Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time
Sister Brigid sends me with a sack of Swiss chard which she promises will be a treat for Brother Timothy when it is cooked properly.
She says, “Brother Timothy has no idea how to prepare this. I’ve tried to instruct him on this method for steaming it, but he insists on boiling it down in brine like sea kelp and it just blackens into slime proving to him that sea stuff is better than garden greens. Now he will be amazed to find how good this garden thing can be.”
The climb back up around the rock from Sister Brigid’s cell is a good stretch for me — not unbearable pain, but the stretch of healing pain. Trinity is waiting at the hillcrest as a hound does when one from his own abode is returning.
I’m reminded of the Sister’s story of Saint Brendan, who was greeted on this Skellig by a hound. The wonder of the story is that the hound was expecting the Saint and his monks, as though all of Creation welcomed them home to a place where they had never been before. Whenever I hear these stories of saints, the awe is supposed to be in the oddity of miracle, but to my ears, the message of God’s love is hidden in the mundane details of the story. There is an obligation to the storyteller to include the details, even though they seem usual but that is where the signs are hidden.
Brother Timothy takes the gift of chard with a scowl, as he prepares to untie it from the cloth and drop it into his boiling pot of sea stuff. But I take it from him and re-tie it to the stick to lay across the top of the pot, dangling in the rising steam. He keeps his stubborn scowl.
When the chard softens in the cloth and the drops from the cloth redden the water, I remove it from the steam and open the cloth. I touch the reed stick to the wilted leaves, dangling the morsal which I try first. It is excellent. So, the next bite I capture on the stick, I offer to Brother Timothy. He hesitates before he takes it, like a baby bird receiving the first worm, then I see his grinning gratitude. We share all of the chard before the stewpot of rosy stewed sea stuff is thoroughly cooked. The brother will have to admit sometimes his sister has a good idea.
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 