Buddy Ballard used to work at the alfalfa complex on the hill. We called it the de-hy for the dehydrating process in making pellets from alfalfa. And Buddy had a red convertible, a Ford, I think, with top down all Summer, very smart, very sporty for the mid-60s.  I used to work up there with Brother Gerlac.

One day things were a mess, and in the midst of it Brother asked me if I would run down to the post office and see if the spare part had come. “Sure.” “Buddy, why don’t I use you convertible?” “OK. Go ahead.” So I zoomed down the hill and up the front avenue with work scapular blowing in the wind, like Isadora Duncan. I came to a dramatic stop at the gate house and, standing there, just come, were three impressive ladies looking like queen mothers, big-bosomed dowagers. They gave me a haughty going over, obviously distressed at this display. I ran in to the post office, got the package, ran out. They were still standing there with long faces like El Greco. I waved to them, pointed to the red convertible and said: “Pretty nice, huh?” They were not amused: “We thought you’d be in your cloister.” I had no time and scooted off, leaving total disillusionment behind me. I had not measured up to their notions of a monk of Gethsemani 1965. And they were very vexed.

I frequently had occasion years ago to be in on it when Fr. Louis would meet someone or other, usually in connection with vocation work. It was interesting to note how many were frankly disappointed with the real Thomas Merton. Not all, but many. They had their own idea of what he must be like, but when confronted with his person, were at a loss to adjust to the reality. He was so bland.

Indeed, at his very last appearance, as it were, when he gave that last conference at Bangkok, two monks who heard him to the end were not impressed. In the blunt way of scholars one said to the other, “Well, that wasn’t much.” Maybe it wasn’t in terms of what the monks expected: no doubt some dazzling performance that would leave all breathless and on their feet with applause. He had not measured up to expectations. It happens all the time. To me. To you.

The Baptist sent a delegation: “Are you He who is to come or do we look for another?” Possibly John had his doubts. Far more likely is it that the questions were put for the benefit of the hesitant, the perplexed. And Jesus answered them by showing how the Scriptures described the man of God who was to come: “The blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk, the dead are raised to life, and the poor have good news preached to them.” They could draw their own conclusions.

And presumably they did. And we know from history that the majority concluded that He did not measure up to expectations. They rejected Him. They had their own ideas of what made a Messiah and it was up to any Messiah to conform. His problem. Not theirs.

Strong stands like that are dangerous. They have great power. And they are so likely to lead to action. They led to the death of Jesus.

Sure sign that you or I are engaging in the same dynamics of trying to adjust reality to fantasy, is anger. Anger is the give-away, the tell-tale. Especially hidden anger. Resentment.

I think it is something we all know in the course of a life. We have all been disappointed. Men often marry an illusion. Only later do they meet their wife, hopefully come to know her and love her. The man she marries may not exist save in her dreams. It can be difficult learning to love reality.

How many of you found here what you expected? The older you are and the longer here, the more easy is it to say with certainty: not one of you knew what you were getting into. How could you have? No one could have guessed ahead of time what happened here the last twenty years. Or any twenty years. And in any life. Ask one of the neighbors: has life been as you expected?

So, of necessity, somewhere along the line, you dropped fantasy and began to love reality. For your notions of monastic life were all in your head, written in a book you read. They had no contact with the real. And if you did not abandon your fantasies and enter into loving union with reality, well, it is no great insight to say you are an unhappy man, and a man of anger.

For you have been disappointed. The reality did not measure up to your expectations. You are like the dowagers in the avenue who were indignant at a monk who did not behave as they thought he ought. In a way, they did not deserve an explanation or get one: that it was not my convertible, or even the monastery’s, that we worked outside the cloister as well as in.

Thomas Merton was a constant annoyance to many in and out of the monastery because he catered to no one’s pious delusions. Even now it is amusing to ask someone how soon they think Merton will be canonized and the 10th of December as his feast day?  It is not the merit of the case which is the issue: the very idea strikes them as ridiculous, their face clouds in distress at the very idea. Their notion of sanctity and Merton have nothing in common.

I take the matter seriously. Not Merton and the Bangkok conference, nor me and the visiting ladies, but you and me and Jesus. If we are not willing and able to give all away in our relationship to God, to God’s service, to the Kingdom of Heaven, we are in very dangerous waters. We shall never know freedom nor the joy this Sunday celebrates. We may program our Jesus and expect Him to conform to our program, but He will honor it only by ignoring it.

The dearest thing to me in the monastic life I came to, was the Latin office. I make no bones about it. It had everything. And one morning I woke to find that it was gone. And they did not even bother to ask me first! What we have in its place is something else, but for all its beauty, a poor thing to what it replaces. The lesson was a good one for me: the love of God and His service is beyond anything you can lay claim to. You meet God as He comes, and He comes as He pleases. When He pleases. If you are not willing to meet Him on those terms, you will never meet Him. And then you will have to be content with the fantasy Jesus you have made for your self. Who is not real. In whom there is no salvation.

Amen.