21. Just Let Me Hear Some of That …

… Rock and Roll Music!  I wasn’t always a monk, of course.  Before I joined the Order after college, I lived in a dorm like any other kid and played in a rock and roll band on weekends.  I played keyboard, but I wasn’t very good.  I was just a key banger, white keys preferred.  You might remember that in the 1950s and early 1960s before the Beatles popular music wasn’t very complicated. 

Top 40 songs were almost always I, IV, V for the fast songs and I, VI, IV, V for the slow tunes.  (In the key of C that would be C,F,G and C, Am, F, G7 respectively.)  C, Am, F, G7 eventually worked for a host of later folk songs.  In fact the chord progression has obsessed music heard at Mass since 1963.  I am still astonished the last Pope didn’t canonize Peter, Paul and Mary.  Thank God we stick to medieval music for our liturgy here at Our Lady’s.  Every time I go to a “Folk Mass” in town I know what I would do to the guitars If I Had A Hammer.  At the local church, the one we call Saint Barrel Ass because of its pastor, the middle aged men and women who make up "the band"  appear stuck in the folk tradition like that guy in the movie who wakes up every morning to the same day all over again.  There's a beautiful organ we brothers would sell our souls for that sits unused up in the choir loft where an anonymous choir in years gone by sang real music, without screen credits.  Today, I notice even the kazoo players get their names in the Bulletin.   On our last visit in June we were treated to “Lord of  The Dance” done up tempo by a group of kazoo playing six year olds who ran out of breath and began to wander back to their mothers.  I shouldn't be so picky, I suppose.  Everyone got a kick out them.

Playing a guitar or kazoo and singing at a Folk Mass is probably enjoyable, but without young women screaming when you huff out your low notes,  I can't imagine it's as much fun as belting out a song to a hall filled with beer drinking sorority girls.  It’s amazing how many young men sang “For Your Love” or "Over the Mountains"  in the era of my youth.  In fact, of the eleven of us here at Our Lady, four were in college rock bands.  When Agnes is away alienating people down in the village, the rest of us drop everything and work on our music.  You should hear the neat arrangements we do of Kokomo and Little Deuce Coupe.  Raiser does a great cover of  Rock and Roll Music and his voice sounds just like Chuck Berry!

20. Forgotten

Yes to the e-mailer from Blue Mountain, I did indeed choose St. Jessica’s name; it was not given to me.  And frankly,  I chose it because I wanted to be as anonymous as Jessica.  I thought that given my personality, her name might quell my ego and leave me forgotten.  My choice didn’t diminish my ego one bit, but it turns out I have been completely forgotten.  I’m a monk, so  I guess that’s OK.   It would be nice to hear from my birth brothers once in a while, however.  Not counting them,  there are only two or three more relatives left to die and then I won’t have any family funerals to go to.  What a shame.  If you ever see a contemplative monk at a public or family funeral with a somber look on his face, take it from me, he's doing all in his power to keep from bursting out loud, "Hallelujah!  People!  Food!"   At the Apres Funeral Finger Food Feast those little miniature hot dogs sure beat the boiled cardboard I normally eat!  And pretty women!  Please, God, don't let this be a dream!  Even the grandmothers look good!  I heard they made a movie about it, but you won't believe what the scent of woman does to a man who has not been within a mile of a  female for years at a time.  Oh, of course, the normal physical reactions anyone would expect.  But I'm talking about the psychological impact.  I come home from a funeral and  swear I can smell the scent of a women for a month afterward.  A door squeaks at one end of the refectory at meal time and I catch myself looking up, expecting a woman to walk in.    OK, I'm exaggerating.  But not by much.  You're surprised I would admit it?  I'm a man, for cripes sake, not a eunuch.  I didn't become a monk because I thought women were boring.  I became a monk because I believed I was called to do so.

Strange thoughts earlier this evening: if I had married, I'd have more relatives.  If I'd had children, I would have bequeathed new life.  I wonder if  being a monk is somehow selfish.  I never thought it was.

The "borrowed" Wifi signal has dropped to 50 dbm.    Gotta go to Compline!

19. Light, No Sugar

I was in the kitchen one morning finishing up washing the dishes when I heard a tap  on the window beside me.  A huge head surrounded by a bush of hair and beard stared in at me. A more stern face I hadn't seen since the policeman caught me stealing gas from the fire department's gas pump when I was in college.  When the man knew he had my attention, a smile broke across his face that was exactly like that of a 5 year old girl as he turned his head aside.  Quickly he looked back at me, put his open hand under his chin and blew me a kiss.  I was dumbfounded, but couldn't help myself from laughing out loud.  I was thinking  he must be standing on a step stool for his head to be that high in the window frame when  I went outside and spotted him approaching me.  He was huge, at least six foot six and probably more.  And as big around as the old maple tree we used to play under as kids before the neighbors cut it down and put up a garage.  He wore a monk's robe similar to mine, but employing yards more material.  His hem swept the leaves off the driveway surface as he walked up to me.

"I am Brother Saint Theresa Kim Im-i, and blesssed be the name of my patron from Soeul, the saint and virgin, killed by the pagan  Joseon Dynasty for her love of The Lord," he said.

