43.4, Tues., April 11, 2023

I stumble back through the darkness, finding my way among the campers to reach the place where these precious two, oldest of my seven, are still sleeping soundly.
Dear God, Thank you for these beautiful children. Am I being selfish and greedy to hold so tightly to this gift of family so not to listen to the plea to help this whole community?
It is Holy Week so, of course, I’m also remembering Jesus. Maybe the abbot feels betrayed by his follower, abandoned by his friend, sorting his options and priorities, dealing with the dangerous politics of popularity, wrangling the power of the mob with his silence and navigating the unquenchable thirst of others for violence by numb autocracy.
Dear God, you give us these earthly choices, all the while knowing us so well. Is it possible love for family is your own metaphor for love? Or is this choice more perplexing? Or is that the paradox? I’m confused with so many righteous possibilities. In another time I would easily go off to Rome or to Paris or wherever for whatever years and days it takes, but how can I leave Ana and the children just now? I listen for your answer. Amen.
I can’t really sleep tonight. So many thoughts are twisting and spinning, and maybe even marching in lockstep through my brain. It isn’t too hot or too cold for sleeping just now. Maybe it is too many stars. Really it is just too many thoughts.

Already the sun is rising, and here people are already returning from matins though some of us are sleeping. Greg and Gabe left without waking me. Their fleeces are in tidy rolls put aside here for the day. I had best go search them out. I know they can take care of each other on their own, but I can’t dismiss my need to know exactly where they are. After all it is my loyalty to my family that makes me such a disappointment to these brothers of Luxeuil.

(Continues tomorrow)

#43.3 Thurs., April 6, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Luxeuil

         “You must know it is your duty to God to deliver the Father’s letter.”

         “I’m sure there are others who would gladly do this.”

         I can see Brother Servant feels betrayed. Now he just turns and walks away with no parting blessing. Baro Dithrum is left to explain.

         “Brother Ezra, you were chosen because, it seems, on your previous assignment the message delivered to Bishop Arnulf served to garner his support for the abbot here. Father Columbanus guesses that the bishop’s change of heart was a result of your visit and his own wife’s coaxing.”

         I offer more options, “It could have been lots of things — geography, proximity of Luxeuil to Metz, or maybe the voice of God, or simply competition among bishops.”

          The power structures of Gaul are shifting in the wind, and with the loss of powerful kings a lesser unity of nobility is filling the void. Bishops are appointing one another based on birthright more than sanctity. And they seem to think their duty is to maintain a political consistency and order.

         The baro explains, “obviously this group of Frankish bishops, who are meeting, see themselves as overseers of the activities of foreign abbots.”

         “That’s a very specific purpose to meet, as though these bishops are simply joining forces to get Father Columbanus to restyle his hair.”

         Baro Dithrum snickers, “Yes, that’s how Father Columbanus received the news. He just handed their summons back to me and said he was ‘glad to make an excuse for them to meet together, and if he isn’t present maybe they can talk about something more useful than calendars and haircuts.’ So he prepared his reply that says he won’t go before them. So you see, this letter is timely and important.”

         “I understand. But surely there are other messengers you could send. I have other priorities now. Ana and I can’t just go off roaming as we did before. I know these holy men don’t see family as a priority. One who vows chastity surely would only see seven children as a testament to original sin. But as a baron, and not a monk, you can surely understand duty to family.  I thank God everyday for the beautiful gift of family and I don’t believe my priorities are misaligned.”

         “Rethink it, Brother Ezra, pray on it if that’s what you do. Consider the righteous choice less selfishly.” He too, turns and leaves without closure.

(Continues Tuesday, April 11, 2023)

#43.2, Weds., April 5, 2023

         Brother Servant asked me to meet here after vespers when my boys are settled in for the night. Brother Servant and a nobleman are waiting by the gate.

         Brother Servant tells me, “King Guntram is dead.”

         “I’d heard that. He was old. He was the last living son of Clothar.”

         “He didn’t die of age. He died in battle fighting with the bishops to win Brittany from the heathens.”

         “And now, he is a saint?” I ask.

