Afterword
Jerry Maynard, OMM
While reading The Tao of Thomas Aquinas, I found myself with an overwhelming feeling of joy and, when finished, had a very profound sense of being affirmed. My soul found familiar echoes within Aquinas’s words of wisdom and the exegesis composed by the Rev. Dr. Matthew Fox. There were several instances, however, where I wondered: Is this real? Could the messages in this book be too good to be true? Perhaps you relate to my questions on some level, especially as my reasoning is fleshed out.
First off, let us talk about joy. As we have read, Thomas Aquinas has profound truths to share about the nature of joy—from joy being a necessary “companion” (chaps 6, 37) to joy being the “noblest act” (chaps 7, 40). One of the reasons why I personally felt an extensive amount of joy while reading was due to the fact that I felt a great saint (whose work I have enjoyed reading in the past) was speaking directly to me in my current context—a reality that proves Aquinas speaks wisdom for our times.
I was not only experiencing euphoria, however, but a deep sense of resonance with the sentiments being expressed: a shared experience of discovering these beautiful truths in my own life. I can testify that I have been able to embody many of the realities that Aquinas describes. Matthew Fox, in chapter 6 states, “joy begs for sharing” (chaps 6, 37), and I would add that joy motivates us to share not just mere commonalities but also the universal realities of being human—in a word, solidarity. Joy motivates us to live in solidarity with the human family.
In my life, I have experienced moments of intense joy that manifested while doing the work of justice. For example, I was part of a delegation of activists and faith leaders who spent three days in Nogales, Arizona, for the Encuentro Frontera (Border Encounter) sponsored by the School of the Americas Watch (SOAW). On the first full day, we gathered to have a march for brown families, and, during that march, I carried a sign saying, “You are welcome here.” When our group split (some went into Mexico) I stayed on the US side to wave to the families that gathered along the wall. My sign was in Spanish, and when I would pass by, many people stopped and asked if they could take a picture of my sign. One woman told me (in what little English she knew) that she felt “blessed to know people in America cared about her,” and then she gave me an abrazo (hug) through the wall.
Another instance where I encountered an authentic experience of joy was when I was in downtown Houston with my fellow antihomelessness activists passing out free food. We are part of an international decentralized movement called “Food Not Bombs.” While setting up on this particularly cold night a young boy (maybe eight years of age) asked me what we were giving out that night. I said soup. It was not clear to me whether this child had not eaten in days, or whether he was just the biggest fan of soup in all of humanity, but when I said the word “soup” his entire face just lit up like a light bulb!
Later that same night, while finishing up my time visiting with people, I began to gather myself in order to head home (I was one of the last volunteers to leave this night). At some point I looked up after answering a text message and was amazed to see a group of unhoused friends laughing, running around, enjoying the fact that they had a full belly. In that moment, as I realized that this is what Jesus meant when he said “your kingdom come … on earth as it is in heaven,” the words of Jesuit priest, theologian, and scientist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin popped into my head: “Joy is the infallible sign of the presence of God.” Watching this merriment was like being granted a glimpsed into the possibility of what communion really means: for that night, our soup and our presence was the life force that liberated weary bodies.
When we invest in one another, when we choose to affirm each other by being in solidarity with the most vulnerable of our world, we are exposed to the deep mystery of communion, and we may discover what St. Augustine of Hippo meant when he said: “The glory of God is a [human being] fully alive.” Speaking of affirming, let us talk about that next.
As I mentioned in the beginning, I experienced a deep sense of being affirmed while reading through this book on Thomas Aquinas. Why was this, I wondered—and then I realized that through the words of Aquinas, my generation (millennials) was being granted permission (by a saint!) not only to claim our rightful place as prophets but also to embrace wholeheartedly our identities as the beloved of God.
Aquinas—whether he knew it or he did not know it centuries ago when writing down these teachings—testifies to the life expressions of many young adults all over this world who have been acting upon the inner tug of Spirit to move forward in daring to build a radically different world where justice is the foundation, elitism is no more, and tenderness is our culture.
One of my favorite passages in this book, one that made me want to run a marathon because I was so energized by it, is found in the first chapter, where Rev. Dr. Fox quotes Aquinas:
Youth is the cause of hope on these three counts, namely because the object of hope is future, is difficult, and is possible. For the young live in the future and not in the past; they are not lost in memories but full of confidence.
Aquinas goes on:
Second, their warmth of nature, high spirits, and expansive heart emboldens them to reach out to difficult projects; therefore they are mettlesome and of good hope.
The quote continues, of course, but I just want to highlight the phrases “expansive heart” and “they are mettlesome and of good hope.” I love this! O, what truth! When I first read these lines, I wanted to cry tears of joy because I felt like my life was being given the proper praise it was due.
Lastly, Aquinas writes, “Third, they have not been thwarted in their plans, and their lack of experience encourages them to think that where there’s a will there’s a way.” I would testify that young adults do not “lack experience,” but rather they have different experiences that are unique to the very new issues of our times. This last line, however, denotes the inherent “overcomer” spirit that I think is inherently present among a lot of young adults who refuse to give up and insist upon being treated justly.
This beautiful affirmation from Thomas Aquinas sets us up for realizing that we must learn to delight in one another. Aquinas says, “For delight is the perfection of happiness, as beauty is that of youth” (Sheer Joy, 505).
Also in chapter 1, Matthew and Aquinas affirm what I tell others from time to time: “He encourages all to get a life, an inner life, and start paying attention to our experiences of beauty and truth, of oneness and oneing, in short to value our mystical experiences and make them the basis of our consciences, our choices, our values, our work, and our goals” (chaps 1, 18).
