THERE IS a problem with this blog—a problem I anticipated before I placed my first post. If the problem were to be considered a disease, then it is born of the same pathogen that affects many people who try to exemplify an image of deep faith in God. It infects writers, television personalities, radio hosts, and people who sit in pews on Sundays. It is, to put it into the least offensive terms possible, a lack of transparency. It is a lack of openness, a lack of full disclosure, a lack of being fully human. In these ways, and depending upon the perceptions of others, it is a manner of presenting one’s self that can be seen as downright dishonest.

Granted, and to use a metaphor, if a person is trying to peer in my front window, and if the window is dirty and hazy so that they cannot see inside my house, and they can only see the “me” that dares to leave the house, then this is one thing. It is not clinically dishonest. After all, if a person cannot see into my house and merely assumes that I am the same person when I am inside that I am when outside, this isn’t my fault. Perhaps they are naïve. But on the other hand, if I know that that person is peering, and if I purposely leave my windows dirty so that they will be left in their naiveté to assume that I am, 24/7/365, the same person they always see on the street, then the once mere appearance of dishonesty now becomes more real. It approaches tenuously close to moral fraud; a vice we know better as hypocrisy.

The problem with this blog is that it could easily be a form of moral fraud. A person could read this blog and assume many things which would be far more lofty than I deserve. I do not want that to happen. I do not mind if my front window is a bit foggy; in fact there may be good reason for me to leave it that way. But to rely upon it, and to hide behind it, is wrong.

Why do we as individuals hide, and why although we do not like to admit it, do we prefer that other people hide as well? Part of the reason is that we do not like to mix our peas and carrots. It is not always an easy thing to look at another person’s dichotomies and find a good solid thing to hold to. We want to place people on pedestals, or keep them in the dirt. It is more simple this way. It allows us to keep a list of the good and bad. It makes it easier for us to compare ourselves with others.

But this approach denies what is true—that to be human is to be both good and bad; to at once harbor virtue and vice. To look at only one side of a person is to throw part of them away, and if we throw part of a person away, we have made them less than whole. And what good is this, to live in a world of partial people? It makes true love impossible. It leaves us in a position to say, “I can love this part of you, but not that part,” which, by the way, is the coward’s way of saying, “I don’t really love you at all.” Or worse still we may say, “I cannot love any part of you, because I cannot love all of you.” This, at least, is honest—but it is horrendously petty and shallow, a game the Devil himself must find quite enjoyable to watch.

I THINK of this phenomenon when I think of the American writer Thomas Merton. His published works through the forties, fifties and sixties were elegant and sublime. They spoke of a person who was far beyond all but a few of us in Godly faith and experienced spirituality. He was to me, in a sense, superhuman. But in recent years I read through his personal journals and found a man who was at times bitter, angry, grumbling and petty. He was often sad and discouraged. He broke the rules of his superiors in the monastery, even going so far as to berate them in his private writings. He considered renouncing his vows. He fell in love with a nurse and seriously questioned Catholic doctrines. On numerous occasions he sneaked out of the monastery to go drinking with a friend. All of this from a man who wrote brilliantly on the complete devotion of one’s entire self to God. Was this the man who at one time was a hero to me? Was he, in truth and in the end, nothing but a grand and clever hypocrite? I think not—although I also think that he wondered this about himself.

It took me a while to sort it out in my mind, and for a while I could no longer read anything he had to say, but what I eventually found in Merton’s journals was a richer, deeper, more fully and authentically human writer and monk. His public writings and his private writings, I now see, complemented each other to form a completed picture of what it means to be human; to be born of two natures that struggle to find a common and sane ground in the midst of one’s own type of madness. It was this struggle that Merton intimated in all of his writings, no matter from which side of the window they were penned. Once this is understood, Merton’s strength shines more brightly, for he knew that his strength was actually the strength of God, which was made manifest in Merton’s weaknesses.

I, TOO, like everyone else, am a story of two natures struggling to find some common ground, some true and lasting peace, some bit of sanity in the midst of my own madness. But this blog, like my daily life, continues to leave this struggle obscured behind a frosted haze. It still paints a picture of a shadow-person who is breathing and moving and casting shapes and forms upon the surfaces of life, but is not a full three dimensional form.

I hope with all of my heart that the posts in this blog reveal the beauty I truly, deeply and honestly see in life, and that a few people may read them and find some use in them. I hope they help people to discover greater depth and meaning in their lives, just as I search for these things in mine. Yet I also hope, with equal passion, that in the end when I am fully known by the world, the picture will be complete, and much more useful and meaningful than the partial image with which today my cowardice is all too content.

IF I AM to live in this physical world and see it rightly, see each created thing as a manifestation of God’s glory, I must see that the world, both in its visible forms and in its hidden forms, is part of the word of God. I must then take what I see and I must love what I see; not love a particular thing as if for its own sake, but love it for the particular word or words of God it is. I do not need to love the things of this world, but I must come to dearly and passionately love the spirit of God as it shows itself to me within and through them. Once I have seen and learned to love what is before me, I must welcome this love into my heart that it may compel me to act in accord with God’s word all around me. If I cannot do this, the meaning of all these things will be lost to me and I will not hear his voice. Each utterance of God around me will fall upon my deafness and remain only a thing that exists to serve me, pleasure me, profit me, or submit its own life and death to me. I will mistake my own voice for that of God.

