When one comes down off the mile long bridge crossing the Hudson River and lands in the Dutchess County town of Rhinebeck, a different landscape can be seen through the windshield. Gone is the rough hewn mountain-inspired lifestyle of a few minutes ago. Welcoming up ahead are fine old homes with neatly trimmed lawns and enough historical preservation laws to choke a horse. And there are plenty of horses on these open fields of grass and clover. New York City robber barons of over a century ago paid my Irish ancestors a pittance to clear these pastures from the forests lining the river at one time all the way to the Adirondacks. The Irish dug stone by hand from the quarries and built fine mansions for the weekend use of the rich. Later, private steamboats carried revelers upriver from Manhattan to gala parties served by the sons and daughters of the lumberjacks, carpenters and quarry men who had gone to their graves early from the harsh work.
I drove north on the secondary road, skirting Rhinebeck and eventually finding my way through the small commercial center of the village of Red Hook. Off the main drag I found a little house on a back street with no car in the short driveway. Evidently aware I was coming, Terd opened the door and welcomed me to come and sit with him in the brightly painted living room. He took my coat while I settled in my chair and looked around the room. No pictures, but the furniture was better than the old stuff we had at the monastery.
“Well, old son,” I said with light sarcasm, “it seems you’ve landed on your feet. But how did you find this house?”
“I called Marist College’s faculty office and asked if someone wanted to share a house or apartment. Jack is a Benedictine Brother teaching at the college. Luckily, he identifies with my plight and will wait until I’m working and can pay him my share of the rent.”
I looked around the sparsely furnished living room and said, “A miniature Frat house, probably with no beer keg.”
“Jesse,” he said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you my plans. I’m leaving the Order. It was not a spur of the moment decision. I really don’t know specifically what I will do, but I’m free of West Saugerties.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Should I be happy or sad for you?” I asked.
“Happy,” came his reply.
“Then I am, if that’s what you want and if that’s what is best for you,” I said.
“It is for the best," Terd said. "So what’s new on the mountain?” he asked, but he didn’t really appear interested.
“The real estate woman showed up and looked over the monastery,” I said. I wanted to tell Terd about Sally. I wasn’t sure he had met her in the village when he went with Agnes. But he would remember my running around ranting about a Sally that night a few years back before Sparky grabbed me and took me aside. I decided to skip the topic.
“So they must be close to offering it for sale,” said Terd.
“There may be ads in the newspaper now, for all I know,” I said.
“Look, Jesse,” said Terd, “I’ve been as hurt and disappointed as you over the closing of the monastery, and I argued with Agnes until I was blue in the face.”
“You were extremely upset with him,” I said, “and yet you knew our closing was inevitable.”
“Yes,” he answered, looking away from my gaze. “It was our arguments that caused me to almost hate him. His insufferable ego, his … other problms.”
“What other …” I began.
“A man is a complicated being,” said Terd, “but an abbot is still deserving of respect. At least for his office. I won’t dissect Agnes here just to justify my anger at him.”
Terd stopped and looked up at me. “You know, when I left France, I spent a winter at Fermoy.”
Terd had mentioned that to me before, and said it was before the current regime of the Provincial, Brother St. Anne.
“Agnes and I are like fire and jet fuel. I had to get out of Our Lady’s before it came to a fist fight…
“I’d forgotten,” I interjected, “You must have met Agnes before.”
“… as it did that winter in Fermoy. But there’s another reason why I left.”
“What reason?” I asked. “And you took a poke at poor old Agnes in the Holy Of Holies in Fermoy?” I laughed.
Terd leaned back in his chair and said to me, “How would you like a donut?”
He knows my weaknesses, having seen me coming out of the donut store a few times when we were in town on errands. We left the living room and walked down the short hall and into a kitchen brightly lit by the mid morning sun streaming in through the windows. When Terd had poured out the coffee into two brown ceramic mugs and brought them to the table, he passed a box of donuts to me and then began to speak.
“There undoubtedly comes a time in every contemplative’s life when he can no longer admit that he or she isn’t proud of himself,” Terd began, “and he wonders how he could have spent all the years attempting to reduce himself in his own eyes as he tried to let God in for the great work of the spirit, only to discover that in his small victory he’s fallen in love with himself all over again. Or maybe his daily work, which was started as a prayer of service, brings him recognition.”
“I know it well,” I said with a smile. “I swell with pride whenever I’m asked for advice.”
“In my case,” Terd continued, “my scholarly work had been going so well that I began to gain recognition from the world’s small community of Athanasian scholars. Pride reared its ugly head in my heart and mind. I suppose only those who follow a path like you and I can appreciate it, but it’s terribly upsetting to dedicate your life to listening for the spirit and instead wind up listening to your ego sing your own praises. I finally had enough of that frustration and I asked myself if my life is about scholarly pursuits or is it about being a seeker. That’s when I decided to leave my work on Athanasius.”
“That must have been difficult,” I said. “We’re only human.”
“I know,” he answered, “and I couldn’t stay at Our Lady’s. I’d have nothing to do there, Jesse. You don’t really need an assistant to help you unplug the toilets and I’d had enough of Agnes.”
“But you can’t just walk into another monastery of contemplative brothers,” I said. Our Lady’s was truly unique in that we’d take anybody, but other Orders and houses were more selective and Terd might not be welcome, having stormed out of our monastery.
“I want a life of service,” he said. “And I think this time there’ll be more emphasis on the service than the monastic element. I've come to the conclusion I don't want to be in a monastery any longer.”
"I'll pray that you have discerned your path well," I said, and meant it.
Brooks & Dunn - Brand New Man
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