A Story from Gethsemani and Beyond

“When I remember You on my bed, I meditate on You in the night watches.”

Psalm 63:6

“Happiness cannot be pursued; it must ensue.” 

― Viktor E. Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

The Cistercian brothers, one by one, gathered into their separate choir stalls preparing for Lauds, the second hour of prayer. The long, narrow chapel, with its ceiling soaring above, was illumined by sunlight shining through gently-colored pastel stained glass panes. In the 1960’s the faux gothic plaster work was removed and it was remade in what is called the Brutalist style, beautiful in its stark simplicity. Everything was off-white; ceiling, walls, and the robes of the brothers. After all were the gathered the Abbot raised his staff, tapped on the floor three times and chanted, “O God, come to our assistance.” This was followed immediately by the brothers on both sides chanting, “O lord make haste to help me.” Pure tones reverberated as the prayer of Lauds continued. The meditation on Psalm verses by means of chanting, an action done by the devout for millennia before and after the Christian era, continued here for the healing of mind, body, and soul. Beginning at 3:15 am every day, the monks and hardy retreatants, begin the day and follow the meditative and prayerful schedule throughout interspersed with work and private devotional activity. Day after day, year after year, breath after breath…

The verse chanted by the Abbot at the Abbey of Gethsemani and the brothers at the beginning of Lauds (Psalm 70:1) and all other Hours, except for the first hour of Vigil, has been used by Jews and Christians for meditation from the beginnings of the Judaeo-Christian spiritual tradition. The use of a single Psalm verse like Psalm 70:1, throughout the day, often in rhythm with the breath, is one of many forms of Christian meditation. It is, inescapably mantra-like.

Positive effects of meditation on the brain have been well documented. These effects assist people in navigating the inevitable difficulties of life.  Science tells us that mindfulness and meditation practiced regularly over time produces remarkable neurological effects and intensify.  In the extreme, these effects enable humans to endure intense amounts of physical and emotional pain. Two examples of this come to mind. 

On June 11, 1963 I was watching the news when I saw the newsreel of the Buddhist monk, Thich Quang Duc, on fire in a street in Saigon. He was protesting the persecution of Buddhist monks under the corrupt Roman Catholic regime of President Diem. It was not an act of suicide. At the tender age of 8 this was both horrific and fascinating and quickly put out of mind. Years later I saw the video again but from different eyes. I noticed that the monk scarcely moved and he did not utter a sound as far as I could tell. I asked, not “why”, this I knew, but “how”?  

The second example is more familiar to most of us but is equally as mystifying. It is that of the Christ suffering on the cross. It is made much more mystifying if it is true that this act was of God Himself and was also entirely voluntary as classical Christian theology states. But even if the Divine narrative about Jesus is untrue and this was not a voluntary giving up of himself, the act, as reported, would still be astounding. How would someone endure such intense pain and emotional suffering and offer only compassion to his torturers? "Father, forgive them…"

What makes these two incidents similar? 

First, both men were raised in and practiced the spirituality common to their respective cultures and both involved intense forms of meditation with mindfulness at the base. And this, central feature of both spiritual cultures, was practiced for many years, perhaps from childhood. 

Second, both men performed acts of love rather than hatred.

As I walked through the cemetery looking for the grave of Thomas Merton to pay my respects, I met an elderly monk. It was unusual to see a brother walking outside the monastic enclosure. He walked toward me wearing a bright smile. I greeted him. I asked him his name and other cursory questions thinking to begin a brief dialogue with a normally reclusive Cistercian. He looked at me and in answer to every question he said something like, “I am on a journey from here to there.” Quickly it became clear that he had some form of dementia. But his mood and his smile was consistent as was his message and all of this was not lost on me. How long had he been there practicing the Opus Dei? What pain and suffering did he have to endure as he moved toward the Beatific Vision (or enlightenment)? There was no way for me to know and he could not tell me. But what he did prepared his brain to develop peace and compassion even as his brain was ravaged with the damage of dementia. He symbolized the whole meaning of the Abbey and its message for me… And of the meaning of life. 

The original name from Christianity was “The Way” reflecting the view that there were steps to take. It was not called “the Decision” nor was it called “the Dogma”. As St. Paul wrote “the letter kills but the spirit gives life”. The Way is about activity in “the Spirit” and both the classical Hebrew and koine Greek words for spirit also refer to breath as we have seen, the “breath of life”. Practices in Jewish and Christian spirituality as well as in Buddhism developed meditative practices with the breath as central and now we realize why this is so. The research into both mediation and the breath describe the neurological correlates inasmuch as it is possible at this time.  It is a process of developing abilities to deliberately face the difficulties of life (avoidable and unavoidable), bring integration to the confusion within, and create mutually satisfying relationships with the only things that brings strength and sanity to the madness--nobility and compassion.