At Merton's Gethsemani Monastery
Trappist, Kentucky
Pray for us, Thomas Merton,
who’ve come for consolation.
Pray for those who rise with the bell
at 3 a.m. to touch the incorporeal,
who enter heaven’s silence
and wonder if they’ve heard things right.
Pray for the farmer driving holy rolls
of Cistercian hay to pay the bills.
Pray for monks pouring good bourbon
into fruitcake and fudge to sell.
Pray for the cheesemakers
filling molds with fresh milk.
Pray for those who study mysteries
they can never clearly explain.
Pray for the comely lass at Vespers
who distracts from Gregorian chant.
And pray for me,
a Protestant in Catholic’s clothing,
who meditates under the ginkgo tree
where the Dalai Lama once sat,
who bows at the right time,
kneels with the wrong knee,
almost remembers to cross himself
when passing by the sacred Host.
Pray for us—the confused and fakes,
the spectacular failures and saints.
Ratchet up our screw-loose hearts.
Orphans at your gate.
first published in Liturgical Credo
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My essay "Tinkering with Grief in the Woods," about spending a week at Gethsemani Monastery while dealing with grief, was published by Literal Latte: https://www.literal-latte.com/2012/09/tinkering-with-grief-in-the-woods/