The Abbot laughed, and said, “Actually, until we started this discussion, I did-n’t think there were so many things I believed that were actually uncertain,” and Jobran laughed along with him.
“Maybe I will have that glass of wine, after all,” Jobran said, relaxing.
“An excellent idea,” the Abbot said, and he got up to pour them both a glass. As he did, he said, “I have to admit that, while frustrating, discussing these matters with you is more intellectually stimulating than anything I’ve had in a long time—since seminary, probably. The monks around here are usually more interested in discussing politics or social issues than in discussing theology; the only theological matters that concern them are ones with social ramifications, such as abortion, gay rights, ordination of women, celibacy, and so on. On doctrinal issues, I think that most people—even my fellow monks—quickly reach a point where it just becomes too abstract and complex for them, and they mutually agree to discontinue the discussion.”
Jobran said, “Well, I’m not without sympathy for them, because that’s how I feel about all other doctrinal issues, except the one of life after death.” He took a long swallow from his glass, then said, “If you tried to engage me in a detailed discussion of the finer points of the Trinity; the hypostatic union of the divine and human natures of Christ; or the question of whether the Holy Ghost proceeds from the Father and the Son, you’d rapidly find me tuning you out.”
The Abbot laughed, genially. “That’s true; theologically, I guess you’re strictly a specialist, a ‘one-issue’ man.” With a twinkle in his eye, he added slyly, “If you were a priest or a monk, you’d probably find yourself recommended for a Fellowship to do special research at the Vatican, or at least at a Catholic University.”
They both sat in silence, sipping their wine. Finally, Jobran said wistfully, “When I had Sophia, I was so excited by the prospect of living—there were so many things to look forward to: buying a house, developing our careers, raising children, family get-togethers, travel, and more.” He was silent for a moment, then he said softly, “But Sophia’s death has made me face up squarely to the fact that just about everything in this life is—if you’ll excuse the term—bullshit; it’s frustrating and unsatisfying. To use the term that Thomas Merton said the Buddhists use, it’s all ‘Suffering.’”
“Ah, Merton,” the Abbot said, a sentimental note coming into his voice. “It was reading his book, The Seven-Story Mountain, that influenced so many of us to join the monastic life in the first place. He paints such a glowing, inspirational picture of monastic life, that we like to think that things were ‘happily ever after’ for him after he joined the Trappists, but they weren’t—toward the end of his life, he actually insisted on getting his own private cottage, because life at the monastery was too ‘noisy’ for him.” He gave a rueful laugh, and said, “Imagine: life in a Trappist monastery ‘too noisy.’ And by the end of his life, he was very interested in Tibetan Buddhism and Zen, and he actually died under suspicious circumstances—electrocution by a small fan, supposedly—while he was on tour of the East.” In a secretive tone, he added, “I’ve even heard that he was thinking about not returning to the monastery once the tour was over; he might even have left the priesthood.” Glumly, he said, “My life here is probably even worse than Merton’s, since it’s largely occupied with petty administrative details, personality conflicts, and the like; it’s depressing, much of the time.”
Quietly Jobran said, “Let me ask you a different kind of a question: If the afterlife—Heaven—is supposed to be the prime focus of our life, do you ever find yourself wishing that your present life would hurry up and come to an end?”
The Abbot nodded his head slowly, and said, “I wish that all of the time, especially the older the get.” With a sigh, he added, “But such things are all in the hands of God.”
“Do you ever think of leaving the priesthood?”
The Abbot smiled slightly, and said, “I’ve thought about it, thousands of times—actually done anything about it, no; I’m all talk and no action, I’m afraid. Still, I know that I’ll never leave, despite my occasional frustrations.”
“Why not?”
In a deeply heartfelt tone, the Abbot said, “When I took my vows, I pledged to God that I would be his servant, for life.” He smiled over at Jobran, and said, “Not unlike the vow you gave to your wife, I would think.”
Jobran paused for a moment, then said, “Well, our conversation has strengthened my convictions in one area: I think the time has come for me to leave this place. I need to be able to focus and study more intently than I can do here.”
The Abbot looked genuinely surprised. “How could you possibly be more focused on your study if you were living outside the monastery, than you are here?”
Jobran said, “Well, although in theory one has hours and hours per day for contemplation and reading, in practice one’s hours for study are subject to some constraints—there are the required daily prayers, the common meals, the time doing chores, and so on. Back on my own, if I felt like it, I could stay up late studying—pull an ‘all-nighter,’ just like back in college—even call in sick to work, if need be. So actually, I feel like I would have more time to study if I were back in the world, doing just enough part-time work to buy books and make ends meet, but then had all of my free time to myself, and my studies.”
“The idea that you can study theology more effectively outside, than in here, seems ludicrous to me.”
Jobran said quietly, “Plus…I’m starting to think that I’m beyond the point at which a simple study of traditional Catholic theology can help me.”
“Oh,” the Abbot said, looking crestfallen. “Just because you have a few doctrinal questions?”