         “And now he is gravely missed. His nephews who inherited the earth are nothing like blessed peacemakers.”

         “And St. Guntram was that?” I wonder.

         “Comparatively speaking. So his death has created a likely catastrophe for us all.  Do you recall some years ago you and Ana carried messages to all of those complaining bishops?”

         “Of course I remember that.”

         “We are calling on you to go again, now, with a message from the father to the Council of Bishops.”

          “I can’t go now. Things have changed for us. Ana and I can’t just ride off delivering messages. And besides, we haven’t even horses.”

         The other fellow I learn is a baro in Metz speaking for the mayor who is funding this mission. The baro just turns away at my refusal.

         Brother Servant continues, “The bishops of Gaul are now speaking in unison. The young kings have no strategies or understanding to solve issues with anything but military might; so we can’t expect support for an Irish abbot from the throne. Of course Father Columbanus would make concessions in the simple matters of calendar and tonsure, but he fears those arguments are only an excuse for sending us all back to Ireland.”

         The baro glances at me and adds,  “You can see how people here thirst for the good work of Father Columbanus.”

         Brother Servant continues,  “If we were nothing more than an impoverished secular church in the woods no one would care how we cut our hair.”

         The baro adds, “For this mission you will have fast horses and an armed guard…”

         I answer Brother Servant, “Of course I know well the goodness of Father Columbanus.  But…”

         The baro continues, “… and of course there will be a messenger’s purse.”

         “Really I can’t go at this time. Ana has an infant at her breast. And these boys who are with me today, barely men, are the oldest of our seven. I’m simply not the right man for this mission.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#43.1, Tues., April 4, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Luxeuil

         My boys had a long day. Before I left our camp I looked on them sleeping like a nest of baby bunnies, so innocently curled up on the fluffy fleeces we brought for these nights camping with the pilgrims.  Even as we took our time, the walk here was short for us, only a half day. But Gabe and Greg were so swept up in the power of it all, the tales of journeys of so many pilgrims, the whole wide expanse of God’s kingdom on earth, the psalms they’ve learned with language itself, now chanted in unison by uncountable voices; no wonder it is overwhelming for them.  They’ve never seen any crowds of people before. And now they see people in throngs, moving toward a single goal, all arriving at these gates after journeys while fasting, exhausted from travel, longing for mystical empowerment mingled into the great unison of prayer. 

         Here it is said that there are so many monks and nuns in the community of Luxeuil that the Father has ruled for ceaseless chant continuing at all hours in the grand oratorio.  It is indeed like waves on the sea, first the elder monks are the choir, then washing over that, the nuns are processing through the halls and into the choir stands, then it is the novices, and on and on one choir after another, prayer without ceasing.  All of this like a beating heart in the center of so many Easter pilgrims. They are here finding ear for confessions, or blessings for healings at the waters. Empathy has worn my boys to exhaustion.

         I have this appointment to keep with Brother Servant at the gate so I make my way through camps in the dusky light where now there are two here waiting for me – Brother Servant and a nobleman.

         My perspective, “I come here to pray on earth as it is in heaven. But petty squabbles over earthly power – politics – hardly seem a worthy cause for breaking the silence of the vigil.”

         While I am arguing the need for solemnity Brother Servant and this other fellow are hard set on the politics of Gaul. Brother Servant reminds me of the grief of earth, the broken heaven, and the torn cloth of the holy is the fear and lust for earthly power. It was the fears of Rome’s most powerful that had Jesus crucified. True, Holy Week is all about the politics.

(Continues tomorrow)

#42.14, Thurs., March 30, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The opened gates of Luxeuil

         I’m asking Brother Servant what hour will the nuns be in the oratorio. Cy casts a look of suspicious curiosity. “Why would I bring young boys just to see the nuns?”

          Brother Servant knows why. He says, “I can’t wait to see the look on her face when Sister Colleen catches a glimpse of these two she delivered so safely all those years ago.”

         I explain to Cy, “Sister Colleen was our midwife before she took her vows.”

         I ask Brother Servant if we may help Cy into the healing waters yet tonight. That is now our most urgent need.

