21 December

Solitude: “The Most Courageous Act Most Of Us Will Ever Do..”

by Jon Katz

In his daily meditation book, Richard Rohr writes that even the simplest spiritual discipline is, to some degree, one of solitude and silence. And most people don’t like it.

To be with our own thoughts and feelings is probably the most courageous act most of us will ever do,” he wrote. “Besides that, we invariably feel bored with ourselves, and all of our loneliness comes to the surface.”

He writes that without some kind of faith, most of us won’t have the courage to go into this terrifying place without a lot of love to protect and comfort us and override our self-doubt and fear.

Such silence, he says, is the most spacious and empowering technique in the world, yet it’s not really a technique at all. It’s the refusal of all techniques.

When I went running to the mountain in 2,000, I spent most of a year in solitude with two Yellow Labs, Julius and Stanley. I don’t know how courageous it was, but I remember how terrifying it was and still is.

I was never as naked and vulnerable as when I sat before a fire and underwent hour after hour of silence and weeks and months of solitude. I had a great deal of self-doubt, and the only love around me was the loyalty of those two dogs and some friends down the road.

I knew I could simply decide the truth about myself amid the real world’s distractions, noise, chaos, and demands. I had to go onside, on a mountaintop, where it was quiet, and I could be alone. I had the sense I would soon be leaving the normal and familiar behind. That was frightening all by itself.

The experience began my hero journey, always lonely and fearful treks.

It was in solitude and the space of loneliness and silence that I finally got a good and authentic look at myself, and that was a horror for me. It was the most terrifying experience of my life, as Rohr writes, which is why, I suppose, so few people want to do it.

Americans spend an average of seven hours a day staring at screens, injecting themselves with endless doses of violence, hatred, and disconnection. How can you be part of a community if you never go outside or offline? How can you find a way to see yourself and face the truth about yourself?

I teach a meditation class at the Mansion, as you know, and I always say there is no technique or right way to meditate, no right or wrong, no pass or fail. You look as deep into yourself as you can go, and if and when it gets unbearable, go back to your breath and breathe deeply in and out.

I find that older people are prone to meditation; they are often alone and free to think about their lives. The class works.

My year of solitude and silence allowed me to become more authentic and begin seeking the spiritual life that has grounded and enriched me. For the longest time, I couldn’t bear to see the truth about myself.

In time, I came to love myself, even to have meaning in my life.

People are shocked when I say I have no interest in being humble. I don’t think it’s good for me now. My new life is still fragile; I have to protect it.

I felt small enough as it was; I wanted to live a life I could be proud of, which would give me happiness and meaning. For me, humility was not what I needed.

I needed courage.

I needed the courage Rohr is talking about and the pride and determination. That’s what I got from solitude and silence. No regrets.

29 October

God Bless You, Sister Lucy And The Search For Grace

by Jon Katz

The feeling inside of me sometimes that I call God is very much inside of me today.  It’s a mix of joy, glow and meaning.

I was reading a book sent to me last week.

It was mailed to me by a woman I have never met or spoken with – Sister Lucy, a Catholic church nun.

She sent me a book that I had read some years ago but had lost and forgotten.

Re-reading it – it’s the “New Seeds Of Contemplation” by the Trappist Thomas Merton, I remember how important it was to me.  I spent a year on a mountain (2000) in contemplation of my life while studying the books and journals of Merton, who died years ago in a freak hotel electrical accident.

The experience – I wrote a book about it called Running To The Mountain – changed my life.

What a loss Merton’s death was.

But I am grateful to him all the time, usually every day. He was my prophet of change, solitude, faith, and contemplation. And he was dead long before I read his brilliant works.

 

 

It was the perfect book for me. Merton was deeply religious, but he was careful to write not only for the converted or Christian faithful but for people who just wanted some faith and grace in their lives.

People like me.

“The book,” he wrote in the preface,” has no other end or idea in view than what should be the ordinary fullfillment of the  Christian life of grace. Therefore everything said here can be applied to anyone, not only in the monastery but also in the world.”

