#48.8, Weds., Sept. 20, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The Vosges Mountains

         The night dissolves from first dark into the timeless space between days and still these two men of God are deep in conversation. Bishop Felix tells the Father of the Pope’s priority on sending out missionaries to far places, and here Father Columbanus, is perceived as a missionary himself, traveling with his followers from a distant island to Gaul. Father Columbanus answers this comparison, not with agreement, but by reminding that his purpose here was to be like Jesus venturing into a wilderness simply to listen for the voice of God, not to proselytize to the nations.

         The Bishop argues, “But like Saint Patrick, when you came here you could see the need these people had, to know Christ.”

         “Or maybe only those who already shared our longing came to our doors. Are we changing them, or feeding them?”

         Father Felix answers, “Whatever way you say it, I told the Holy Papa that you were well-known, and beloved, here. Lots of Christians are your followers. Whether you came for solitude or crowds, the part that will impress him about your ministry is your popularity. And with the pope already critical of the bishops of Gaul for engaging in simony, the time is right to send your plea to Rome for support that your work may continue.”

         In this dark hour of matins, with Brother Servant, next to me on the bench, he drops his head back in sleep, gapping mouth, snoring loudly, and the interruption reminds the Fathers it is late. I extinguish the last candle, and stir a fresh log into the coals of the worn fire then retire to the other room with Ana and baby Layla — until very soon the rooster wakens us.

         I hear the little children rustling around in the loft above our room. Apparently, the rooster only wakes our family, so Ana and I go quietly about our chores. The children will soon be down the ladder where the holy men, are sleeping. Draped on the ladder to the loft are those liturgical robes, not to be wrinkled or abused or trodden over by children. And there are Hannah and Haberd and Brandell like prisoners atop the ladder waiting for the rungs to be cleared for their descent. But never mind that wait.  One-by-one the three children leap into my arms, trusting me to catch them, and no one yet has stepped on a robe or awakened a holy man.

(Continues tomorrow)

#48.7, Tues., Sept. 19, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The Vosges Mountains

         Several candles burned to the socket this night as Father Columbanus listens to Bishop Felix tell of his visit with the Pope.

         The father asks, “So do you suppose the Holy Father will understand my plight with these bishops of Gaul?”

         The bishop answers, “I told the Pope what I know of that injustice.  He used the word ‘simony’ accusing the bishops, then questioned me about the Celtic rule. He wanted to know how Christianity has taken hold in Ireland, which seems to be completely Christian now, yet,  he said, was “once overrun with heathens.” I told him you were born into Christianity there and you follow the creed. He asked me if I knew of the Island of East Angles where Hadrian had once taken the Roman army. I think he has his sights on all the old borders of Rome, but not as a conqueror, maybe as a builder of an empire of Christians.”

         “Ireland was never under Roman rule.” The father adds.

         Felix goes on, “But the Pope and I agreed that Patrick was of the Roman Creed. And that bolstered Pope Gregory’s explanation of the importance of missionaries going out to all these distant places and bringing Christ to the pagans.  He was proud of the success of his mission to Kent under the leadership of Bishop Augustine of Canterbury. [Footnote] ”

         My mind wanders to proselytizing – Missionaries going out to change people to a particular religious creed. In Acts it was Paul spreading Christianity far and wide. It was said in Mark that Jesus gathered his disciples starting at the shores of the sea.  First, he called Peter then James and John to become “fishers of people” not fish. [Mark 1:16]

         That was in Galilee, but I was in Bethany. I don’t know if Jesus was calling them to mend the nets so no one would fall through, or if he was sending them with nets spread wide to gather-in great numbers of fish/people.

         In my Jewish life growing up in Bethany this notion of converting the masses to follow a single exclusionary creed seemed Roman to me, as was also the demand to worship only Caesar. I expected God to speak for God and the human obligation is simply to listen. Jesus came as the human heart for knowing God, reminding us to savor, in our minds and souls, the old law – love God above all else and neighbor as self. And in the end, it does seem the whole world would need to know that.

Footnote: If you are looking for a fascinating all-nighter with Merovingian history, this Wikipedia article has the pope and the Gaulish kings, Brunhilda and even a wife to a Saxon pagan King of Kent, Bertha. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augustine_of_Canterbury, retrieved, 2-25-23.