         “Of course.” He points to a long line at a crowded archway, “The blessings for healings will be spoken as long as there is a need.” 

        “Ezra, after you deliver this man into the healing waters, and after you’ve made camp for your sons I must talk with you.  I will be waiting for you here.” Brother Servant sounds intentional.

         When Cy has found comfort in the healing waters, and has found his footing again we walk him to the camp area and he asks, “Your friend the monk doesn’t call you Lazarus he thinks you are Ezra. It doesn’t matter to me, but your boys are confused.”

         Greg wonders, “Yes, Papa. When we are here, should we also call you Ezra?”

         “No. Call me Papa!  I’m always your papa, no matter where we are, I’m still your papa.”  Maybe everyone is confused but me.

         Gabe asks, “So what does God call you? 

         Greg echoes, “Does God even know your name?”

         How should I answer? Lazarus is such a weighty name to carry into this place already dripping in a profusion of relics and saints.

         “God knows me as friend of Jesus, Ana’s husband, father … actually, I guess God knows me by who I love.”

         Gabe answers, “Yes, me too.” Greg echoes it.

         Cy smiles and adds, “likewise.”

         It is true. God knows us all by our love.

         By the time we have a camping place among the pilgrims, the night is deep into darkness. I return to the gate and Brother Servant is waiting here with a man dressed as nobility.

         “We need to talk about the situation with the bishops of Austrasia and Burgundy now that King Guntram is gone.”

         “Brother Servant, it’s holy week.  I really didn’t come here to break the vesper silence just to talk politics.”

         The monk argues, “Holy Week is all about the politics.”

(Continues Tues., April 4, 2023)

#42.13, Weds., March 29, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Luxeuil

         This man is not even as heavy on my back as were two boys I’ve carried home from the fields at the end of a day’s work; that was just a year or so before they declared themselves men. Now they are concerned for this man who is lame, and even for their papa.  As we walk with the flow, Greg and Gabe discuss various plans to help carry the man using a tarp hanging from rods they can hoist across their shoulders, maybe like a slain deer. And by the time they have mulled over every transport possibility, we’ve already arrived at the opened gates of Luxeuil and we find a small space on a bench where the fellow can have a seat while we figure things out here.  

         This fellow says his name is Cy.

         The boys announce their names, and they mention they are twin brothers. Cy looks incredulously at the two precisely matching humans leaving a long and ridiculous pause — a wink of sarcasm. Greg and Gabe have no idea it is so conspicuous. Everyone who knows them never mentions it.  “And you call this fellow Papa?” Cy asks.
         “Yes, I’m named Lazarus.” And just now a familiar monk comes grinning and greeting, “Ezra!  So good to see you again, and these are the little baby twins all grown up I see!”

         Greg answers, “We are Greg and Gabe, and this is our new friend Cy.”

         Gabe adds, “He has a lame leg, so we are watching out for him now.”

         Brother Servant is still greeting this reunion with his wide, friendly smile as I affirm our purpose.

         “We need some direction Brother Servant. First we need to wait in the line for the healing waters, so that Cy can find relief and healing. When is Father Columbanus offering prayers for healing?”

         “In this busy season we have stations for all the different needs, so someone else is available at the waters for prayers and blessings.  Worship is in the oratorio where the Father is next offering mass.”

         “I’ve heard the rumors that there are so many monks and nuns here now that choirs lead the chants continuously all hours, day and night.”

         “That is either true because we have so many monks and nuns, or because the ones that live here never sleep.”

         “So, you might guess, we also would like to be present in the oratorio when the nuns come in chanting.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#42.12, Tues., March 28, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. On the road to Luxeuil

         When the crowd opens a little the underside of a mass of pilgrims is revealed.  Here are the sick and the lame crawling along among the feet of the gathered, just for a touch of a healing hem; [Luke 8:43-48] and here is one carried in a tarp by loyal friends, as was the man who was let through the roof of the house where Jesus was teaching. [Luke 5:17-26].

         Gabe is transfixed. “They are hurt and in pain, aren’t they?”

         I answer, “Some of these pilgrims have come great distances on nothing but a little thread of trust that they will find healing here.”

