From a eulogy on the passing of Fr Matthew Kealty.
Fr. Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk out of the Abbey of Gethsemani in the US, died over 40 years ago. Fr Matthew Kealty, of the same congregation, made his transitus less than four weeks ago.
Both, in their own way, were remarkable men. Both, in their own way, struggled with the question of sexuality, or more precisely, celibacy.
Merton's early life was not an easy one. His mother died in 1921 when he was only six years old. His father left him the following year, in pursuit of an unlikely romance. At 13, he was reunited with his father, who passed away of a brain tumor, leaving Thomas an orphan.
Thomas Merton became the most prolific writer American Catholicism has ever produced, but he was always unsettled, restless; never, it seems, really content. He was toying with the idea of leaving Gethsemani, and possibly leaving the monastic life altogether, having fallen in love with a local nurse, Margie Smith. A singular mark of her character is that she never, in the decades following Merton's death, said a public word about their relationship.
Merton was granted permission to leave the Abbey for a trip to the Far East in the spring of 1968. Ostensibly to give a lecture in Bangkok on comparative monasticism and mysticism, there was much more to the trip than that, as his published journals now reveal. He left Gethsemani without saying goodbye to anyone. By all accounts, suffering from exhaustion, his lecture was a rather poor performance. His final public words were "Now I will disappear" and, retiring to his room for a nap, was later found electrocuted in his bath.
Fr Matthew Kealty, the same age as Merton, had served as Merton's confessor in those final, tumultuous years at Gethsemani. Kealty knew that something was up, and he expressed the sinking sense that, on the day of his departure, he would not see his friend again.
The two men were contrasted in so many ways, not least by Merton's spiritual restlessness and deep unhappiness, Kealty's easy contentment and quiet grace.
Fr Kealty joined Gethsemani late, and found Merton in charge of the novices. He recalls the way Merton encouraged the new monks to find their own forms of artistic expression, in whatever form.
Like Merton, he left Gethsemani for a time; unlike Merton, he always intended to return.
In his 90th year, Fr Matthew Kealty 'outed' himself as being homosexual. The epilogue of a book of spiritual texts was entitled "Celibacy and the Gift of Gay." He had decided to attempt to describe what gifts gay Christians have to contribute to the complex tapestry of Christian communion. He did so because he had come to feel a responsibility to those "least among us" who were not moving on a path toward acceptance in as straight a line as many in the late '60s and early '70s had hoped.
But you also hear more than a subtle echo of what the confessor had learned from Merton's heterosexual torment.
"It remains true that given our national climate, it will take a while to let love loose. And then to let love grow, deeper, greater, wider."
"I may as well make it clear: ...[this] is why so many heterosexuals abandon celibacy after a decade or two: they cannot handle it: they need an external woman to awaken the inner one, especially in our culture. Perhaps in a less divided one they do better... "
"And since those who tend to worry will worry here about sex, the answer is simple: sex is no problem. Love is. Where there is no love you can expect sex to emerge. All men want love, celibates too. Sex can be one way of loving, but it is absurd to say: no sex is no love, as absurd as saying sex is love."
"A celibate priesthood, community, is a grace for the Church, a song of the Kingdom (where there will be no marriage but all will be whole),and a joy for all in it. There are none more called to it, more capable of it, more created for it, than the people we call gay. They begin from day one a process of integration others do not even have a hint of before they are 40. Bless them!"
(My Song is of Mercy, 258-259)
"The meeting of the bride within is not had merely for the asking. Her hand must be won; love of her must be proven. Heroic effort is taken as a matter of course... Notwithstanding many find her, and these are the people who have truly lived. It is these who know God and who will see his face because they know what love is."
The question of celibacy is discussed often on too shallow a level, the mystical level is dismissed. To do that is to reduce celibacy to an act of prowess which as likely as not can end only in ruining the person. Celibacy without a deep love affair is a disaster. It is not even celibacy. It's just not getting married. It's not an acceptance of anything, it is meaningless self-denial.
Sex is no problem. Love is. So celibacy is badly misunderstood if it is imagined as an unmarried life without sex. That just re-inscribes the sex obsessions of our own day.
Celibacy is a love affair — with God. That's what you get from Father Matthew Kealty; that's what you get from the saints and the mystics.