(Continues tomorrow)

#48.6, Thurs., Sept. 14, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The Vosges Mountains

         Father Columbanus asked Bishop Felix the lingering question, “Does the Pope take notice of the problem with the noble bishops of Gaul?”

         “Yes indeed,” answers Bishop Felix. “He wanted to know why you, a man of great importance here, and I, one who oversees a monastery, are not bishops, and yet others are hailed as bishops who only oversee old buildings and do much less of the earthly work of Christ.  I explained that here only bishops can ordain a bishop and in Gaul bishops have Frankish titles.  He looked pained and called it ‘simony.’ Then the Pope said he sent letter after letter to the ‘great and holy Queen Brunhilda, regent for kings,’ reprimanding the practice of simony in Gaul.”

         Brother Servant and I are sitting here quietly on the side bench but with the mention of Brunhilda we bump elbows and share a smirk. The Pope is complaining to Brunhilda of bishops practicing simony? Gratefully, it is Father Columbanus who asks the question we all want answered. 

         “How is it that Pope Gregory would send his communications to Gaul through Brunhilda?”

         “I think he assumed royalty is in charge here. And there was, of course, the temporal matter of taxes owed to Rome for the use of Papal lands.”

         I whispered my concern to Brother Servant, “What of Luxeuil, and Annegray, and our farm that was also granted by King Guntram?”

         He whispered back, “I believe these are all papal lands, Brother Ezra. You pay your tithe to Luxeuil, and we send an offering gift to the Pope, and we call it the Roman tax.”

         Now both of the fathers have stopped their conversation to silence our interruption. Our humble apologies are mumbled with heads bowed.

         Father Felix continues his story, “Our Holy Papa in Rome said he’s been receiving disappointing reports about the bishops of Gaul who bestow church offices as favors to family.  Apparently, the Pope had established these communications with our kings since he’s been pope. He said he sent the queen relics – iron shavings from the key to the Kingdom of St. Peter, and a special papal garment for elevating one bishop to serve over the others – a palium.“ [Footnote]

         “And here you are” says the Father, “now a bishop? I’m not sure if that is actually Holy Justice, or simply my own humanity that is savoring revenge.”

 [Footnote] Demacopoulos, George E. Gregory the Great: ascetic, Pastor, and first man of Rome. Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 2015. p.142

(Continues Tuesday, Sept. 19, 2023)

#48.5, Weds., Sept. 13, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The Vosges Mountains

         A common cottage tucked away in a wilderness is a good place for two saintly Christian leaders to find a secret peace away from a listening world. Brother Servant and I are witnesses to this, but we have no scribe among us to tell it more broadly.

         Bishop Felix tells of his visit to Rome and his meeting with Pope Gregory. “When I told him of the variety of Christian communities of Gaul it sparked his interest. Some years ago, not long after this pope had been installed in Rome, he opened up channels of communication to distant lands, like Gaul, considering these far stretches of the ancient empire of Rome as his see.[Footnote]  His project is to extend the borders of the Roman church.”

         “Really,” interjects the Father, “I assumed he had so much to deal with in saving Rome from the invading hordes of Arians, the Lombards, and all the other barbarian heretics since there is no longer a Roman army. Then he also had a plague at his doorstep when he came into power.”

         “He was said to have converted the barbarians. At least they accepted the Creed. He has a purpose of the salvation of the whole world, as he has taken to heart the instructions of the Apostles.  The Pope asked me about the churches here, and particularly about the monasteries that are being established with the Celtic Rule. So of course, I told him about your work and King Guntram’s support for our work here in Gaul.”

         Father Columbanus asked, “Do you think our Papa understood that I came to this foreign land, a simple pilgrim, seeking a peaceful refuge in a wilderness? Or is his measure of good work only contingent on great numbers of people flocking to the community?”

         “He was a monk himself. He may even regret being called away from his private contemplations. So, I heard no distinction of successes, only that he is deeply concerned with reports that the bishops of Gaul display what he calls, ‘spiritual immaturity’.”

         “I told him you were doing God’s work here, and it was widely received because the people are longing for the Holy Triune on earth. And I told him that bishops in this land have great temporal power. He wanted to know why one such as I has a following, even though I was not a bishop.”