         “So we should pray for their healing?” suggests Greg.

         “Just like magical power?” I ask, “Is it just for God to do?”

         Greg suggests, “If we pray for them, what if God answers and tells us to help them. How could we ever have time for that?”

         “God isn’t much concerned with taking up our time. If we know what must be done, we can’t ignore it.”

         “So is it prayer, or God, or us answering God that can stop these hurts?” Greg is sorting through this concern.

         The push of humanity eddies to fill the wake left by the noble horses. A man leaning heavily on his walking stick is knocked over, facedown on the earth right in front of us. Immediately the prayer to help this man is answered with Greg’s and Gabe’s own compassion. These sons of the healer, Ana, rush to his aid. Greg tends to his bleeding lip, and Gabe examines the knee that the man claims is his pain.

         Kneeling here to help, below the oblivion of self-interest, and just above the grovel of need, in the middle of it all is the  full humanity of compassion. There are so many kneeling here to offer help.  We aren’t alone in caring. Thank you God.

         But now this broken fellow becomes our concern. Gabe and Greg are caught up in the compassion spreading throughout. Gabe says this man can’t walk just now, but I could easily carry him on my back.

         The man argues, “Just give me my walking stick to lean on. I’ve come this far and now I’m nearly to the healing waters.”

         These boys lift him onto my back and now he isn’t arguing with us, he is simply grateful.

(Continues tomorrow)

#42.11, Thurs., March 23, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. On the road to Luxeuil

         Greg is agape studying every soldier in the line, noting every detail: the armor, the swords, the horses, the rich silks, the banner. This is not the banner of the queen. 

         “It’s not royalty at all under that banner.” I tell them, but my boys are absorbed in the pomp. The murmur through the crowd persists that it is Queen Brunechildis. And for twelve-year-olds hearing the crowd saying it is a queen it seems more trusted than their papa saying it is not.

         “Really, Greg, Gabe,” I insist. “if this were Brunechildis (Brunhilda) the banner would bleed purple. I don’t know who this is and the crowd doesn’t know either. I know something of the history of this error, and I can assure you she would not be coming on a holy pilgrimage to the baths of Luxeuil.”

         “Who is this Brunechildis?” asks Gabe. “Maybe she was a friend of King Guntram, and now that he is gone, here she came in his place.”

         “That would be a reasonable guess by one knowing nothing of it. Brunechildis was the widow of Guntram’s brother, Seigebert.  The four brothers, the sons of Clothar the elder, were four squirrely rascals always fighting among themselves. So when Chilperic saw Siegebert’s princess Brunechildis he put aside his own favorite princess, Fredegund, and sent for Brunechildis’s sister Galswintha. Then Siegebert was the first of the four brothers killed off, and Guntram, who had no heir of his own, sheltered Brunechildis and Siegebert’s little son Childebert II for a while. Brunhilda ruled Astrasia as the regent for Childebert II and by the time he was of age to rule Guntram’s protection was moot.  Meanwhile Galswintha was murdered in her bed, and Chilperic went back to Fredegund. So Brunechildis was raging and it didn’t help matters when later Guntram adopted Chilperic’s son to be his own heir with Fredegund, regent.  The story is a complicated tapestry. But it is a sure thing that Brunechildis is not likely to show up at an Irish monastery where the late King Guntram was benefactor. I’m just saying you can’t trust rumors that snake through a crowd if you want to know what is true.” [Footnote]

         Greg says it all, “The horses are splendid, anyway.”

         As the rich procession passes there has been a parting in the crowd exposing the people moving through these masses unseen, those who cannot stand, crawling toward the pools. It is likely this is the view of a crowd that caught the eye of Jesus most often.

[Footnote] Yes, this blogger revisited that Merovingean Genealogy—Apendix A of Patrick J.Geary’s Before France & Germany…

(Continues Tuesday, March 28, 2023)

#42.10, Weds., March 22, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The Pilgrim’s path to Luxeuil

We are pressed together into an organic form of hundreds of us like a murmur of blackbirds. Deer and wild boars and even rodents flee the edges of the crowds — with animals escaping deeper into the woods behind us. All these people moving together is surely the reason the more unusual creatures like aurochs are on the move too, as though the forest is afire, every creature is exposed. We’ve seen no dragons or unicorns. Legend and truth still have their boundaries.

