Friends, I am heartbroken to share with you that Father Thomas Francis Smith, OCSO, of the Monastery of the Holy Spirit passed away early this morning. He was 96 years old.
I met Father Tom in 2005 when I attended a Centering Prayer introductory workshop at the Monastery. He wasn’t the first monk I had met at the monastery, but we struck up a conversation that day and before long we had become friends. I briefly met with Tom thinking I would love to see a monk for spiritual direction. But he was more naturally a teacher than a spiritual director, although we certainly became soul friends. Tom was delighted with my interest in Christian mysticism — an interest he shared — and when we would get together, our conversations would range far and afield as we mused together on the treasures of the tradition, the challenges of pursuing contemplative spirituality in today’s world, and the beauty of silence and Centering Prayer.
Tom loved angels, and had some wonderful angel stories. He wrote a short book called Angels: Our Guides to Contemplation for the Third Millennium, which gathered together two shorter works of his, Angels: From Body-Guards to Spirit-Directors and The Jesus Prayer and Contemplation. His writing, like himself, was quirky and full of love.
His spirituality was deeply, deeply trinitarian. He imagined the Holy Trinity as declaring not “I AM” but “WE AM” — never mind the bad grammar! He saw that kind of collective declaration of pure being as the heart of the trinitarian God, and used “We Am” as his Centering Prayer sacred word.
When Tom read a book that he enjoyed, he told everyone about it. His tastes ranged from heady theological works like Catherine Mowrey LaCugna’s God For Us: The Trinity and Christian Life or Aristotle Papanikolaou’s Being With God: Trinity, Apophaticism, and Divine-Human Communion to mystical classics like Caryll Houselander’s The Reed of God, and even down-to-earth popular books like The Shack — which he loved because its image of God is so — you guessed it — trinitarian. He was good friends with Cynthia Bourgeault, and is mentioned in the acknowledgments page of her book Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening, where she lauds his “deep insights on the apophatic life.”
Needless to say, he is also mentioned by name in the acknowledgments of several of my books, although I typically don’t give a monk’s name when telling a story about him, respecting both the monk’s privacy and the commitment to humility that shapes the monastic charism. But I will “out” Fr. Tom where he shows up in chapter 6 of Befriending Silence, recounting the time when he introduced me to the concept of “the saint-maker.” I had gone to him for counsel in dealing with another monk, whom I found very difficult to work with (I was an employee of the monastery at the time). Here’s how the conversation unfolded:
I turned to one of the oldest monks in the community for advice. I confided how challenged I felt by having to deal with a work situation I found unpleasant. The older man listened carefully to what I had to say, and then, while neither defending my coworker or commiserating with me, smiled and said in a cheery voice, “You’ve got a saint-maker!”
“A what?” I asked, not sure what he meant.
“A saint-maker. It’s a term we use in the cloister. You see, it’s inevitable that when you enter a monastery, you’re not going to automatically be friends with every member of the community. It’s human nature. Some guys you really like, most you can get along with, but there always seems to be one or two who drive you nuts. Those brothers are your saint-makers because they are the ones that God uses to help you grow in holiness.”
He paused to let me think about what he just said. “You mean that God wants me to become a better Christian by learning how to deal with this annoying person?”
“Yes, exactly,” he said happily. “Can I get a second opinion?” I asked grumpily.
“The thing to remember,” my older friend said wisely, “is that you are probably someone else’s saint-maker too. That thought is what really keeps us humble. We want everyone to like us but of course not everyone does.”
Notice I use words like “cheery” and “happily” — but also “wisely” — in describing Fr. Tom. That’s because that’s exactly what he was: a happy, cheerful, and deeply wise Trappist monk.
Unlike some of the other elderly monks I knew, Fr. Tom never met Thomas Merton personally, but they did briefly correspond when Fr. Tom was praying the Jesus Prayer — and felt unsettled by the altered state of consciousness that the prayer evoked in him. Merton, sensibly, suggested to Tom that he was probably over-doing it, and so helped Tom to find a more balanced approach to contemplation. But forty years later when I got to know Fr. Tom, he was still a deeply, deeply contemplative man who clearly loved to spend time in silent prayer. (If you want to read one of Merton’s letters to Fr. Tom — under the name “Father Thomas Fidelis (Francis) Smith, OCSO” — you can find it in The School of Charity: Letters of Thomas Merton on Religious Renewal and Spiritual Direction).