         “That was a concern of the Pope?” asks the Father.

         “Oh, very much so.” Bishop Felix answers.

         “What did you tell him?”

[Footnote] Demacopoulos, George E. Gregory the Great: ascetic, Pastor, and first man of Rome. Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 2015. p.141

(Continues Tomorrow)

#48.4, Tues., Sept. 12, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The Cottage in the Vosges Mountains

         As the two notable abbots sit by the hearth at this commoner’s table they are meeting here without record.[footnote] Father Columbanus tells of his retreat and speaks of the details of nature he saw just today.

         “The earth is making its last flaunting of summer days – the flowers – so many raucous, bright flowers hawking their wares of pollen. The wandering butterflies alight like long-travelers finding an inn and they savor the thirst-quenching moment and drink up the last of the summer’s beverage. Then they flutter up in little eddies two or three together over the meadow before they are on their way again.”

         Now I can serve up the abundant gifts of the pollens because we have bees in our shed.  I pour a spot of crusty mead into their cups and Brother Servant, the two abbots and I, toast this gift of night and quietness in private with no scribe making a record of it all.

         In whispers the Irish Father speaks the prayer. “Stay near us Dear God.”

         It is not the unctuous pulpit prayer to bring a stranger to God in from a wandering throng of pilgrims, it is simply the gracious reminder that God is always present.

         So, in the impending dark I bring another gift of the bees, a candle to center the table. Brother Servant and I sit on the bench near the door as the pale pool of light spreads onto the faces of these two saints. Anyway, I expect God knows them as saints, regardless of the opinions of the noble bishops of Gaul.

         Father Columbanus asks his protégé, “How is it you’ve met Pope Gregory?”

         “A benefactor whose name is undoubtedly known to you also…”

         “I think I know who you mean.”

          “You’ve heard her complaints yourself, no doubt. She is concerned about the rising power of the bishops based only on their earthly titles. She comes to us with a singular focus, overcoming the tugs and temptations of earthly prestige. She generously pours out a rich inheritance to buy a place for a remembrance of Jesus teaching even on earth amid the profane.”

         I hear the spirit of my sister, Mary, in their shared secret of a benefactor. Thank you, God, for this glimpse of a beloved spirit present with us, Amen.

 (Continues tomorrow)

 [footnote] Even amid all the interesting tales and hagiographies available to historians of this time, this blogger offers a meeting off the record because it is still a fictional story; only the spirit of it and the basic facts are true.

#48.3, Thurs., Sept. 7, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The cottage in the Vosges Mountains

It’s already dusk and Ana has prepared a straw tick and a linen in the main room of the house.  But now, at our door are two more guests, Brother Servant, and Father Columbanus himself, arriving here without informing any guards or other monks, or even mentioning this visit to those listening walls of Luxeuil. This meeting between the two endangered Celtic abbots of Gaul requires no scribe.

         The two abbots in our midst greet one another with kisses.

         Back when Ana and I first met Bishop Felix he was a young priest and a follower of Father Columbanus.  He was making regular pilgrimages to Annegray, and then was returning to Châlons where he reported back to King Guntram on the success of the Celtic community.

         So, when the Father sent us with a message to the “Bishop of Châlons” we soon learned the title was something of an inside joke. Father Felix wasn’t a bishop then. To be a bishop in Gaul requires the approval of the other bishops. Elevation is a matter of Frankish social class regardless of spiritual calling.  Protecting this power structure of and by the aristocracy requires the constant purging of those who could be bishop but who are not of Frankish nobility. That makes Father Columbanus a pariah to the Frankish bishops. The priest appointed by the King was suspect of being Celtic also. But the true distinction of a holy man’s allegiance seems to be tonsure.  If Irish, the front will be shaved, with full hair in the back while the Frankish tonsure is shaven as a wreath of hair. Father Felix, notably, has no hair, so he has no tonsure.  By quirk of Creation, the noble bishops of Gaul are denied their measuring tool.

         Now Ana and I prepare straw beds for three guests in the main room. The children are amazed to find that all three of these visitors already know the vesper psalms we sing in this household each evening. I suppose my children thought this music was theirs alone. Now they assume these adults are singing children’s chants.

         Haberd and Brandell, our music critics, are very impressed.  When I tucked them in Haberd whisper, “The abbots sing nearly as well as Gabe and Greg. And I think they even, nearly, know the words.”