Jobran shook his head, and said, “I’ve spent my entire lifetime being religiously isolated: I was brought up in a nominal liberal Protestant home, but I stopped going to church in high school, and never set foot in one again—except for my parents’ funeral—until I met Sophia. I agreed to convert to Catholicism to please Sophia, but I really had no strong personal convictions, religiously, one way or another.”
“And you think that leaving will help you develop strong convictions?” the Abbot said, a dubious expression on his face.
Jobran replied quickly, “It may enable me to see other options. I need to face the possibility that perhaps the reason Catholicism can’t really satisfy me is that it isn’t the best, or the only answer—for me, at least.”
Morosely, the Abbot said, “So this means that I’ve failed.” He took a large swallow of his wine.
Jobran shook his head, and patted him gently on the shoulder. “You’ve hardly failed. This is something that is within me—not something that you haven’t provided.” He thought for a moment, then said, “I was thinking about leaving tomorrow morning.”
The Abbot looked dour, and said, “Well, hopefully, if you ever think of us again, the memories won’t be too unpleasant.”
With a slight tremor of emotion in his voice, Jobran said, “On the contrary: I will always carry with me the deepest and most profound respect for what you are doing here. Before I came here, I was one of those people that felt that monasteries in general were of little or no ‘earthly’ good, and were in fact are a drain upon the resources of those people that are living and working in the world. I would have said, sarcastically, ‘If everyone went off in the hills to live and pray all day, none of things we deem “progress” in the world would have been accomplished.’”
The Abbot laughed gently, and said, “I see your point. But we should remember that there have been noteworthy scientists in the religious life: geneticist Gregor Mendel was a monk, and astronomer Georges Lemaitre and paleonologist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin were priests, and so on.”
Jobran held up his hand, and said, “That’s the way I felt before I came here— but that’s no longer my fe
eling. I have come to appreciate the value of having you here: serving as a ‘witness’ to the world, and showing that there still can be a way of living that doesn’t involve compromise with our materialistic society as a whole.”
The Abbot smiled, and looked pleased. “That’s nice to hear. In our monastery, of course, we’re somewhat of an exception to the general rule, since we provide retreats and spiritual guidance to people that are out living in the world, and who find that having us available makes them better able to continue in the outside world.”
Jobran nodded, and said, “And I really do feel a kind of ‘kinship’ with what you are doing here. In this short time, I’ve grown to love the cyclical ‘rhythms’ of the place: rising early for the vigils, the time for private meditation and prayer, then formal services and chanting, followed by physical work out in the fields, the common meal at noon, the daily readings during meals, all of it. This way of life seems so much more serious, so much more grounded, than most life in the world is. If I hadn’t met Sophia, and gotten married, I think that this kind of life would have had a tremendous attraction for me.”
“Yet still, you don’t think that life here is for you?” the Abbot asked, a puzzled expression on his face.
Jobran shook his head, sadly, and said, “No; while I have found a temporary refuge from the world here, I have not found peace of mind, or rest for my aching heart.”
“Where will you go, then? What will you do?” the Abbot asked. “Will you return to teaching, perhaps?”
Jobran shook his head vigorously, and said, “Absolutely not: when Sophia died, that entire phase of my life died along with her. Teaching was something we pursued together; without her, it has no meaning to me. No, I will need to earn my own living, obviously, but I think I can safely say that my lifestyle will have changed considerably.” Smiling, he added, “And I think that this monastery has irrevocably influenced my ideals about what material things are, and are not, ‘required’ in one’s personal life.”
The Abbot looked satisfied, and said, “Well, I’m glad that we haven’t totally been without influence on you.”
Jobran stood up, and extended his hand to the Abbot, saying, “But the one thing that I will always carry with me from here is your friendship, and the memories of the hospitality that you have all shown me here.” His voice had a slight tremor, and he added, “I came here in a period of intense personal need, and you were there when I needed it. For that, I am eternally grateful.” Jobran extended his hand, which the Abbot shook; then, after an awkward moment, they embraced.
* * *
The following morning, Jobran took his few belongings and walked several miles in order to catch the bus back into town.
4
I BELIEVE IN THE RESURRECTION OF THE BODY, AND THE LIFE EVERLASTING*
(*from the Apostles’ Creed)
It’s remarkable how having a single goal focuses one’s thoughts.
In college, I sometimes had a problem with concentration. I would read a textbook, trying to stay focused on being able to retain what the professor wanted me to retain—but the professors were all so different, that this was just a matter of guesswork. The end result was that studying was frustrating, and unsatisfying; I couldn’t wait until I had finished reading the assigned material, so that I could go on to reading a novel, or something else that I wanted to read.
But now, everything has been transformed: I am reading with absolute singularity of purpose. Not just my reading, but everything I do, everything I experience, is subjected to the question, What does this tell me about the possibility of life after death?
By comparing everything to this goal, information can be only “useful,” or “useless”; if something is useless, then I need to stop reading immediately, and move on to something that may be useful. If it is useful, it may be either peripheral, or essential; if peripheral, I coldly strip from the source all that is useful information to me, then discard the rest. If the information turns out to be essential, it may require me to absolutely stop whatever else I’m doing in order to research it on the Internet, obtain more books on the subject, etc. Any new alley that is opened up by my research must be investigated, no stone may be left unturned, because I can’t take the chance that I might be overlooking something.
