Post #5.7, Tuesday, February 18, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

On this new day I set my sight on Tours or as the Romans used to call this area Civitas Turonorum about a day’s walk east of these vineyards of Ezra.

         Dear God, guide me into this new. Amen.

         The last time I traveled this road in this direction was twenty years ago when I was near death and desperate to find help for my children amid the withering plague. That day is burned onto my memory in random scattered pieces. But those mere fragments still rage and rave when I dredge them to consciousness from the froths of flaming fears. I fell into the coolness in the clay of these deep ruts beside this road.  Powerful hands with unimaginable empathy turned me to gaze skyward speaking gentle words of one innocent of plague’s ravages, ready to help me rather than run. I gathered strands of thought-to-word to be exact about the place I left my children. I begged him to leave me and save them. He had a beast and a cart. He could make good time to arrive for them. I prayed it loud. I said it. I shouted it! I don’t know if I made sense of it, but Ezra and Eve were discovered to have lived through it all anyway.

         I woke in a night lost from calendar time in the plague pit with the death stench. I was frail – a dry nub with no words. The healing of that was long and slow. I lived into that healing as an ascetic in the old caves near here across the river.

         The ruts are hardened this day with the dry freeze of winter so this road is an unsteady walk.

         Some miles along here is this low thatched house where a nanny goat and her kid are chained as a new wall is being stacked higher than a goat’s climb. The chained critter locks eyes with me in her remembrance of freedom as I stare back for a moment in my knowing also. Yes, I think I am aware of what house this is, so I can guess who is working there behind this wall to make a place for this nanny and her kid.

         I choose to continue on the road and set aside my encounter with this so-called “evil” Jesse for another day.

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #5.6, Thursday, February 13, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E.

         At my last leaving, I was near death, so I went with a great purpose that these children could live. But now it is different. I’m not the useful and needed person among them so I’m wandering off to Tours that I may not be like the guy in the Luke Christmas story: the tax burden in the shadows who brings the lineage with the stem of ancient Hebrew patriarch and makes the whole perilous journey just to be counted by Rome.

         At the monastery if they won’t allow a true heretic among them scribing gospels in their scriptorium I can offer myself as a builder. I can repair the burnt church. And in that other way I’m also thinking of Joseph who gifts me with the carpentry skills I learned from Jesus when we were both so new to earthly skills. I first found Jesus a friend when as children we were shadowing that carpenter patriarch in our childish pretends for learning. Jesus learned a trade. I learned friendship.

         This day I’m also thinking of Jacob traveling to a place he knows already but wrestling through the night with the promises made to God when stacking stones in order to make peace of an earthly relationship. And God, wrestler, rescuer, breath of life moving among the stones, living presence in stones crying out, asks us only to choose if the touch we know so well is a hug or a wrestle.

         At this parting I take each of these my family, wrap them in my arms, feel their warmth and the beat of their life in tempo with my own heartbeat and the oneness of us.

         Ezra, my strong and lame son who prunes the vine and nurtures the root — his arms wrap me in belonging too as I draw him closer to me. Eve’s hug is awkward and Colleta’s contrived, dutiful, but shared. It is a simple habit for Daniel and Celeste; and Margey has never known a moment without the embrace of her loving family. It is as we all are stone-on-stone a cairn for the living breath of God to move among us always.

         When I visit my wife on the hill above us here, I will take her favorite yellow flowers again, and I will stack another stone on her grave, as is my own Jewish tradition for grieving the parting. Surely our love lingers.

         Dear God, keep watch among us while we are apart. Thank you.  I love you too. Amen.

(Continues Tuesday, February 18)

Post #5.5, Wednesday, February 12, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

         We return to the cottage and Eve, with Margey in her arms is with Daniel and Celeste outside in the place where the garden is at rest, flat earth with a frosting of fresh snow. They made a running path in the snow with their footprints.  Tis “D” for Daniel we are told because the “C” for Celeste or the “M” or the “E” would mean one would need to turn around when making a track and the runners would run into one another. They choose the “D” so they could all run in the same direction and Daniel is delighted. It’s his explanation that makes sense of this race in a circle with corners.

         “Mama, GraPapa look! We are running in my name!”

         Colleta takes Margey into her arms and for that moment, maybe the first time ever Colleta doesn’t just take the baby without a word then step back to make a comfortable distance from the so-called troll. Instead, she stays near Eve to thank her for what she calls, “enchanting the children.”

