116. Cast Your Fate

I sat looking at St. Lucy and thinking about the day I painted the eyeglasses, remembering the feeling of being such a great smartass.  And the truth is that I lied to my abbot.  St. Lucy was not on sale.  I have a reason for rationalizing to myself that it wasn’t actually a lie.  But I’m afraid to write it down here and find it’s pretty thin.

Sparky knew exactly how to handle me. He said nothing. Even a week later, by which time he surely could have dropped by the chapel to check St. Lucy's neckline, Sparky had said nothing. He never did. Meanwhile I felt dumber and dumber. But I never pulled her dress higher with a paintbrush, and I won't until he comes back from the dead and tells me to. I wish he would. I miss him. 

“I hate to disturb your meditation, my dear Abbot,” drawled Harpo, “but I have need of your sagacity.”

“Good Morning, Harpo,” I said, “what's up?”

“I'm considering changing my vote for the acceptance of Postulant Julio into our exclusive club,” he said.

“You'd still be out-voted,” I said, sensing that an uncomfortable conversation was about to take place.

“Still,” he said, “I could then say to my Brothers that I was now officially against what you have unfortunately named The Visiting Scholar Program.”

“And sew seeds of discontent?” I said. “What would that accomplish? And why have you changed your mind?”

“Many reasons have occurred to me since the night we voted … in a rushed manner ... but I understand we had to move quickly to accept Alfred's offer. Perhaps what bothers me the most is that it has violated our rule of poverty.”

“But we're not personally getting anything out of this. We're not even eating the good stuff from the pantry. We're still on rice and beans.”

“As you know, my esteemed Abbot … and that's not sarcasm … the vow of poverty is less about cash holdings than it is about trusting in the Lord to provide for all our needs.”

“And since he works in strange ways,” I said, “why not through the United States government?”

“Government spooks, I believed they're called,” said Harpo. “Let me ask you something, Abbot. Would your father have been proud of your vocation to our religious order of Brothers?”

“Yes, he would have,” I answered, knowing where Harpo was probably going.

“And would he be proud of your liaison with an intelligence service?” Harpo continued.

“Probably not,” I answered honestly.

“You did what you thought best to save the monastery,” said Harpo. “I am not here to accuse you of wrongdoing.  My purpose is to save you from yourself, my Brother . You are more important than this place.”

“Each of us is,” I said.

“And so it was my intent to remind you of that. Let us give God a chance, Jesse. I don't know if he has a thousand dollars per week to spend like the United States Government, but I am sure he can figure out the best way to save us.”