From my new perspective, I see that so much of what we do in modern society is absolutely valueless: Foreign policy, politics, the latest “human interest” story that everyone is so concerned about—all of these are just meaningless nonsense. What possible difference does it make who is the President, or which Third World nations we are currently at war with? If we truly live after death, then what difference do any of these things really make? If our ultimate destination is an eternal afterlife, then why waste time on the things of this life, when it is so short and transitory?
I have learned to quickly scan through vast quantities of material—books, newspapers, magazines, journals—my eyes ruthlessly scanning each page for keywords and phrases such as “Immortality,” “Afterlife,” “Life after Death,” “Heaven,” “Hell,” “Resurrection,” and so on, as well as anything dealing with religion or purported paranormal experiences. In reading periodicals, I photocopy (I had to buy my own cheap personal copier) or cut out any relevant data and clippings, which are carefully filed by topic and date. To an outsider, I probably look as if I am frantically trying to cover too much ground too quickly, but my goal is to get through at least a comprehensive survey, reading everything pertinent once—but have my notes sufficiently organized that I can go back through them much more quickly, and retrieve the pertinent information when I need it for more specific research.
I am indeed fortunate to live in the age of computers, databases, scanners, and of course the Internet; it would be absolutely impossible to try and keep track of all of my files and books by hand. The Internet is critical to my study: not so much from the actual information obtained (a lot of which is of dubious validity, controversial, or just purely cantankerous), but from the standpoint of suggesting new avenues of study. I’ve tried checking out books from the local libraries, but I went through all the books they had on the subject of life after death in just over a month, and inter-library loans are just too slow when you need the information now. More and more, I find that the kind of books I need must always be special-ordered; fortunately, with the proliferation of booksellers on the Internet, I can locate virtually any book I need within minutes. Since so many of the books I need are now out of print, or only readily available to scholars with access to large University libraries, there would be no other way I could obtain them. While reading books, rather than keep notecards such as I did in school, I now make my notes right in the margins and back sections of the books themselves (which necessitates owning all of the books I read; thank God for book shops which sell used books cheaply!).
My home is now little more than a storage place for a huge collection of books, clippings, photocopied documents, etc. Audiotapes have also revolutionized my study habits, since time spent taking a shower, getting dressed, even using the bathroom, can now be considered as “productive.” I have an audiotape player available in every single room of my home (not too difficult, since I only have four rooms—counting the kitchen—in my current domicile), because I can’t afford to let a single moment go by without the possibility to learn more. At any given time I may be concurrently reading one book, which I lay down in favor of turning on an audiotape player while I use the bathroom or take a shower, then fast-forward through a television program that I taped earlier (usually PBS, or one of the Discovery or Science channels) while preparing or eating my meals. But more and more, time spent preparing and eating food is simply “wasted” time to me; why spend forty minutes to fry chicken or cook a steak— which in addition to cooking time, will require twenty minutes to clean up after-wards—when you can just boil macaroni and cheese, or eat tuna or chili beans directly from th
e can, and toss it away afterwards? With the time you save, you can surely put it to better use. (Besides, it saves money, that I need to buy more books.) I have consequently tried to reduce the amount of “maintenance” time and expense in my life to an absolute minimum. Any time I can discover some new technique that can cut out a few more minutes or even seconds from my daily ritual, I am delighted: It just gives me that much more time to study.
Through my extensive online ordering of books and periodicals, I must have gotten myself on just about every mailing list in the world; each day’s mail is filled with catalog after catalog of books, audiotapes, videotapes, and the like. 95% of these are totally useless to me (what possible use would I have for T-shirts or bumper stickers, scented candles, or the various knickknacks that most people have cluttering up their homes?), yet I relentlessly scan through every catalog, to discover any products that might have new information for me: A 4-videotape series on Reincarnation; a book by a Protestant Minister who became a Catholic; the audiotapes of a conference on Transpersonal Psychology—even a sermon on Hell by a local Pentecostal preacher become potential sources of knowledge for me. I find that covering similar material in different media formats (printed, audio, video) concurrently also reinforces it in my mind, increasing my retention of it. I love the new “multimedia” world; it’s really a kick to listen to a person on audiotape while showering, spend all morning reading a book by the same person, then watch him or her on videotape while eating a meal.
I never just “sit down and watch television” any more, but I videotape programs sometimes for later watching. I study the program schedule carefully each week, to see if there is anything that might be of benefit to me (principally on those “free with Basic Cable” channels that most people ignore). But increasingly, I find that television is so much more superficial than reading, that it’s almost useless; a televised interview with an author that I greatly respect almost invariably degenerates into a few “sound bites” designed to appeal to an audience that knows nothing about the subject—and has no abiding interest in it—but that wants to be able to grasp its essence or form an opinion about it after only thirty seconds of information. Although there are certainly occasions when nothing can replace actually seeing something take place on television (such as watching and listening to Islamic mystics reciting prayers, or engaged in the pilgrimage to Mecca), in general I find that I can absorb more than six times the information by reading as by watching television, so the TV stays turned off more and more.
Beyond Heaven and Earth Page 11