God bless,
Thomas
Fr. Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk out of the Abbey of Gethsemani in the US, died over 40 years ago. Fr Matthew Kealty, of the same congregation, made his transitus less than four weeks ago.
Both, in their own way, were remarkable men. Both, in their own way, struggled with the question of sexuality, or more precisely, celibacy.
Merton's early life was not an easy one. His mother died in 1921 when he was only six years old. His father left him the following year, in pursuit of an unlikely romance. At 13, he was reunited with his father, who passed away of a brain tumor, leaving Thomas an orphan.
Thomas Merton became the most prolific writer American Catholicism has ever produced, but he was always unsettled, restless; never, it seems, really content. He was toying with the idea of leaving Gethsemani, and possibly leaving the monastic life altogether, having fallen in love with a local nurse, Margie Smith. A singular mark of her character is that she never, in the decades following Merton's death, said a public word about their relationship.
Merton was granted permission to leave the Abbey for a trip to the Far East in the spring of 1968. Ostensibly to give a lecture in Bangkok on comparative monasticism and mysticism, there was much more to the trip than that, as his published journals now reveal. He left Gethsemani without saying goodbye to anyone. By all accounts, suffering from exhaustion, his lecture was a rather poor performance. His final public words were "Now I will disappear" and, retiring to his room for a nap, was later found electrocuted in his bath.
Fr Matthew Kealty, the same age as Merton, had served as Merton's confessor in those final, tumultuous years at Gethsemani. Kealty knew that something was up, and he expressed the sinking sense that, on the day of his departure, he would not see his friend again.
The two men were contrasted in so many ways, not least by Merton's spiritual restlessness and deep unhappiness, Kealty's easy contentment and quiet grace.
Fr Kealty joined Gethsemani late, and found Merton in charge of the novices. He recalls the way Merton encouraged the new monks to find their own forms of artistic expression, in whatever form.
Like Merton, he left Gethsemani for a time; unlike Merton, he always intended to return.
In his 90th year, Fr Matthew Kealty 'outed' himself as being homosexual. The epilogue of a book of spiritual texts was entitled "Celibacy and the Gift of Gay." He had decided to attempt to describe what gifts gay Christians have to contribute to the complex tapestry of Christian communion. He did so because he had come to feel a responsibility to those "least among us" who were not moving on a path toward acceptance in as straight a line as many in the late '60s and early '70s had hoped.
But you also hear more than a subtle echo of what the confessor had learned from Merton's heterosexual torment.
"It remains true that given our national climate, it will take a while to let love loose. And then to let love grow, deeper, greater, wider."
"I may as well make it clear: ...[this] is why so many heterosexuals abandon celibacy after a decade or two: they cannot handle it: they need an external woman to awaken the inner one, especially in our culture. Perhaps in a less divided one they do better... "
"And since those who tend to worry will worry here about sex, the answer is simple: sex is no problem. Love is. Where there is no love you can expect sex to emerge. All men want love, celibates too. Sex can be one way of loving, but it is absurd to say: no sex is no love, as absurd as saying sex is love."
"A celibate priesthood, community, is a grace for the Church, a song of the Kingdom (where there will be no marriage but all will be whole),and a joy for all in it. There are none more called to it, more capable of it, more created for it, than the people we call gay. They begin from day one a process of integration others do not even have a hint of before they are 40. Bless them!"
(My Song is of Mercy, 258-259)
"The meeting of the bride within is not had merely for the asking. Her hand must be won; love of her must be proven. Heroic effort is taken as a matter of course... Notwithstanding many find her, and these are the people who have truly lived. It is these who know God and who will see his face because they know what love is."
The question of celibacy is discussed often on too shallow a level, the mystical level is dismissed. To do that is to reduce celibacy to an act of prowess which as likely as not can end only in ruining the person. Celibacy without a deep love affair is a disaster. It is not even celibacy. It's just not getting married. It's not an acceptance of anything, it is meaningless self-denial.
Sex is no problem. Love is. So celibacy is badly misunderstood if it is imagined as an unmarried life without sex. That just re-inscribes the sex obsessions of our own day.
Celibacy is a love affair — with God. That's what you get from Father Matthew Kealty; that's what you get from the saints and the mystics.
God bless,
Thomas
