Yesterday, I received word he died.
The last time I saw him was a couple years ago for dinner.
His memory was failing, but his spirit was still present.
When I was in college, he brought me to Jesus.
Not by thumping the Bible or threatening damnation, but by opening the door to a way of thinking about God and faith and social justice I had not known before knowing him. Here’s the story.
Sophomore year.
Spring quarter.
The class: Modern Religious Thinkers.
I am sure I read a number of books that quarter, but I only remember one.
Raids on the Unspeakable by Thomas Merton.
At the end of the quarter I made an appointment to see him.
“I would like to do my Independent Study on Thomas Merton.” I told him.
“Wonderful.” he said.
“You know he was Roman Catholic.
And a monk.
And lived in a monastery.
And took a vow of silence.”
“You know he was Roman Catholic.
And a monk.
And lived in a monastery.
And took a vow of silence.”
I am sure my face said I did not.
First quarter of my Junior year I lost (or found?) myself in reading books by Thomas Merton.
Seven Story Mountain. Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander. New Seeds of Contemplation.
Eight or nine books in all.
Along weekly conversations about what I was reading and learning.
I have not been the same since.
Thankfully.
For years, Raids on the Unspeakable had a place on my bookshelf.
I went to look for it today, but could not find it.
I don’t know what happened to it.
I don’t know what happened to it.
But I remember it.
The worn cover.
Every page highlighted. Underlined. Notes in the margins.
Today, I am grateful.
And sad.
Another of the mentors in my life has passed away.
And sad.
Another of the mentors in my life has passed away.
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