This book was prescient; it was almost as if he foresaw the abandonment of his clear understanding of the Christian ethic for the new and cancerous and destructive Christian ethos, not of grace, but of political power, money,  domination, and bigotry.

Like the country, so much of Christianity often seems to have shed its sense of morality and compassion and turned angry and cruel like our politics.

I’m sorry I missed the Merton Christianity, but grateful for the guide to grace. I know it still exists in many Christians, but they seem to have been outshouted.

I have no idea how Sister Lucy understood why this book was essential to me; she did give a clue in her humbling handwritten letter, stuffed into the book, and she meant a great deal to me.

Letters like that go right into my heart.

“Jon, I Thought you might like some more books on  Thomas Merton. God bless you for all you do for so many – your writing, your work at Bishop Gibbons, and the Mansion. You are special, Sister Lucy.”

You are pretty special, Sister Lucy, to send me that book. God bless you.

 

26 October

Photo Journal, October 26, 2022. Come Along On My Daily Walk-A-Round. Amish Cart, Maria With Dryer Balls, Lulu Nuzzling Robin

by Jon Katz

I’m fortunate to live on my farm. Whenever I get bored, frustrated, frightened, or sad, I grab one of my cameras and set out on a circuit – I walk by Maria’s studio, I walk by the pasture gate, and I visit the donkeys and go out into the pasture Everywhere I look, I see something beautiful and exciting.

I check on the sheep; I look out at the landscape.

Today I scored on all levels, and I want to share the experience with you, as is my custom.

I haven’t taken a photo of an Amish horse cart or an Amish person for months. It was time to catch a coach.

And no,  (sorry, peckerheads and yentas), this doesn’t violate any agreement or understanding I have with my good friend and neighbor Moise, and we aren’t at odds.

 

Moise has never told me what pictures to take and never would. I wouldn’t like it if he did. But I know how the Amish feel about photography. I stopped taking photos of the Amish because I wanted to respect their faith and control my impulses. Horses on or around my property are fair game.

 

 

This afternoon, I saw something I’d never seen before, a donkey nuzzling a sheep (above). At first, I thought she was trying to get him out of the way, but then I saw it was a soft nuzzle. They touched noses. I don’t know what that means; it was sweet to see.

Robin was easy with it, and he never moved a muscle.

 

 

The sky and the clouds never stopped changing today; the sky was beautiful all day.

 

The Little King decides who can come on the farm and who can’t. He tried to run an Amish horse off the property once but thought better when the horse looked at him and sniffed in distaste.

He hasn’t gotten that close since.

Flo loves the wooden crate Maria set out for her as it gets colder; it is lined with fleece and is warm. It wasn’t mean today, but Flo has taken to it anyway. Tomorrow, she gets to listen to me practice my ukelele again; she loved it last time, perhaps because she is deaf.

I might do it again today when Maria heads off to her belly dancing class.

No matter how many times I looked up at the clouds, they were different.

 

It felt good, as always, to take these photos. I decided to call my insurance company and ask if they would insure my two Leica cameras. Maria says I will never lose these cameras, but anybody can lose something precious.

It would ease my mind. If I ever lost a Leica camera or had it stolen, I could never replace it.

Lulu was at her charming best and got a treat out of me as usual, and Maria looked wonderfully proud and creative, holding two of her new dryer balls in her hands. She’s making 50 or 60 and has already sold all of them.

While I was out, the sky turned angry, even in the soft mist (that was this morning).

I came back into my office just as the sun lit up the right-hand corner of the room. I love this image every time I see it, especially in the afternoon. My walk-around did the trick. I’m ready to work.

 

I was walking in the backyard, the kennel, it was a warm day, and the three dogs were out sunning themselves, Maria came out to yell at me for walking around too much on my foot, and I got a lovely portrait of Maria and the dogs in front of her studio. I love them all.


