Thomas Merton produced a beautiful collection of the sayings of the Desert Fathers. There were Desert Mothers, too, but this morning, I had been thinking about Merton specifically. He’s been on my mind of late because he’s been in the news again, thanks to Pope Francis’ reference to Merton in his recent remarks to our US Congress.  The photo above has been taped the wall of my study for the last year. I’m using it as a way into an icon of St. Ansgar–an icon I’m writing at a snail’s pace. Merton is there because, like Ansgar, his monastic life grew from Benedictine soil. I had also endlessly researched what monks might have worn in the 9th century–and in the end, gave up, and went for anachronism, using a version of robes derived from a statue of St. Ansgar in Copenhagen, and the habit in this photograph of Merton.  Ansgar, far from being enclosed, was a missionary monk, eventually becoming an archbishop, and as much as he sought asceticism, and even martyrdom, he was drawn into the life of the world by his gifts. Thomas Merton was, too, and I’ve always loved the tension in his writings and journals, between the man who sought silence, and the man who must write. Merton was one of the people who drew me into a professional religious life, partly because of his complexities, mostly because of his journals, where so much vivid experience and observation are integrated through the writing. In his book on the Desert Fathers, called The Wisdom of the Desert, one saying has stayed with me for the many times I have felt overwhelmed or don’t have any idea of what to do next. I thought of it this morning, because of Merton, and because of the beautiful quiet of the dawn, today; it became a prayer. It’s short: “Abbot Pastor said, ‘Any trial whatever that comes to you can be conquered by silence.'” I don’t know if that’s true. But I come back to it, many times. I’ve really found it useful in ministry–the art of keeping quiet, very illuminating and freeing. Merton said, somewhere, in one of his journals, that the silence of prayer was where he heard the cries of those who suffer most clearly. That, I know, is true, for me. And there’s another silence, too, that heals, and opens into peace and hope. That’s the silence I will seek today.