         I answered, “nearly.”

         Dear God, help us nurture our ways of belonging to one another, full on, without too many nearlys and other incompletes. Amen.

 (Continues Tuesday, Sept. 12, 2023)

#48.2, Weds., Sept. 6, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The Vosges Mountains

         We met Father Felix in Châlons some years ago, while Ana and I were delivering messages from Father Columbanus.

         “So, you are a true bishop now, and with guards?”

         “Guards are necessary in these times, unfortunately.” He says.

          We are walking up the hill to our cottage — an elegant bishop in fine, flowing robes, a swarthy woodcutter, a mule and a wagon full of hewn logs.       

         I encourage him to stop in. “We can send a bird to Luxeuil with a message for your guards to come and join us.”

         “No, no.”

         “Surely you’ll eat with us! We may be commoners but our farm provides for feasting.”

         “And you have that impenetrable link to the doves of Luxeuil, and your house is undoubtedly a better place to talk about the bishops of Gaul than a monastery with many ears. I’ve come all this way to speak to the Father about my recent visit to Rome. And now, to my surprise I’m face-to-face with the Father’s most trusted messenger.”

         “No, no messenger. Not me! I’m not doing that anymore!”

         “Woe, a bit defensive aren’t you, Brother Lazarus.”

         “I had a bad experience with that recently in Châlons.”

         “It couldn’t have been as bad as the experience the Father’s most recent messenger had. That poor fellow is dead and buried now.”

         I add, “Except for the rescue by his sons, and a long summer for healing.”

         After a pause for unwinding his thoughts he answers, “So you are that Lazarus, after all.”

         “At Luxeuil they call me Ezra.”

         “Send a bird to Luxeuil, but let’s not invite the guards.”

         “I don’t want to be inhospitable, afterall, our house was made to be a guest house for such visitors.”

         “Really, I can’t trust these guards. My entourage to Luxeuil is loyal to another bishop, so I have to assume they can’t be trusted keeping private a meeting with the Father. I’ve come to Luxeuil unannounced hoping to meet with him in private.”

         “So, we will definitely offer no feasting for your guards then.”

         Ana welcomes our guest. And Hannah is in her bliss, serving a visitor. Brandell is bedazzled by the fine fabric of the bishop’s robes, and Haberd tries not to stare at this man’s completely bald head. Layla assumes he is just another monk taking a reprieve from all the rules.

         The bird we loosed to Luxeuil receives an immediate response from Brother Servant. 

(Continues tomorrow)

#48.1, Tues., Sept. 5, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The Vosges Mountains

         I was cutting wood here on the solitary path to Annegray, and here is a man in the robes of a bishop walking this path alone.

         “Hello Father, are you looking for the monks of Annegray?”

         “I know no one is here anymore. I just came from Luxeuil.”

         The man’s hood falls back, and I see he has no tonsure, no hair at all. And I recognize a familiar face.

         “Father Felix? I visited your church in Châlons.”  [#35.3 and #37.11]

         “I thought you look familiar. You are Brother Lazarus! You were traveling with two women and a donkey cart, last we met.”

         “You remember us? My wife and our midwife that would have been.”

         “Well, I was just thinking of you. I’m staying at Luxeuil, and there was a young monk minding the dovecote there that could be your twin brother.”

         Can I laugh aloud in a quiet wood? “My twin brother? No, he is my son; his twin brother is elsewhere.”

         “A son?”

         “And now I see you’re draped as a bishop as you should be.”[Footnote]

         “It was Pope Gregory himself who elevated me to bishop. The bishops of Gaul are still of a different mind.”

         “I know that, only too well. I was in Châlons last spring in an unfortunate circumstance and I was thinking then how glad I was not to see you with that council there.”

         “Oh, yes, the council.  A squirrelly lot they are.  A decade now, they’ve been after Father Columbanus for his tonsure, and with Guntram gone the Father may simply be at their mercy.”

         “I’m not sure it’s just an issue of tonsure and the date for Easter. I suspect the popularity of the Father is what sets them on edge. So is your journey here just to see old Annegray?”