THE THING man needs most is certainly not what the world offers him in foolish philosophies, childish physical distractions and cheap entertainment. Those things are little more than lies, and certainly man does not any more of those than he already has. But neither does man need to sit in a chair and study himself blind concerning himself with insignificant details of religion or think about what he can do to make himself more approved by other men. Least of all what he needs is to go through his day wondering if he appears holy enough to everybody else that God is sufficiently pleased with him. There are ten thousand things in the world and probably that many more in religion that man does not need and is therefore better off without. What man needs most is the touch of God, and a heart that is open and pure enough to feel it when it comes.

MY APOLOGIES for not posting more material lately. Other writing ventures have taken precedence. In an effort to supply all of my loyal readers with some material, I've decided to paste in some aphorisms from my web site; in case the three of you haven't read them yet.

If love were perfected in us, we would be able to accept people just as they are. As it is, we try to change people into something our imperfection can tolerate. Most of the time, what I find unlovable in another person is actually an inability within myself to love them well.

Sometimes I pray to God and ask him to help end the contempt I feel toward certain people. And he tells me my problem is not contempt, but envy.

I’ve read that it is better to be the lamb than the lion—better to be the hunted than the hunter. I think given a choice, I would be a sea lion. They are both the hunted and the hunter, and seem far too joyous and content to worry about which is better.

If I think I am full of pride, I am most probably correct. If I think I am a little humble, I am most probably mistaken.

If we could ever find the courage to live completely open and honest lives, we would find that a few people love us more than we ever thought possible, that most people do not care about us one way or the other, and that some people genuinely hate us more than we ever imagined. Until we come to know that a little bit of true love is worth far more than a bunch of apathy and hatred, we will always choose to remain false in the face of others.

If all the moral people in the world refused to fight wars, then wars would be even more horrible than they already are.

The more we learn to love, the more we see that love is everywhere.

Those who seek justice outside of God’s Love are seeking a phantom.

The only home I have is the Love of God. In it I feel safe and warm and sheltered, and as if I belong there. All of the other things of life are temporary inconveniences, made bearable only by what portion of God’s Love shines through them.

For all this time we have been minimizing the humanity of Jesus in order to elevate his deity—while in reality only his humanity can show us deity.

The only way we will ever have everything in common is for each of us to want nothing but God.

Sometimes I think there is more honest talk of God in our bars than in our churches.

When a baby is born and takes its first breath, a doctor glances between its legs and makes a fundamental judgment. In a single pronouncement an entire lifetime of expectations, limitations, and stipulations are placed upon a brand new human being. All of this is based upon a few ounces of flesh, in a society which claims to value spirit more than body. No wonder the baby cries.

A love that loves freely. There is no other kind.

The person who could most easily be loved, yet rejects love, is far worse off than the most miserable of creatures who welcomes even a little bit of love.

If you believe in God and the free will of man, you eventually must conclude that the destiny of the world may be decided by a single person. The most frightening thing of all is that person may be you or me. Think about that the next time you kneel to pray.

There are a great many people who firmly believe God has more than enough grace to save them, yet not nearly enough to save certain others. There is something seriously awry in the heart and mind of the person who says he loves God, yet waits with baited breath for others to go to Hell.

The result of union with God, when projected onto and defined within the mental and physical domains, is compassion.

With every sentence I write, I am reminded that Jesus was too selfless, too humble, too concerned with others, too close to God, and perhaps too simple to ever consider recording his thoughts. The day I stop writing about Jesus will be a day I am one step closer to being like him.

The path of Jesus was not a happy path—it was a road of suffering. This is a difficult thing to accept in a society which claims the pursuit of happiness as a God-given right.

I’m waiting for the people who advocate ‘family values’ to learn enough about Jesus that they realize ‘family values’ were not high on his priority list.

We mustn’t forget that all of the horrendous acts of hatred, brutality and injustice throughout history were carried out by people who believed they were correct and justified in all they did. We must surely check ourselves against our bigotry and our hatred, but what we must examine most closely and most honestly are our convictions of what is right and what is wrong. A little hatred can destroy the entire world—but not before a flawed system of belief justifies it in the mind of the perpetrator.

Our pride tells us that the things we have kept from others and amassed for ourselves are gifts given to us by God.

We can only meet God together in our brokenness—but we are too afraid to show one another that we are fractured.

Many people assume that winning an argument is synonymous with being correct. Clever quarrelers, therefore, often wind up believing they are especially intelligent—when in fact the only tools they possess are a quick tongue, stubborn ego, blind insensitivity, and lots of practice.

Once you have found God, you know that you belong to those who haven’t.

We wealthy Christians usually defend our extravagance by saying, ‘It isn’t what we possess, but what our priorities are.’ But I know what the life of Jesus tells me. It tells me that what I possess reveals my priorities.