"How do you do, Brother," I said playing along.   "I am Brother Saint Jessica, and blessed be the assistant to Mary Mag....."

" ... a minor light in the celestial cathedral of patrons," he interrupted.  "I bring a message from The Pope."

"You're not very courteous, my Brother," I said.

"There is no time for amenities while the world burns in sin and privation!" he said with a great deal of annoyance.

"Then what is your messsage from the Pope?"  I asked.  This had to be a joke.

"His Holiness wishes that you provide a cup of coffee, if you happen to have any."

"And he sent you all the way from Rome to get it?" I asked.

"Of course not," said the huge hulk of a man.  "He's out by the mailbox, waiting in his limosine."

"Who the hell are  you?"  I asked with a smile in my voice.

"He takes it light with no sugar," said. the man.

And so Terd came to us.  He carried a letter from the McFour in Fermoy appointing him to our house.  It told nothing about the giant, just that he was now assigned to Our Lady's at West Saugerties.  Time would pass before the Brothers learned we were housing one of the world's foremost scholars on Athanasius, the venerable Church Father.  But we saw almost immediately he was a man who saw life with humor  but alternated it with a quick temper and an anger that had been with him for a long time.

Bouncer, who considered the surrounding forest hostile territory and every animal in it an enemy soldier, remarked that "the empire," as he called the assembled fauna, had their bears and now we had ours.  And so Brother Thersa was nicknamed Bear until his habit of shouting "Bastard!" almost every time something went wrong earned him the name Terd.

This guy is talented!

18. Disappointed

I drove Abbot Agnes to meet Sara at the McDonald’s near the Thruway this morning to deliver her the wedding invitations.  I was hoping he would ask me to come inside with him since I am the craftsman who printed them.  But he did not.  And when Agnes came outside afterward, I saw no young woman anywhere in the vicinity, so she may have left by the door on the other side of the building or stayed for a second cup of coffee.  Just as well.   


I didn’t ask to join them.  There was no need for me to meet her.  However, I did want to see her.  Not to ogle her.  Not really.  That could lead to sin.  Actually, I was hoping to find her as ugly as a manatee so that I could stop thinking about … well, about whether it was worthwhile to remain celibate my entire life.  Pretty much.  


With the wedding invitations complete,  there’s not much going on here in the print shop.  Thank goodness Agnes didn’t return and order me to get on the phone to drum up more printing business to augment our income.  But I shouldn’t worry.  Few people want this kind of printing any more, except for wedding invitations and certificates of one kind or another.  And I don’t mind setting type and printing them occasionally.  I’ve done other short runs and printed up bookmarks for libraries.  But I don’t want to get hammered with business!  Besides, customers couldn’t possibly wait as long as it takes me to set the type and do the makeready and hand feed each card or sheet and pump the foot treadle and stack and fold the work.   


I hope the best for Sara, her marriage and her future life.  He’s a lucky guy.





Couldn't resist this!

17. Faith

I spent time with Harpo this afternoon.  I’m afraid I don’t have much patience for those who agonize over their doubts.  There are some who are in constant turmoil about   a) the existence of God,  b) God’s plans for the universe, and  c) whether He’s going to send them to hell.  That’s an awful way to spend one’s time, let alone one's life.   I think we can assume that an entity who so loved the world that He gave his only begotten Son could certainly be trusted to have your best interests at heart.  Do you think Christ hung on a cross angry over your impure thoughts?

Worrying over our doubts about certain doctrines seems to me a real waste of time.  Why pick only a few, when we should be questioning all of them.

As for the world’s future, we have only an inkling … a tiny one at that … of God’s purposes.  Unless you’re Fundamentalist.  They have everything down pat … and in writing.    It is human to wonder about all of these things, but I think it’s useless to worry about myself.  He's always taken care of me.  Why would that change?   It's better to simply trust.  You know … faith.

The person who may have taught me the most about living a life of faith is Dolly Parton.  We seldom watch television here at Our Lady’s, but one evening the Abbot Brother Saint Florian of Linz - called Sparky, with so many age spots we were reminded of a Dalmatian)wanted to view a televised biography of B-16 ... the former Pope Benedict the 16th, who is Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, and was Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. I turned on the TV a little early and caught the tail end of an interview show just as Dolly was asked if she was religious.  Tearing my eyes upwards from the bottom of the screen,  I tried to focus on her smile as she answered.  She always had faith, she said, but made a decision each day to lead her life as though her faith was valid and to act like she meant it, even during times when doubts assailed her.  I don’t know why her words impressed me so, but I could spend years in theology classes and not come up with a better plan for how to live a life of faith.  It's not always easy, of course. I’m quite sure everyone who seeks the spiritual life runs into a brick wall now and then.   Most of us have what Cat laughingly calls a  “deep and abiding faith that comes and goes.”

I told Harpo he worried too much.

“Take your mind off your worries and spend it somewhere else.”  I said.  “Find someone to help and you’ll feel better.”

He looked at me.

Shit. There goes my solitude in the cellar.

But then, to accomplish our work well most of us need others .