This is what I see out of the corner of my eye in the late afternoon when the sun comes out. I love the farm and give thanks for it every day. Running To The Mountain was one of my life’s best and great decisions.

17 April

Happy Easter From Thomas Merton’s Diary, Easter Sunday, 1999.”Be yourself – Not Your Idea Of What You Think Somebody Else’s Idea Of Yourself Should Be.”

by Jon Katz
Even though I’m not a Christian, my spiritual guide has always been the Trappist Monk Thomas Merton. When I came up to my cabin to spend a year reading Merton’s journals and writing about them, I came across this Easter Sunday passage from 1999.
It captured then and now my hopes and feelings for this holiday of rebirth and renewal, the primary spiritual goals of my life. It was his writing that sparked my move away from what was normal and into the unknown.
His journal entry:
“All the apple trees came out in blossom. Good Friday. It rained and got colder, but today is bright with a pure sky. The willow is full of green. Things are all in, bud.
    And in my heart, the most profound peace, Christ’s clarity, lucid and quiet and ever-present as eternity. You come out on top of a plateau in the spiritual life on these big feasts to get a new view of everything. Especially Easter. Easter is like what it will be entering eternity when you suddenly, peacefully, clearly recognize all your mistakes as well as all that you did well: everything falls into place.”
Thomas Merton, diary entry for Easter Sunday, March 28, 1948, in The Intimae Merton, His Life Through His Journals,  edited by Patrick Hart and Jonathan Montaldo (1999)
I always feed the struggle, to be honest, and I do not worship Jesus Christ as the son of god. But he is my teacher too, and his messages have always shaped and guided my life more than the faith I was born into or the religions I have explored.
I saw and felt this plateau standing on a hill overlooking a magnificent mountain, capped by the morning snow. The rest of the mountain, below the peak, was green and brown and blue, down into the valley below.
This almost hypnotized me.
As I get older, I find I keep going back to Christ’s plea from the mount for people to be caring and forgiving and to work on behalf of the poor and the needy. It took me a long time to get around to what he called us; I am no better than anybody else.
But I am no worse, either.
A woman wrote me the other day worried that I might be discouraging people from criticizing me with my often sharp and sometimes intolerant responses to criticism.
I remember both Merton and Thoreau, two inspirational writers in my life, writing about the difference between disagreement and criticism and between constructive guidance and judgment.
It is cruel and inherently false,” wrote Merton,” to criticize some you do not know or someone who has not asked for your advice.  How dare I presume to know what other people should say and do?
Find the people who you can trust to be honest with you and who will offer guidance in the spirit of love and support, not hurt. No one is under any moral obligation to search for or permit, or accept criticism from people they do not know and who do not know them.”
Thoreau wrote: “Be yourself – not your idea of what you think somebody else’s idea of yourself should be.” This was also a Merton idea; he believed the spiritual life was about discovering who you are and accepting it, good or bad. Only you can do that.
Thoreau wrote in Walden that he wasn’t interested in what other people thought of what he was doing; he was interested in what he thought. That, he wrote, was a solitary and personal experience, not a communal one or something for strangers to do.
Thoreau’s friend Emerson was more direct. ” To be yourself in a world constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”
Amen to that. Honest criticism is the first cousin of love and good faith. We try to correct or guide – or help –  the people we care about. We rush to criticize the people we hate or dislike. When we do good, we do so in a gentle and earnest way.
Maria tells me the truth about the dumb and foolish things I do all the time. Her truth can sting and wound. I accept every word of it, even when I disagree because it comes from a place of love.  She can say anything to me because she knows me, the best and the worst of me.
Strangers demanding that I listen to them become someone else are not contacting me out of love. How could they be? They have no idea who I am? I owe them nothing. I owe myself the will to be myself in this world.
On Easter Sunday, I think of these things, a day of quiet reflection and hope for me, a day of silence and gratitude.
And a day of rebirth. I believe my revival began with understanding who I am and learning to love myself for who I am. That was perhaps the most challenging project I ever undertook.
 I, too, find Easter a plateau in my spiritual life. I felt that acutely looking into Vermont at this mountain.  This idea of rebirth has carried me through some dark days; it has always offered me inspiration and encouragement.
It has always spurred me to recognize my continuing mistakes and the many things I have done and do well.
I spent the better part of a year in my tiny cabin at the top of a small mountain near the town we live in now, reading Merton’s private journals before I wrote Running To The Mountain.
They are very different from the Merton I read in his previous books. There is an honesty and self-doubt and searching in them that touched me and helped me come to terms with myself.
I see these writings as the beginning of my rebirth, which is why I think of them on Easter. A happy and meaningful Easter to you.
25 January