As I mentioned before, it is clear that Thomas Aquinas is praising those of us who are engaging in living consciously and with keen attention towards how our interior lives are influencing our exterior world. The process of developing an inner life and grappling with what is found in the deepest parts of our being is often neglected or undernourished by socially engaged people. This is why, as an activist priest, I do my best to assist in curating space where this sacred work can be done. This leads me, however, to those two pesky questions that kept recurring to me while reading this book—namely, is this true and could the messages in this book be too good to be true?
Those of us who are young adults, particularly queer black and brown young adults who may have differing neurological and/or physical abilities, are sadly accustomed to being targeted, abused, and thrown out by sacred institutions.
An air of suspicion from ecclesial institutions, who value respectability rather than justice, forces those who find themselves on the negative (and often violent) side of religiosity to cultivate a deep distrust, which prevents the ability to cultivate joy, and then completely smother any possibility for affirmation.
For me, this distrust is very real, and I relate in many ways to individuals who have been wounded by institutional religion. As a young person and ordained faith leader with differing physical abilities, I often find that seeking protection is something I consciously engage in on a daily basis—whether physical protection by seeking out spaces where my visual impairment or neurological difference will not keep me from full participation, or organizational protection so that there is some barrier between myself and the cruelty of others.
This reality of needing protection is very tangible for members of a variety of targeted communities who have historically been scapegoated, or even murdered, because the system dehumanized the community. (The Black Panthers are a great example of a community that was scapegoated and dehumanized.) Being abandoned by people who claim to be on our side can make us start to question (as I do), all that is brought before us.
From this understanding, I think it is clear why the question of “is this real” might arise. The words of Thomas Aquinas are a blessing of respite from constantly wondering whether we will be loved, whether we will be included, or whether we will need to pick up our things and go because we will not be wanted. These questions and internal struggles are direct by-products of a system inherently designed to deny us our rights to dignity, integrity, and ownership of our lived experiences. But, as we see, Aquinas encourages us to reclaim our dignity and integrity by insisting on paying attention to our lived experiences and doing the work of resisting all that denies us our experiences.
In my work as an activist and community organizer, I often find those of us who show up regularly—and dare to draw deep upon our courage to do this very difficult work of justicemaking—get burned so frequently that we lose our balance. Among changemakers, burnout, coupled with fatigue caused by repression, usually causes people to quit. I have also found that one of the ways ongoing oppression takes its toll is through the recurring idea that we do not “deserve” to be a part of the vastness of life. Feeling like we are not worthy, and then being regularly told by institutions that we are not worthy, is brutal beyond words.
There are also those of us who actively resist these lies by living our truths daily but often succumbing to crippling doubt that makes us question our very identity. This is most frequently called imposter syndrome—the belief that you are a fraud. These realities, which not only I but many others deal with also in our lives, are intense and often make activists very edgy.
But I find hope in chapter 1, where Matthew quotes a line in which it is clear that Aquinas encourages us to use self-love as the antidote to this regularly occurring struggle of self-doubt. Aquinas says, “Self-love is the form and root of all friendship. To know and appreciate your own worth is no sin” (Sheer Joy, 99). Indeed, knowing your own self-worth is not a sin but an act of revolution!
In my opinion, one of the greatest sins of our world is the idea that we have the authority to decide who is worthy of being made in the image and likeness of the divine. As the great Dutch spiritual writer and Catholic priest Henri Nouwen used to say, “We are the beloved [children] of God,” and he is absolutely correct. It is our constant duty to reclaim the core of our identity: belovedness—or, as Matthew would say, our “original blessing.”
Do you agree, or do you think this is too good to be true?
To be completely honest, even though I have read many works by Thomas Aquinas and know his theology and spirituality, I still doubted the wisdom I was reading and even thought to myself, “This is all just a gimmick.” But then I thought “So what?!” If this is too good to be true, then that means I must reevaluate my understanding of truth. As I was reflecting on various passages, an epiphany occurred that opened my eyes. If the messages of Thomas Aquinas present here are “too good to be true” then that is exactly why I need them—because they are coming from a place of goodness that reflects back to me, like a mirror, my own innate goodness. After this realization, I noticed the title of chapter 9: “The first and primary meaning of salvation is this: To preserve things in the good.” The three words that stood out to me were salvation, preserve, and good.
The idea that salvation was the act of “preserving all things in the good” was absolutely electrifying to me! At a workshop on faith-based community organizing, I once stated that I believed our duty as faith leaders was less about saving souls and more about liberating bodies. Reading this quote from Aquinas makes me feel like he is seconding what I said, clarifying it by explaining that “liberating bodies” is to preserve them in goodness—namely, to be sure that people can eat, drink, have healthcare, and receive education.
Who knew that Thomas Aquinas, a medieval theologian and philosopher, was such a revolutionary?! Can we also dare to dwell in our innate goodness and demand that we be treated as the beloved children of God?
Our marching orders are clear, and the path has been set for us. We do not have the luxury of time to allow external forces to keep us from giving birth to new realities of global justice and cosmic oneness. We must embrace the beautiful wisdom in this book and get to work!
Thomas Aquinas, like many sages and prophets, has often been ignored to the point that his life becomes but a footnote in history, or his message is watered down to the point that the potency of his words is drowned out of existence. However, in this timely work, Rev. Dr. Matthew Fox has revived Aquinas for our time and given him a framework that allows all of us to recognize that this message is the instrument that will give our weary world a new song of liberation.
I would like to leave you with these words from the queer, black feminist and prophet Audre Lorde. May they charge you up with the power to become fierce lovers of truth, perpetrators of peace, and preachers of justice: “It is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence; and there are so many silences to be broken.”40