         The boys can’t even see to the front of the crowd unless they climb onto a rock to see over all the people. We are like an endless flock driven by a distant shepherd only here the smell isn’t wool and sheep dung, it’s the human odor – sharp, not sweet. Greg said when he could see over everyone he saw the great tower of the monastery just ahead.

         Some are near enough to hear the chants and they join their voices in the psalms passing the song back through all the people. And here also is the outer circle of vendors.  Every temple has its money changers.  We could buy fleeces and linens had we not come prepared for our nights sleeping out.  And here they sell pigeon feathers, as relics of the birds nesting in the sacred bell-free, and these “magical” feathers are touted as souvenirs of the famous Irish Father whose name means dove. I’ve not heard of any miracles attributed to the feathers though. The miracles these crowds come to receive are in the healing waters of the ancient baths.  And for a bit more money than the cost of a feather one can buy a dram of the magical waters of Luxeuil.

         Now enough of the sense of the destination wafts back that we can identify that the miasma of random chant becomes the actual singing of the hours. Gabe catches a familiar note and even his child’s voice is tuned to this chaotic sea of song. Greg also knows this psalm well but he is more cautious when plunging into something holy.

         A procession of soldiers on horses opens a crevasse in the crowd as they escort a royal litter moving through the masses at the fast walking speed of the men who are shouldering it.  Whispers pass through the crowds, “Is it a king?” “Is it the infamous queen herself, Brunhilda?”

(Continues tomorrow)

#42.9, Tues., March 21, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. The Pilgrim’s path to Luxeuil

         This is that Guntram story told, but not written, so by the standard my boys use for knowing truth it is merely on the brink of becoming true. The twins take turns layering one strange strand of story onto the next, until at last Guntram seems worthy of sainthood because he gifted a meager portion of a windfall treasure.

         Greg starts, “It happened by a mountain where water ran down.”

         “Could have been here. Guntram was hunting, and his trusted guard was with him.”

         “Saint Guntram suddenly became very tired so he decided to take a nap.”
         “He had his guard sit down to provide his lap as a pillow.”

         “Already it is a strange story.” I add.

         Greg picks it up, “While he was sleeping a little reptile like animal came out of his mouth.”

         Gabe continues, “And it crossed over a little stream on an iron bridge made of a sword.”

         “It went into a hole in the mountain a stayed for a little while.”

         “Then it came out and crossed back over on the sword, then went back into the mouth of the king.”

         “When the king awoke he said he had a wonderful vision.”

         “And he followed it over the sword and into the cave and there…”

         “He found a massive hoard of treasure and all that was missing was a dragon to guard it.” [footnote1]

            “Guntram claimed it for himself.”

         “So,” I ask, “How does that make him a saint?”

         The boys had no ready answer for this. But when at long last it will be put into writing and truth be known with this as the ending:

         “…also, the king set aside a great portion of the precious metals and gems to be donated to the Church. According to the tale, he had an ornate gold-and-gem-covered canopy crafted for the tomb of St. Marcellus in Châlon-Sur-Saone.” [footnote2]

         I know something of this elderly King’s support for monasteries — out of sight of the rumor mongering hagiographer Gregory who claimed friendship with the reptilian King of Burgundy. To me, the legend seems a pleasing allegory probably out of the mouth of the King himself to humble his gifting. Luxeuil is also such a place as a monastery in Châlon-Sur-Saone with that same king as benefactor.  And Gregory of Tours might not even know.

         Now the crowds along this path are increasing and the pulse of pilgrimage is all-absorbing as we move closer and closer to Luxeuil.

[footnote1]https://thehistorianshut.com/2021/02/01/the-bizarre-legend-of-king-guntram-being-led-to-a-treasure-by-a-dream-reptile/  retrieved 7-4-22

[footnote2]History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003.

(Continues Tomorrow)

#legend, #Guntram strange tale,