I met Father Tom several years before I began to write the book that would eventually be published as The Big Book of Christian Mysticism. Tom was not the only monk I consulted while writing the book, nor the only one to read it and give me advice, but he was far and away the most vocally supportive of my decision to write about a topic as lofty as Christian mysticism. Tom never questioned my motives or gave me the side-eye because I was a mere layperson without formal theological training. Whereas others might have sensibly accused me of being presumptuous, Tom celebrated the idea of a layperson studying the mystics and then sharing the fruits of my research with others. He would often say to me, wistfully acknowledging the dwindling numbers in most monasteries, that the future of contemplative spirituality belonged to the laity — and so it was up to laypersons to study, internalize and pass on the wisdom of the mystics.
But while Fr. Tom was supportive of my vocation as a writer, he also challenged me. One day he needed to go to Atlanta to pick up some prints of Rublev’s Icon of the Trinity — his favorite icon, of course. Even then he was no longer driving, so he asked me to take him on his errand. Delighted to spend some quality time with him, I agreed. But once we got in the car, he very lovingly but firmly cautioned me that being a published author on mystical spirituality posed a huge danger — that my ego could run away with the idea of being a “spiritual teacher.” Not only did he counsel me to practice humility, but also suggested that if I dared to write about mysticism, I should probably be engaging in Centering Prayer for two hours a day! (full disclosure: I still have not taken him up on that particular bit of advice, but I do consider my daily practice of prayerful silence to be of highest priority in my life).
I worked at the monastery for almost 8 years, and Tom and I worked together for much of that time. He was a mentor, a genial co-worker, and a dear friend. When one of his brother monks, Fr. Anthony, invited me to discern becoming a Lay Cistercian (similar to a Benedictine oblate, in other words, a layperson with a formal learning relationship to the monastery), Fr. Tom was one of the monks who stood and received my life promises.
But perhaps even more meaningful to me was Tom’s affection for my daughter, Rhiannon. After years of suffering from polycystic kidney disease and related health challenges, Rhiannon entered hospice in early 2014; I still have the lovely note that Tom wrote to her, assuring her of his continued prayers. When Rhiannon died, Fr. Tom and my other dearest monk friend, Br. Elias Marechal, attended her funeral (and Fr. Tom concelebrated the mass with the pastor of our church). It is customary for only two monks to attend a funeral of a friend of the monastery, and of course I had numerous friends among the monks — but the two who came were my two closest friends.
But in the years after I left employment of the monastery, and my own ministry as a writer and retreat leader expanded, I didn’t get out to see Tom nearly as often as I would have liked. Even before the pandemic, he was showing clear signs of cognitive decline. The last time I saw him was at Brother Elias’s funeral, a little over a year ago. Confined to a wheelchair, Tom’s eyes were still bright but he did not recognize me. Cheerful as ever, we chatted for a moment about Elias and about how amazed Tom was to still be alive. “Can you imagine, I’m 95 years old!” he marveled. I told him I thought that was wonderful, my heart breaking that he didn’t know who I was but still glad to see him.
His funeral will be Monday morning, and I’ve rearranged my schedule to attend — as soon as it’s over, I’ll be on the road traveling to a different monastery leading a retreat. Fr. Tom was one of the monks — along with Fr. James, Fr. Anthony, Br. Elias and Br. Mark — who encouraged me and mentored me as a lay retreat leader. For years, Tom and I co-directed the “Wisdom of the Christian Mystics” retreat at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit. After his cognitive decline had gotten too pronounced, Br. Elias became my co-leader, and these days I lead that retreat solo — yes, that’s the retreat I’ll be heading to next week, after attending Fr. Tom’s funeral. I’m sure he’ll be looking down from heaven, cheering me on. Hopefully he and Rhiannon will dance together in the light of the triune God of love.
