Spiritual Direction and the ordinary Christian

Thomas Merton suggests that spiritual direction is necessary for those with a vocation as a religious. An argument can be made, and he entertained (Spiritual Direction and Meditation p.14), that all ordinary Christians have a vocation of some kind to use their all for God.

What strikes me is that Merton suggests that the ordinary Christian should, in the course of faithful involvement in church, have their basic needs for spiritual direction met.

Much has changed, even in the Roman Catholic church since Merton wrote this. Private confession is rare. I wonder what we can do as churches to fill the basic needs of spiritual direction that will draw people to a greater intimacy with Christ, where perhaps they will desire a more formal directing relationship. Can we somehow create a community that is mutually supportive, a family of spiritual friends? How do we start?

Yet Merton points out that the general direction afforded by participation in church is “not really what we mean by spiritual direction in the present study” (Spiritual Direction and Meditation p.14).

If the ordinary direction that should be expected as a part of the sacrament isn’t deep enough for those who have a vocation to be a religious, how is it enough for the ordinary Christian? Is it that it has become a more hostile world than it was in Merton’s time? He points out that spiritual fathers and mothers were desperately needed in the danger of the hermit’s desert. Are we face in our cities and affluence less assaulted by demons than the monks who thought the dwelled in the desert? Perhaps to face the powers of hell today one only need visit an industrialized country.

Or is it that the contemplative life - the inner life isn’t for the ordinary Christian? I hope not. I sure hope the ordinary working class folk in my church can taste the depths of Christ, not content to work and struggle and wait for their piece of the pie in the sky by and by. “Man fully alive is the glory of God.”(St. Irenaeus).

Even if the whole life of a person in in their turkeys, God can be found there, perhaps with the help of a director.

Interestingly the Monks here at St. Gregory use Merton's logic to justify their own lack of a spiritual director, their rule creates a structure for the spiritual formation of the men.

Day one at St. Gregory’s Abby

I slept some as the train trundled over its tracks, swaying slightly, rocking me. When my eye lids spread apart, my gaze was captured by the mists that hung over the low hills. Young Dawn’s fingers streching out to gild them - making them shine in sacred twilight.

My mind was still cloudy, sleep was a forgotten lover and the day ahead a stranger. My mind all too readily remembered my true love left on the train platform, our children in her arms waving to me. I remember Foster’s body trembling like a leaf after a freight train roared by the waiting passengers, a bully taunting us with its icy wind.

“Daddy, I don’t want to ride on the train any more, All right?”

He couldn’t come this time anyway. This journey was for me alone. Just me and God - a solitary retreat. Do I really want to do this? I asked myself, thinking of home and family. No, I’d go home if I could, but I’m on my way.

A brother from the Abby met me at the train station. If my misapprehension frightened me on the train, his driving taught me to trust God completely.

Today I’ve prayed the hours with the monks. They chant so softly that I am amazed at the breath support required. Times in the chapel are peaceful, so wrought with the presence of the Holy that I shutter, like Foster before the might of the freight train.

The meals are simple an slight. We sit in silence listening to a reader regale us with the history of Hotels in America. That the monks would engage such an unrelated subject, reminded me what I had studied on the train, that Spiritual Direction is about finding God in all things.

After vespers and supper I hiked around the lake with my guitar and a book. I finally settled in the cemetery on a bench. I sang “This is my Father’s World” as wild turkeys and deer circled. As I was reading my book I heard a twig snap and turned to see a young deer looking at me. My face, the flash of my glasses, so startled it that it screamed and ran away. It actually screamed. It would then creep up on me, when it was within about 10 yards it would stare at me and scream repeatedly. It was like a barking dog. It was the strangest thing I have ever seen from a deer.

It is 9:30 and I am going to bed as soon as I pray compline. Matins are at 4:00am!