         “No. Some of us came all this way so that I could have an audience with Father Columbanus, but at Luxeuil they said he’s taking his wilderness retreat, so we just have to wait for him to return.  I thought, possibly, his retreat might have brought him back here. So, I decided to wander up here alone. I see now he isn’t here.”

         “Ana and I and our children just live up on the hill, would you like to stop in while you’re here?”

         “My guards will come searching for me if I’m gone too long.”

 [Footnote] Ref. Blog Posts.  Fact or Fiction? Someone named Felix of Burgundy is known to have been the first bishop to East Angles, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Felix_of_Burgundy  retrieved 2-22-23.

(Continues tomorrow)

#47.15, Thurs., Aug. 31, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. A cottage in the Vosges

         Ana returned from the Village of the hunters with the news of the old grandmother’s death. This evening we, ourselves, are binding the edges of family together. Lately we’ve noticed the tapestry of sacred life is unraveling at the edge. The empty bench on one side of the table has a better place by the door now where the cloaks and boots will be heaped in the colder season to come.  And where six of us around the table were once nine may our six begin to seem complete.

         I say the prayer aloud, “Dear God, thank you for this abundance with plenty to share right here in the midst of our grieving. Bless our food with your power for goodness.  Guide our grief. Just as we learn to let go, let us also learn to hold on to one another, trusting you to show us the paths of love as family, always. Amen.”

         On this new morning I put the mule to the wagon and take my ax in hand to renew our stack of winter wood. The need to gather up a wagonload of fallen limbs also gives purpose to my own need for solitude. The old path between the creek road and Annegray has been abandoned since the monks moved to Luxeuil, so that is where I am.

         The summer storms brought down several trees that were growing tall, though not old and solid yet. These straight trunks that struggled for the glimpses of light over this valley now make good firewood only because the straightest logs stack together best—neatly aligned and laid one on another like perfect soldiers waiting at attention until they are needed.

         I lay my ax down heavily on a broad branch. The thwack echoes through the trees, and it forces a silence. The birds are silent. The creek waits permission from the cawing of the crow before it seems to resume its flow. The world is rudely, roughly, raw and soundless. The second thwack breaks the limb free, and I chop it to fit the wagon one after the next a battalion of tidy, straight logs.

         Now the crows that guard the treetops and warn of hawks and intruders are hopping among to lower limbs overhead to get a better look, maybe at me, the stranger who takes away dead trees, or at the mule who pays no attention. But what is this? Someone else is here in this wood.

(Continues Tuesday, September 5)

#47.14, Weds., Aug. 30, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. A cottage in the Vosges

         In an earlier time, when Greg and Gabe were still toddlers and Simon and Hannah were babies, I was often as much a close parent to these children as was Ana.  But we let this pass from us as the farm chores were doled out to the children. Older now, they’ve been more able to take on chores.  But here we are a family of little ones again, and maybe I’ve let my place as a parent to babies slip away. Maybe my children think of me as their momma’s hired man. They are only imagining themselves sitting on my knee now for quiet moments reading or talking.

         On this new morning I realize this when I’m feeding Layla and Brandell comes over and climbs onto my other knee. Haberd thinks that is all very funny, but for our lesson time he also decides his Papa’s knee is the best vantage point for learning to read. By the time we are well into the lessons I have become a whole climbing tree for this squirrels’ nest of little children.

         Dear God, thank you for reminding me that your first gift of creating an earth as it is in heaven is that a father and a mother are the safe arms for trusting children. Thank you for all these tiny reaching hands and giggles. Amen.

         It is late afternoon when Ana returns from the hunter’s village. I was already worrying. She took no bird with her to message me so only my worst imaginings would explain her long absence.

         She told us, “The old, cantankerous grandmother passed before I even arrived there yesterday, and all of the hunters of the village were already gathered around wailing and telling their stories of remembrance.

         “I stayed with them for a night and a day because they trusted me with their grief. Even when they came for me they knew I would be useless for the healing. But now they know I have empathy for grief. They invited me to share this thing of death that stirs a child’s spirit into the kettle of mystical love.  Grief is one big stew pot of everyone’s loves and losses – the living and dead alike. It is not just one of us alone weeping for a child gone. It is everyone, some with losses, others simply with fears of one’s own mortality. We share the eternal stories, and life goes on. Thank you, God.”

(Continues tomorrow)