         Eve speaks her concern as we walk back up to her cottage, “Ezra told me you were having a private chat with Colleta because her cousin Jesse plans to speak with you about arranging my troth. Papa, I don’t want to marry a man so near to grief for his wife. Please tell him no!  I don’t want to be so alone again as that poor woman was in that cold house where she died. That family has no bond of love. They would’ve sent Colleta off to be alone so far away down here for no other reason except that Ezra didn’t demand a dowry. It’s just her good fortune that Ezra is a kind and thoughtful man. And, of course, it is my good blessing too.

         “I’m glad to know your mind Eve. Of course I only want what is good for you.  I know you are making your family here of a sister-in-law and a brother and with nieces and little nephew whose name begins with a good letter for a snow path so the whole family can run in one circle.”

(The story continues tomorrow)

Post #5.4, Tuesday, February 11, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

         To my surprise, words spent empowering an “essential peasant matriarch” with a mere candle of understanding brings her to tears.

         “Do you think Ezra is sorry to be burdened with me and my gossipy sisters and my arsonly evil cousin, and my father who shouts at the neighbor’s noises even when they are cries for help in the night? Ezra’s whole family, you and Eve, all three of you are always, helping people in need and never casting curses. I come with noise and chaos and evil judgments! And Ezra never even complains. He just says, ‘don’t be afraid.’ What is that supposed to mean?”

         “Maybe it’s the first three words of ‘don’t be afraid, I love you.’ That’s what the angels always tell us when they land in our midst and speak for God.”

         “Yes! Maybe he heard it that night when he saw the lights of the great horde of angels descending over the fields. Maybe he heard it even though he says they were all facing the other way?”

         “Yes, Colleta, maybe. But even before the angels since he was a tiny child he knew God’s love in the same way Daniel knows. Daniel speaks his prayers to God each night, does he not? Even though your son hears the imaginary stories people tell of creatures and curses and ogres he still knows it is God who is real, though invisible. Children just know these things. Ezra always knew. We who are adults either approve and nurture it or we fear it, and the child sees either the acceptance or the fear. The child learns from us either to speak freely of God and to God or to hide it away forever unspoken with pretend monsters and hollow creeds.

          “Colleta, when Ezra first told me he found a wife he was amazed that an orphan with a lame leg and barely a claim to a field could be so blessed to find a strong and beautiful woman as you are. You don’t have to be afraid that he harbors evil thoughts of you. Ask him. Make him speak it aloud. You would be assured you are his dearest friend. God dares us each to love one another even beyond our own fears of rejection. Make Ezra tell you. I think he will speak to you the words that come after ‘Do not be afraid.’”

         We walk in silence.

         Dear God, Help my words land more softly than a simple meddling papa’s pontification. Amen.

         We return to the door of the cottage.

(The story continues tomorrow)

Post #5.3, Thursday, February 6, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

What if Colleta’s widower cousin would choose a troll for his wife? What if the “troll” of this “what if” is her own lonely sister-in-law who too lithely accepts these abuses of gossip? What if it becomes known that the scared and hurting target for ridicule from her sisters would turn out to be, neither a pagan nor a heretic but a God-beloved human being with the possibility to be her cousin’s bride?

         In truth our chat is not about pagans or curses or about the burning of the church or even about moralities of good and evil. It is that Colleta is simply afraid she will not be loved. She sees herself a possible target of gossip and she imagines she could find her own self isolated from family. Out here so far from her sisters she could fall under the same curse of loneliness that haunts Eve. Accepting Eve as family is not just Ezra’s duty or this father’s plea; it is a horror Colleta may have to face in her own mirror as the mundane shifts of time quietly take her from beautiful bride to some dreaded misshapen creature, victim of age and motherhood and whatever else are the ill-defined fears and curses distorting her once childish beauty. To compare oneself with another who was ridiculed, and then to find yourself wanting also — this is the odorous and greening meat of envy.

         Dear God, thank you for this clarity of vision. Help me answer with understanding. Amen.

         But how may I answer her now? She is awaiting a righteous patriarchal judgment or maybe an argument from me, or at least a verbose defense of trolls. But now I have vision enough to see that the rightful remedy is not winning the argument but offering her the fearlessness of a parent’s unconditional love.

         “So Papa Lazarus are you silenced by the curse? Or do you still want to defend my evil cousin?”

         “I was not silenced by any curse but by a more thoughtful perspective. Colleta, I can see that you are the cause of my son’s joy and you are even the driving force of his hopes and dreams. You share with him your wonders — the warm home and of course your amazing and thoughtful children. You are not a little girl bride anymore, but a great and essential peasant matriarch. It is that strong and wise Colleta to whom I beg the widening of your warm circle to include Eve. That is all I am asking, that she find refuge from loneliness within her family.”