Return To The Mansion. This Time, As Pastor Jon, With Thomas Merton

by Jon Katz

Keep me, above all things, from sin. Keep me from loving money, in which is hatred. From avarice and ambition that suffocate my life. Keep me from the deadly works of vanity and the thankless labor for pride and money and reputation.”  – Thomas Merton, Book Of Hours.

It was great to be back at the Mansion this morning, fingers are crossed, but the Mansion has staved off the worst of the pandemic once more. Good for them, and good for me – it’s safe to go back. Next week, I return to Bishop Maginn High School.

How unlikely for me, born a Jew, turned Quaker and admirer of Jesus Christ, to be leading a prayer group in a Medicaid assisted care facility in cold and distant upstate New York. Here, I feel I am trying to do the Lord’s work, sitting with the needy, the vulnerable, and the sometimes forgotten.

It is strange to me, yet it feels like one of the most natural things I’ve ever done. There is great love and feeling between the older adults who have come to pray with me and start their days and me. They are the most loyal and appreciative people I know.

This time off due to the pandemic once more has been productive for me; I’ve learned a lot about my Leica, taken a lot of interesting photographs, and gone to work to refocus the blog a bit on its original root. I had a chance to be alone, to think, and put that time to good use.

I’m back at the Mansion twice this week.

This morning, I was Acting Pastor Katz, a title I never imagined having, leading the morning prayer and contemplation service. Zinnia came along, of course. I brought a good ally, Thomas Merton himself, and his Book Of Souls, a daily prayer, meditation, and contemplation guide.

 

(The Book Of Hours, above, and one of the dozen crosses I handed out today.)

Thursday, my meditation class resumes. It is all booked up, with no room for any more people due to the health regulations at the Mansion.

In addition to Thomas Merton and Zinnia, I also brought Amish necklaces and some small but graceful crosses; the necklaces and the crosses were gone in a flash. We talked about God and humility and surrendering our fears and regrets to a higher authority.

Most of our talking is not especially religious but practical. They want and need to talk about where they are in life and how they feel.

They loved hearing Merton’s thoughts and prayers, and they loved being read to as well. These gatherings are important to me, and I hope to the residents. Thursday. I’m excited to be conducting my meditation class again; I can’t overstate how good it is for the residents to get to talk so openly about their loves, fears, and memories.

And to learn to calm their sense of isolation and loneliness.

The pastor thing kind of fits me, I have to confess. Big egos help to do almost anything. Several residents from Memory Care came up to join the service. They were very welcome.

Zinnia, as always, comes along and greets every person in the room and every newcomer.

When I start talking, she curls up at my feet and goes to sleep. There may be a message in that.

Next week, at their request, I’ll begin reading from my book Running To The Mountain, about my year on a mountain alone with two dogs reading the journals of Thomas Merton. This year marked the beginning of the journey that was to change my life in almost every way.

I ended the service today with this verse, also written by Merton:

We lift our eyes to you in heaven, O God of eternity, wishing we were poorer, more silent, more mortified. Lord, give us liberty from all the things that are in this world, from the preoccupations of earth and of time, that we may be called to cleanness, where the saints are, the gold and silver saints before your throne.

 

Bedlam Farm