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 .

16. Gorgeous

It’s Saturday night. As long as I live it will always feel special, even though at Our Lady of West Saugerties it's just another sundown. When I was a kid, my Grandmother and I would always watch Saturday Night Wrestling on television in the 1950’s. The entire charade bored me, frankly, but Grandma was a true fan. She would lunge back and forth in her rocking chair, cheering on her half naked champion while I listened with one ear and read ahead in my Geography textbook, “America’s World – from Washington to Peking.” What made the night special was the popcorn and soft drinks she allowed us while we watched Enrique Torres, Don Eagle, Whipper Watson and her all time favorite, Gorgeous George. She took me to see George when he came to town one snowy winter night. I’ll tell you the story sometime.

Did you do your homework regarding St. Jessica? You have no excuse if you failed to do your assignment, because these days it should take only a few clicks on the Internet. In fact, when my cousin Martha Rose and I were together at our last family funeral, she told me that a few clicks did a lot for her. They put her into a lifetime of debt!

Saint Jessica was the wife of Chuza, a steward to King Herod Antipas of Galilee. Did you remember when Mary Magdalen went to the tomb on Easter morning that she was not alone? That’s right, M.M. brought with her two other gals who had been cooking meals and presumably washing and ironing for Jesus and the Apostles. One of them was Jessica. I don’t know if Mr. Chuza knew of his wife’s activities, but for her efforts she became a saint and received perpetual care in heaven, so to speak. So you never know. You should be nice to anyone calling himself the Son of Man, especially if he's Jewish.  I think my patron saint, Jessica, has a sense of humor, so I’m not worried about offending her. As for the Son of Man, there is no question he has a sense of humor, and I’ve learned it’s quite well developed.

One Way Out - The Allman Brothers

15. Fear

There is ill feeling between Terd and Agnes.  Like most of the Brothers,  Terd joined in the whisperings and mild complaints about Agnes when the boat from Ireland hove to and deposited the new Abbot here in West Saugerties.  But as the months wore on and most of us became used to the little Irishman and his peculiarities,  Terd’s  attitude worsened.  Over the past few weeks his comments have at times been ugly.  One might assume Terd’s attitude toward his abbot severely worsened when he was told by Agnes that I would be the new errand boy and driver.  Terd said he was not bothered in the least, but I knew better.

At the hospital yesterday,  I could see anger in the big man’s eyes as the policemen accosted him.   But worse,  when Agnes took charge of the melee, a cold hard fury burst across Terd’s face.  I can understand the human aspect of a large and physically superior, as well as highly educated,  man being annoyed when a chirping leprechaun steps in to save the day.  But the depth of Terd’s contempt left me frightened.  I have known the man for years and love him as a brother, but I am beginning to fear the person who may be emerging from his anger.  And I do not understand why he so dislikes Agnes.

More Cow bell!

14. Emergency Room

XIV. Emergency Room
Harpo (Brother Father Saint Gertrude) fell down the steps into the cellar this morning when he came looking for me.  I feel so bad because I ignored his call from the top of the stairs, hoping to avoid conversation with him.   I’m allowed to ignore everyone except Abbot Agnes until evening, because our rule allows conversation only after supper and not during the day, when of course it would make more sense to allow communication, especially if we’re working on projects around the monastery.  But as my Novice Master once told me long ago, “If God had wanted the world to make sense, He would have left out humans.”

We took Harpo down to the new emergency room in Kingston.  We didn’t change our clothes, but went immediately in our work robes,  Terd leading the way in through that giant revolving door.  I can’t blame the lady for calling Security, who immediately called the Police.  If you saw ten robed and bearded men carrying an eleventh into your lobby, led by a giant resembling that big fellow in the Harry Potter movies, you’d probably leak yourself into your boots too!  (Yes, we’re all Harry Potter fans!)

Terd did not take too kindly to the little policemen as they bounced around him.  Agnes stepped in to save Terd … a role reversal if there ever was one.  Guns were about to be drawn and the poor lady behind the desk dropped down out of sight to sit on her soggy boots.  Agnes shouted, “Vos adversus Deus,”  in the words of the First Martyr St. Stephen.  We dropped to our knees and held out our crucifixes, our standard group action when attacked by humans.  (A crucifix doesn’t impress a bear.  For that eventuality,  we carry our illegal .357 in the woods.)

Most of us were directed by the police to return to the SUV while Agnes and Cat accompanied Harpo through his treatment.  A sprain only, thank The Lord.  Old Harpo should be as good as new in no time.  And I’ll talk to him all he wants about his depressing thoughts and doubts.