(Continues Tuesday, February 11)

Post #5.2, Wednesday, February 5, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

“So, Colleta, you fear I’m excusing evil by speaking a possibility that Jesse might not have burned down the church? In truth I’m simply withholding my judgment while I wonder at the possibility that the fire could’ve simply been carelessness. How can we choose a culprit and judge an act to be evil amid a reality that neither of us knows?”

         She knows. “When you don’t know what is true you still have to decide where to put your measure of justice. And you’ve never even met Jesse. So how can you guess he isn’t evil?”

         “I’m making no judgment of him at all. But it does seem unlikely it was a crime and not an accident. I mean, there are the thick walls and the people around and the terrible storm and Jesse also had other huge concerns that night. And besides how could someone keep a flame lit carrying it so far and into the church in wind and ice?”

         “He wouldn’t have to bring the flame. There were all those candles lit there left from the Mass.”

         “So, you are saying that the flame was already there and unattended? That seems to make it one more possibility that it was an accident.”

         “But what of Jesse?  He was cursing and threatening evil against Christ. My father heard him shouting at his wife’s father’s door! And what of the storm that came down just then to judge him?”

         “Was it Jesse who was judged by the storm? The rain falls on the just and the unjust alike. We can hardly use a storm as a window on holy retribution.”

         I can see my rational thoughts are distressing Colleta.

         “Papa Lazarus, why do you choose to side with Jesse? He’s my own cousin and I know he was looking to bring a curse down on all Christians. And what if his next wife is a troll?”

         The pain of this “what if” touches her more personally than any thoughts of an ashen church. Wisps of gossip and secrets of blame now take on a form of the actual personal fear. She harbors the fear of being replaced in her own family’s love by this … this one whom the rumors spun by her most trusted sources, her own sisters, call a troll. Colleta whimpers into sobs.

(Come again tomorrow)

Post #5.1, Tuesday, February 4, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

I ask for Colleta’s latest gossip, “So, you know nothing of the fire except that you can guess what happened?”

         “Yes Papa Lazarus. You alone should hear my suspicion because I can’t tell Enola and Ezra thinks it isn’t important. But it were my sisters told me their thoughts of this and they would know it well.”

         Even in the everyday poverty of these times Colleta wears the pink plump of privilege. She maintains her stake in a miniature social order of her own sisters’ designs by keeping a close ear to gossip so that she may always be the teller and never the topic. I expect her “secret” which she is only glad to reveal is meat for rumor and not about fact.

         “So what guesses are among your sisters as to the cause of the fire?”

         “It were our own cousin Jesse!”

         “The widower and new father?”

         “Indeed. The storm came down on us all to punish him no doubt. Early that evening he slammed on his wife’s family’s door shouting and cursing. My own father from next door heard the ruckus and came out to tell him it were the Christ Mass and he should go to the church. Just then the storm dropped down on earth on a wicked breath of wind, hissing and clacking then into full roar as Jesse cursed the Christians for their church and threatened to bring the pagan curses down on them all! So wouldn’t you suppose it were Jesse who took a flaming torch and crept into the church late after all had left so no one would notice? He set the flame that brought down the whole of that old Roman building.”

         “Surely some monks or the priest would have noticed.”

         “Everyone was off to sleeping places as it were so late.”

         “Since Jesse would have been coming from outside the city it seems he would have had to go through the crowds on the road leaving the sanctuary and surely some of the monks would’ve stayed there the night so not to cross the river in the darkness. I mean he would have had to enter right through the only door in the city wall. It’s fortified against an army. It would be hard to get in unseen with a torch. The huge wall of the city and the church are built together of solid stone. It seems a stretch to blame Jesse.”

         “Of course, he went right into the door with no one noticing. Papa Lazarus, how can you call yourself Christian when you make excuses for these works of demons against God?”

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #4.14, Thursday, January 30, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

“Colleta, tie on your cape; We will walk in this winter’s sunshine. We can just go down the lane but I need to have a personal chat with you. Eve came with me to watch the children so we can talk.”

         Eve says nothing. Probably her teary eyes lead Colleta to believe I’m intruding my will between these sisters-in-law. Maybe I am but it is not to chastise Colleta as she may suppose.

         “Colleta, I plan to leave my comfortable quarters in the loft over the donkey’s stall and move to Tours. That will mean that Eve will be alone again and without your thoughtfulness the only people she will speak to would be those who come for help from suffering. She was, as you noticed, distraught this morning when I told her of my plans. That’s why I’m begging your kindness. I know it has been hard for you to get accustomed to seeing her scars but now I’m asking that you accept her invitations to eat at her table. You may even find it helpful to have another prepare the meal now and then for your family. And I ask that you send the children to visit her often.  I hope this is the best for both you and Eve, but it will call for your intentional consideration to include her with family.”

         “Is that your big secret? Of course we can be family to her.”

