I’m a bachelor and I have always valued my role as a religious brother, but after my experience in Africa and the plane crash I found I could no longer continue in a dangerous ministry. A great force of self protection rose up from somewhere deep inside of me and almost instantly changed me from a relatively brave young man into a coward. Today we would say this strong urge to avoid harm is just one manifestation of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.) But I also began to doubt whether my vocation was a gift from an unseen power or just my ego telling me I was someone special.
We have no perpetual vows in our Order. Instead we renew for varying amounts of time. It’s like a contract, except we get only expenses when needed, no pay. I have known brothers who came in for ten years, went out for five and came back. My Novice Master had been at it for 35 years and was out twice, working as a ship’s radio man on freighters and cruise ships. I would have made my first renewal in 1972, two years after the plane crash, but I didn't . I wasn’t sure at the time that I should. The Gang of McFour in Ireland weren’t sure of me either, possibly because I sort of got lost for a year when I got out of the hospital. Not really lost, just not living in community and not answering the phone at the home of whichever relative I happened to be staying with that month.
And so in 1972 I left the order and went back to graduate school with money given to me by an insurance company. For a few of years I lived in the world until I wound up here at Our Lady of West Saugerties.
I seem to remember being on the road a lot. Or at least my heart was.
In case you haven’t guessed, I wasn’t really cut out to be a contemplative monk. But the only monk I’ve known who felt he was up to the task didn’t last long. Most contemplatives who successfully adjust to the life hope they are suited to it, but always entertain doubts now and then … every other hour or so.
Bouncer told me he kept a bag packed for his first ten years, ready to leave. He stormed the gates of heaven with prayer, he said, hoping that his life as a monk would finally become second nature to him rather than such a chore.
“I fasted and prayed and did just about everything except wear a hair shirt,” he said, “trying to adjust to the regimen. After ten years it occurred to me to ask myself why I was trying so hard to be a monk when it was such a tough life. Why not just leave?”
“But you didn’t, evidently,” I said.
“You’re not listening, Ace,” he said. “Why would I keep trying for ten long years?”
“The retirement package?” I joked.
“I realized that I must really, really want this,” he said, “to keep at it for so long. I had never wanted anything so much in my entire life!”
“So you found,” I said, “that you had a vocation of obsessiveness?”
“Yup, you got it!” Bouncer said dismissively, as if he was finished with me and this conversation. But then he looked at me seriously and said, “I think you’re right. We have a vocation of obsession.”
Blue Skies - Theresa Andersson is Amazing
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