All Is Grace_ A Ragamuffin Memoir - Brennan Manning [2]
A wealthy man in Denver, having heard Brennan’s powerful delivery at a local church, invited him to lead a weeklong retreat for a group of eight handpicked friends, including me. When Brennan announced the retreat would be silent, the benefactor was not happy: “I bring him all the way up here to learn from his expertise, and he wants us to keep silent!” Yet each of us had an hour a day of personal time with Brennan, a compressed time of spiritual direction after meditating on writings and Bible passages he gave us. Brennan worked hard all day while most of the time we sat in the fields or in our rooms and meditated.
Since the camp where we were staying had inadequate facilities, we went each evening to the nearest restaurant, a fancy Chart House. The first night Brennan brought along a boom box with cassette tapes of Rich Mullins and John Michael Talbot, proposing that during dinner we listen to meditative music and continue our time of silence. Soon a chipper waitress showed up. “Hi, guys, how are we all doing tonight?” No response came except for nods and a few tight smiles. A fellow diner recognized one of our group and came over to chat. Patrons at tables around us stared disapprovingly at the boom box, which was pumping out music that blatantly clashed with the restaurant’s own Muzak. Brennan laughed, threw up his hands, and made a new rule: silence suspended during evening dinner.
I remember that comical scene when I think of Brennan. More than anyone I know, truly, he has sought a pure and holy life, to the extent of living in a cave in Spain for months, working side by side with the poor, taking vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. Yet his ideals flounder. Other noises—the clink of wine glasses, laughter from the bar, a woman’s voice, distractions from others … in short, the messiness of life—keep interfering with his holy quest. And the inner demons, which no one who has not experienced them can understand, rise up and take control.
“All is grace,” Brennan concludes, looking back on a rich but stained life. He has placed his trust in that foundational truth of the universe, which he has proclaimed faithfully and eloquently.
As a writer, I live in daily awareness of how much easier it is to edit a book than edit a life. When I write about what I believe and how I should live, it sounds neat and orderly. When I try to live it out, all hell breaks loose. Reading Brennan’s memoir, I see something of the reverse pattern. By focusing on the flaws, he leaves out many of the triumphs. I keep wanting him to tell the stories that put him in a good light, and there are many. Choosing full disclosure in a narrative that might burnish his reputation, Brennan presents himself as the apostle Paul once did, as a clay jar, a disposable container made of baked dirt. We must look to his other books for a full picture of the treasure that lies inside.
A poem by Leonard Cohen says it well:
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That’s how the light gets in.
Philip Yancey
READER TESTIMONIES
Have you wondered why God doesn’t make your life work or why you can’t make your life work? I think we read memoirs hoping that someone has found an answer in his or her own life that can make sense of ours. The pages you are about to read really do lead to an Answer, but your first reaction to these pages might be similar to mine. Initially I was confused, wondering how Brennan could preach a powerful message of grace but live a powerless life