76. Acceptance

I thought Terd’s comment was totally unfair!  I considered jumping off the roof long before I knew we were getting kicked out of our monastery!

“I’m sorry, Jesse,” Terd continued. “I have no right to judge you.”

“Nor I to judge you,” I said, rather perfunctorily and frankly without meaning it.

“Jesse, my life will change because I want it to,” he said. “Yours will change because of someone else’s needs. You believe that is your lot to accept.  You may be right.  Or wrong.  But the one certainty in life is that tomorrow always brings something new and different, a challenge we have to deal with it."

”Unless we're dead," I said.

"That's right," he replied.  "You can always pretend you can fly."

I left soon afterward, my heart still angry from being forced to look at myself.  As I drove back over the bridge, the river ran far below me,  enormously deep and wide and far beyond my control.   The mountains filled the horizon as though they were huge problems lying in wait.  But soon my fears calmed a bit and my indignation began to ebb as I realized that Terd was correct. He may be misguided in his own plans ... in my opinion ...  but I knew indeed I was less than willing to accept change.  When I thought of our physical and spiritual home on the mountain about to be sold,  I saw us left destitute, possibly unable to survive.  But that worry should have always been with us as mendicant monks.  Yet we had lived a rather blessed existence for years on the mountain in beautiful surroundings, except for the condition of the Chapter House. Certainly, there was no reason to complain and no reason to assume Our Maker would not continue to care for us.  If I could only see with eyes of faith, which is something you'd expect a monk could do with a snap of his fingers.  Yet my old self came forth with a vengeance at these times and I looked to the future with fear rather than faith.  Truth be told, we often don’t know what we're seeing when we stare at so-called reality, except what someone may have once told us we were looking at.

“I sent you to Brother Theresa,” Agnes said to me that evening, “because I hoped you’d talk him out of leaving. An impossible task, no doubt, but worth the effort. Thank you for trying, Brother Jessica.”

“Maybe Terd is right,” I said “Maybe my inclination is to accept what life is going to serve up to me.”

“I think that’s best,” Agnes replied. “But  prayer and thoughtful preparation will help.”

“What is YOUR plan, Agnes,” I asked.

“I think to go out back in the hemlocks and smoke my pipe.” he said. “You know we’re allowed to smoke in Fermoy.”

“I had no idea,” I said.

“Irish tradition, I suppose,” said Agnes.

“I meant the hemlocks,” I said. “I thought they were pines.”

“Someone may have told you wrong,” he said.

John Michael Talbot in his more lively days - Prepare Ye The Way

75. Outbound

Ala Medusa

I was worried about Terd as we sat across from each other in his kitchen.

"Once I came to accept I could no longer stay at Our Lady's," Terd continued, "I wondered if I was receiving what we always pray for ... guidance.  And the more I thought of it, the more I realized that circumstances in my life were obviously pointing toward change."

"Unfortunately, I think,"  I said.

“I know it seems odd,” Terd continued, “that I would leave the contemplative life now, but I’m 51 years old and it’s time for more direct service.”

“How do you mean?” I queried.

“I want to work with people and be helpful,” he said. “I feel this is the time of life to give back to those I share the planet with.”

“Doing what?” I asked. He had my interest. I’d had similar thoughts about whether spending a life with only ten other men really opened myself to what God wanted me to do. And in the words of The Teacher, Ecclesiastes, all things have their season.

“I don’t know specifically what I want to do at this point,” Terd said, “but I feel I’ve been called.”

“And you can just throw away your Athanasian work?”

“It’s done, really,” he said.  “The next phase would be a gigantic piece of work.  The next scholar can have it.  After so many years I’m tired of it.”

I knew what he meant, because I had worked with scholars who had reached that point.  Unfortunately, their egos and need for a salary kept them at their tasks longer than  their ability to generate enthusiasm and useful ideas.

“You say you believe you’re called,” I said.  “Called to what?”

 “Not what,” he said, “where. I’ve been called out.”

“You’ve been called 'out,'” I repeated his phrase. “Out of our community?”

“Yes,” he said.

“To where?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I just know I should leave and … well, cast my fate upon the waters.”

“Terd, my heart is with you, but my head says there are better ways to make a change. And you have a much better head on your shoulders than I. Why don't you stay at Our Lady’s and figure out your next move? Do some research or talk to …”

“I’m through talking and truthfully I’ve come to hold thinking in less esteem these days,” he said.

I felt frustrated. This had the flavor of trying to talk sense to teenager.

“Terd, come back to West Saugerties for now,” I said. “You admit you don’t know what you want and …..”

