opens the door to love, identity, and peace of mind.
Like Merton, my work will never be done; my restlessness will never vanish, and my searching and doubting are woven into my DNA. Merton’s writings about his love, heartbreak, and confusion are among his most influential and touching writings.
He helped many people think about celibacy, chastity, fidelity, love, intimacy, and faith. I suppose it’s no accident that I have struggled with all of these things and will think about them to the end.
To me and others, their gift was Merton and Nouwen’s never-ending search to be loving men, men of integrity and faith. That was the kind of man I wanted to be but wasn’t. I’m still working on it.
The blog is my counterpart in a way. It is doing well because I am doing well. I am doing well because I learned in mid-life that honesty is precious.
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Featured Image: Sketch by Maria Wulf, “Jon Reading In A Doctor’s Office.”