         “Thank you Colleta. I’d hoped you’d understand. It’s important.”

         “So, Papa Lazarus, what will you find to do in Tours?”

         “Maybe I can work as a scribe in the scriptorium of the monastery. I’ve done that kind of work before needing no holy orders — just many years of practice with inks.”

         “Probably you didn’t hear of this. I have a guess why Ezra didn’t tell you but you should surely be warned. The St. Maurice Church was burned to the ground on the very night of the Christ Mass.”

         “Really? I’ve heard nothing of that! Do you mean that old Roman sanctuary laid right into the ancient wall? It was there even when St. Martin was abbot?”

         “Yes. It was really old.”

         “Were people there? Was there tragedy to life?”

         “I have no idea.  I know nothing at all of it, except I have a guess at what happened and I would not repeat my suspicions except that you should know.”

(What “suspicions?” the next chapter begins Tuesday, February 4)

Post #4.13, Tuesday, January 29, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

“Ezra, if I could help, I would stay.”

         “Papa, we could build another cottage so you won’t have to sleep in the donkey’s loft.”

         “That’s thoughtful Ezra, but you would have more taxes and less land for tilling. Please hear me out. I was thinking of going to the monastery at Tours because I believe they have a scriptorium and I could work copying scriptures and as I have done before. I have long done the work of taking scriptures to Christians still meeting in secret. Once Christians hid from the Romans, now they hide from other Christians.  In Tours I would be near enough to return in the seasons when you need a hand with planting and harvest and maybe I could even help pruning vines if you allowed a novice.”

         “You’re doing fine with this work Papa. You’re learning. And if you were to leave us my sister will go back to calling herself ‘Enola’ again, so alone with no papa eating at her table.”

         “So, I guess I will need to have a talk with Colleta.”

         “Colleta? You’re going to tell her what I told you of her terrible jealous rage?”

          “Of course I won’t mention that. I just need to be the one to beg family of her to save Eve from always being alone.  I would hope that while I’m gone all of you, you and Colleta and your children will have some meals with Eve at her new table. But begging Eve’s acceptance shouldn’t be a task left for you or for Eve. I need to speak with Colleta.”

         “So you aren’t even going to let it slip into your chat that Jesse thinks Eve is wondrous?

         “I won’t mention any of what you told me, I promise. I’m asking Colleta a favor. I’m not trying to beat her up. And really, it might be that Colleta is ready to include Eve from time to time. Eve no longer hides in bee nets and no one seems to mind. I’ve seen them talking face-to-face with hardly a notice of the scars. It doesn’t seem impossible for these two women to discover they are family together and that’s a good thing for both of them. Let me talk with each of them.”

         Like Jacob leaving Laban, the prayer for stacking the stones is simple. Watch between us while we are gone from each other. Amen.

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #4.12, Tuesday, January 28, 2020

Historical Setting, 562 C.E. Gaul

Ezra asks, “So maybe this Jesus whose teachings grow as we grow has something new to say about taxes?”

         “Sure. You already noticed Joseph in the creche who only seemed there to bring the Jewish tradition and pay the Roman tax.”

         “Yes, Papa, and I’ve also heard about Jesus answering the tricky query about paying taxes by turning the question and asking whose face is on the coin? I know it was clear; we should pay taxes. But I hoped to hear something different in the new of now.”

         “You remember the stories well, Ezra — new, or maybe old. Ancient Jewish tradition teaches that the earth belongs to God who created it. People may use the land as stewards or tenants but it is God’s earth. So when you give to God what’s God’s only a meager coin remains to give to Caesar.”

         I see my son thinking — laying thought to words in answer.

         “To make sense of God who owns the earth you would have to believe there is a Creator God, not just an imperial invention of a god in human form. And you know Papa, there are still some around in these times who believe a person can own land. I bought into that and paid off the tax debt on these lands after they were idled by the wars and plague. I even believed myself to be the landowner so I planted this vineyard. Then the next year when taxes were due I noticed the taxes went to a landlord and not to Rome, as though I were only tenant on my own land. Now it seems with no one but our Frankish king in power each lesser lord is taking our taxes for himself and paying a portion to a lesser lord, and on it goes, leaving me, the farmer, paying all the taxes, doing all the work and getting nothing but the use of God’s good earth which I thought was my inheritance anyway.”

         “Ezra, as I see it, from the nothing I left here you have turned it to good and used God’s earth to provide for your wife and children and sister also. And perhaps we should talk about my use to you so that I am not a burden living here as I do.”

         “Oh, Papa I didn’t mean to say…”

         “Ezra, if I could make your work easier and not just your tax greater, I would stay.”

(Continues tomorrow)