“What do YOU want, Jesse?,” asked Terd. “You can’t stay at Our Lady’s, it’s being sold!”
                
“I think what I want is obvious,” I said, heat beginning to rise in me. “But it’s not clear what you want and you don’t have a plan, damn it!”

“Tell me, Jesse,” said Terd as he leaned toward me, “other than jumping off the roof, what’s YOUR plan?”

Gericault's Raft of the Medusa

Did I Mention I Like To Dance? -Flynt Flossy

74. Finding Terd

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

73. Evening

In the evening the mix of sleet and rain stopped. The temperature rose into the low thirties and I sat on the back veranda muffled up against the cold. Fresh air of any temperature was welcome at Our Lady’s. Snow lay on the ground from the light blizzard that had been so cheery on Christmas morning. But when it continued to fall the next day, it seemed no more than the normal crappy weather of a Catskills winter .  The aroma of tobacco smoke drifted down to me and soon Agnes emerged from behind the stand of young pines that bordered the small open space behind the Chapter House.

“You needn’t hide it,” I said when he had crossed the yard and come up to sit across from me in one of the old rattan chairs.

“I know some of you smoked at one time," he said, "and I don’t want to tempt anyone.”

“Nor make them wonder where the money comes from to afford it,” I said

“I don’t have to answer that,” he bristled. As the abbot he was correct.

“A brother would have more consideration than you appear to have as an abbot,” I said.
He began to get up to leave.

”Don’t go, Agnes,” I said. He looked at me and then settled back in his chair. “What is your plan for us?” I asked.

He said nothing, but looked off the porch to where a small bird house hung from the eave of the adjoining building. Following his gaze, I thought he might honor me with the recitation of the parable about "the birds of the air" to assure me that God would take care of us. If he began with, “Consider the lilies of the field,” I planned for the first time in my religious life to take a punch at an abbot. Lucky for both of us, he said nothing.
“You can keep your own counsel,” I said, “but then you are not one of us.”
“I am indeed not one of you,” he said evenly. “I was sent to you. And you know why. This place will not survive. It has no funding, as I said at supper. None of this is news to you.”

“You haven’t been forthright about it since you arrived,” I said.

“Jesse,” said the abbot, “I have not been dishonest. I haven’t been ready to discuss the state of affairs because I had nothing to say about how we will handle the closing of the house. I’m sure you can imagine the many problems that will have to be solved.”

“Where is Terd?” I asked.

“I can’t say. ” said Agnes. “It’s not something I can discuss with you. I did not send him away.”

“Look, Agnes,” I said with some irritation in my voice, “I’m getting to be an old man and although I’ve been loyal and obedient to this Order for over three decades, my tolerance of bullshit is much less than it used to be. I think I can be helpful, but I need to know what’s happening here.”

“There are things that I have no authority to tell you,” he said.

“Then, if you must, break the rules or ignore confidences in telling me . We can apologize to whomever we need to later. These little secrets tiptoeing around us won’t mean a damned thing by this time next year when both you and I are gone from here.”
Agnes stood and looked down at me.

“You may be right. I’ll give it some thought,” he said.

The next morning he sent me across the river to talk to Terd.



Lion Sleeps Tonight - Straight No Chaser

72. Supper

Agnes gave me a look of concern when I later entered the breakfast room where we eat our meals. As the monks gathered for our supper of lima beans and rice, my abbot did not speak to me at length.   He was brief. "Stay off the roof," he said to me. I knew my aborted take off would be discussed more fully at some future date.

At the end of our wordless meal, Agnes began his pitch.

“The day's silence is over," he said, "and I'll explain what’s happening with our monastery. You may ask questions when I am done and I will try my best to answer them.”

He didn’t say much. Had we been a group of businessmen about to light up after dinner cigars and top off our snifters with a bit more brandy, we would have settled back to find ourselves sorely disappointed with Agnes’ exceedingly brief foray into the world of our finances.

“You’re broke,” he said, and not a single person missed his distancing from us with the second person “you.” He continued, “The Brothers in Ireland are also facing dire financial straits and cannot continue to send money every 3 months. Our Lady’s Monastery at West Saugerties will close down in a few months. I have been sent here to figure out how to do that so that the welfare of each of you is considered.”

This was hardly news. We Brothers dined on our beans and rice and waited to hear of the efforts to be performed for our welfare. Agnes said nothing. Finally, Harpo spoke up.

“And what is your plan for us, Agnes?”

“I’m not at liberty to say just yet,” replied Agnes

“Oh, for chrissakes,” I heard Bouncer say under his breath. We all heard him say it under his breath.

“But that lady … Sally … is she part of this plan?” Raiser asked, hoping to milk more information from Agnes.

Agnes smiled, “A lovely lass she is, yes. She will help us to get a good price for the property so that the creditors can be paid.”

I looked over my shoulder to where Terd normally sat. I wished he was here.

“We have creditors?” asked Bouncer.

“The money sent to us each month has been borrowed from a bank in Merchant’s Quay in Cork.” said Agnes. This was news to us, but it hardly mattered. We were going to be put out on the street, left penniless. Well, penniless is part of our vocation, of course, but it is nice to be penniless with a few sacks of beans and rice in the larder and a roof over your head.

Where the hell was Terd?

Joe Cocker - A Little Help From My Friends

71. Gone

I searched for Terd before supper and he was gone. I don’t mean gone off somewhere like he’d be back for Compline. He had left. His crucifix and holy picture were gone from the wall of his room on the 2nd floor. The dresser was empty and I discovered the suitcases had been moved around in the 3rd floor attic when I checked there.

I was so upset. Terd had left us?  How could he do that?  He always seemed like a rock to all of us.  His maturity and judgment seemed unquestionable … most of the time.  Among the Brothers, as some of us raced toward senility, Terd could be counted upon to steady the boat with his firm grip on reality .. most of the time.  And now ... what a strange feeling it was for me to begin to doubt my own grip ... I needed his help and he had left me. 

And my Guardian Angel is a real estate sales woman?  What did everything she said to me in the woods a year ago mean?  Did I really hear her correctly?  What DID she say to me?  I couldn’t remember.  Where was the line between reality and fact?  Would I find out some day that even God was a figment of my imagination?  A year ago I wondered if he had come to earth again as the old fellow in the village who fixed shoes and always had a piece of homey advice to offer.  But he fell over his counter and on to the floor in June,  dead at age 88.  I went to the wake and sat alone among the empty chairs.  It was creepy, not a single soul came.  At ten minutes before nine, Jack came in and said they would soon close.
"Is God dead?" I asked.
"Living in Jamaica," he answered good naturedly, as he turned off a lamp.

When I arrived in the attic, the hammer was still on the floor at the foot of the ladder. I picked it up and beat the crap out of my trousseau, probably ruining my good robe. I was so mad I just wanted to destroy something. I don’t know why I chose to beat up my own property. Good manners, I suppose, or ingrained psychology.

I took the hammer up the ladder and clawed out the nails.  That awful creaking sound made quite a bit of noise, but I didn’t care.  I pulled myself up through the trap door hole and out on to the roof. Why was my life falling apart? And like this! With people lying and cheating and hurting each other all around me. With my home of thirty years being sold by a woman who is … who is … human? I don’t know. It was so frustrating. Was everyone lying to me?

I’m not getting any younger. Just as I reach a point in life when I need stability and I don’t want to worry about growing old without help, the entire f*cking planet goes crazy and I’m out in the cold. I know this sounds awfully selfish. Well OK, it IS selfish. But I think after a life of service I deserve some consideration from somebody up there … and I don’t mean in Ireland … who’s supposed to be in charge. Right? So, God, how about getting yourself back in charge?

“Jesse!” came an angry voice. Below me Agnes looked up from the front drive and screamed at me, “Get back from there!”

I barely realized I had crawled up to the peak of the roof and was leaning way out from the edge over nothing but thin air between myself and the ground. For one moment I thought, “F*CK IT!” I’ll make my own destiny. Jesse the lightning rod keels over even before the storm hits. I leaned slightly forward, but then pulled myself up and sat back from the peak. Agnes was down there shouting and I was sitting in a light rain and crying. Where had the blue sky and puffy white clouds from less than an hour ago gone? Even my god damned time machine was lying to me!

I remember once in Africa a heroin addict told me of the terrible frustration of lying sick in bed, afraid to get up, knowing if he did he would be off to his dealer for more. He dared not get up, but he was sick from lying down. He didn't want to, but he knew he would leave his bed in order to feed his addiction. It was so frustrating he wished he were dead. I felt that way on the roof. Afraid to die, but wishing to, because I was petrified with fear to go forward into old age while all of those things that could support me began to fall away.


Long Time Gone - Unlikely setup, but I like this song. See second url for  CS&N song under 1969 footage of Woodstock prep as Yasgur's Farm.  (Same title, but a different song.)




Sorry, this Woodstock video wouldn't embed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PFCgAhZEO8