#45.11, Tues., June 27, 2023

Historical setting: 602 C.E. Luxeuil

         Luxeuil is different from the small cloister of monks that peopled Annegray. Now it has overseers for things like gifts from nobility. Father Columbanus is so well-known far and wide that bishops must gather in councils to request his attendance, even when they mean to accuse him of ignoring their jurisdiction; and he is so important that his refusal to come is apparently worthy of deadly force. I know that only too well. For Father Columbanus to have time to hear the plea of a farmer begging entrance for his sons would be unusual, though I know him to be thoughtful of the needs of the poor.

         It seems to me Gabe’s interview with the teacher would surely be remarkable because, of course, it is this papa who is speaking, and I must say that Gabe is remarkable child.

         Now Sister Colleen is aware we are here because we sent word over that her donkey is at stable here, then she alerted Brother Servant that Gabe had come seeking admission as a novice.

         There is a closed balcony above the room where the academic testing is done. The balcony has a filigree window, allowing the testing of novices to be observed without notice. So, Brother Servant struts that balcony to observe the testing. When he sees it is indeed Greg and Gabe in the testing room he goes on to the overseer of the gifts to find out who is sponsoring Gabe so soon after my death had been reported.

         Father Columbanus had only, this week, received the news from the Bishop of Metz reporting the death of me when I was serving as the Father’s messenger. Apparently, the bird that carried the message of my death returned to the dovecote unnoticed by the monk who cares for the birds here. And the message was not discovered until the monthly cleaning. They were only now planning to carry the bad news on to my widow along with the Father’s prayers and condolences. So my current good health and healing are very unexpected.

         Brother Servant is startled to see me fully alive here, groveling at the feet of the overseer of the gifts. Well, at least I’m begging a favor for my son. Our meeting is interrupted because I am summonsed to meet with Brother Servant and Father Columbanus immediately. Obviously, the full story was not told to anyone here, either of the death or the healing.

(Continues tomorrow)

#45.10, Thurs., June 22, 2023

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

         Greg and Gabe have only been back from Metz for a day when they are ready to go off again, this time to find the places where noble families plot their children’s successes. We aren’t of the aristocracy, but Greg would like to be trained as a nobleman’s guard anyway. And Gabe has his mind set on becoming a monk at Luxeuil. I know, seeing their enthusiasm, making plans to leave home so young, is as hard for Ana as it is for me, but she isn’t arguing to stop them.  In fact, she is urging me to see them through these changes, thinking always and only of their happiness in life. I fear she doesn’t really see the consequences of what she’s saying. And I don’t want to make this an argument that divides our family.

         Ana and I make a plan that I will go with both boys to Luxeuil, and let Greg observe as I help Gabe negotiate a place as a novice monk. I do have connections there, even though I’m not a wealthy benefactor as is often needed to send a child off to a monastery. After that we can discuss Greg’s plan. I’m still not ready to yield to that.

         It’s only a half days’ walk to Luxeuil but I surely need to have my healing from the wound well behind me so my grueling misfortune doesn’t become my sons’ burden again. I’m pretty sure I can do this. But Ana decides Sister Colleen needs to see her old pet donkey, Jack, again, so we will take the donkey cart.  We also don’t want to put the whole burden of the extra work at home onto Simon and Hannah.

         So, it is agreed we will stop at our neighbors and arrange for Charlie to come over, sometimes, while we are away, to work for us here. We will carry a bird with us to let Ana know when we plan to return, but it shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.

         At Luxeuil the boys are taken to meet with the teacher and I’m sent to an overseer of gifts to the monastery.  I know it is usual to give a large gift to support the community as a gesture of gratitude for a child entering into preparation to become a monk. I will soon learn if that is required of me.

 (Continues Tuesday, June 27)

#45.9, Weds., June 21, 2023

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

         Greg argues against my hard rule for pacifism. He says, “When plotting bishops order their guards to murder an innocent man just because he brings them a message — then they are evil.”

         “’When’ you say? So evil is not a person but the temporal action of a person?  Yet, you would retaliate and kill the person? In fact you are talking about using a weapon against a whole council of bishops.  And if that righteous sword were successful then all the bishops’ guards would be obligated to retaliate.  And pretty soon the battle is not for righteousness, but for retaliation. That’s how wars are made. No one is wiser for it, or more beloved by God because of it. No one is just. And no one wins.”

         “It’s just not that simple Papa. If the bishops are not actually the epitome of evil, as was the Roman Empire that crucified Jesus, then when the guards of righteousness bring out their swords against evil, they might see it as God answering the prayers. And then the evil side will know the will of God and will withdraw their guards.”

         “So, you think it is the prayers of the unjust that cause evil to relent?”

         Greg argues, “I’m saying it just isn’t so simple as ‘swords and poles wound and words and prayers heal’.”

         “Yet you expect both sides to find God’s righteousness through prayer? Greg, isn’t that the exact scenario you just what-if-ed to me?  When two sides are at war, and both pray for God’s righteousness to make the hurt and death seem worthy, then which prayers does God answer?  The fact I know is that God loves all of the Creation, including humankind. It’s on the first page of the Torah, the Bible, and imprinted on life itself and the whole universe. As sure as Creation is good, God is, and God is love.”

         “Then how does God make one army win over another?”

         I answer, “It isn’t God; it’s only superstitious kings and bishops who claim that God causes the winning and chooses the loosers.”

         “Papa, I still intend to learn the tricks of the sword, even if I never use it for war.”

         “You will not do that with my blessing.”

         Greg retreats, maybe respectful of my blessing. But Gabe isn’t gloating. He seems to be making an attempt to appear neutral as he has his own need to argue with me over starting his future right now at Luxeuil.

(Continues tomorrow)

#45.8, Tues., June 20, 2023

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

         Greg and Gabe returned from Metz more excited than ever about the possibilities of taking their accomplishments and making themselves into some twist of aristocracy. They’ve decided riding horses is more to their liking than managing the farm mule, and a polished sword dangles from the waist with more prestige than a hunter’s bow over the shoulder.

         I know when boys are teens their heroic imaginings always seem pointed with sharp objects. They see problems solved with swords and poles not words and prayers. And that narrow imagination for future quests lands right in their lives at this most sensitive life-stage when irrational violence appears to be winning. They observed the bishops’ guards driving me through with a polearm simply to make a statement about the message sent by the abbot. Words would have sufficed. Wars are waged by crazy despots, then brutalized by the very young who are drafted to carry the weapons. The pacifism of Jesus is one place where I always stand firm.

         When I was their age, my own best friend forever was the very pacifist who, while barely beyond his youth, died on the cross denying to his followers any plan for a sword of retaliation, then the very lyric of his dying was forgiveness.  Who are we to say pacifism is impractical in this time when winning seems the ultimate goodness in everything? Pacifism has always been out-of-step with the times — in all times. It didn’t just become out of date just now in the 7th century.

         I’m relentless. “Swords wound. Words and prayers heal.”

         I hear no impulsive, “But Papa…  ” 

         Instead, here is a thoughtful silence. I watch their faces as bright minds formulate response.

         Then Greg answers, “There is nothing that can stop the sword of the evil bishops’ guards, but the swords of the guards of righteousness.”

         “That would be a good answer, but flawed, in that evil and righteousness are inconsistent and not a universally shared measure,” I argue on, “So how do you, as a mere humans know the righteous from the evil?”

         Greg answers, “Of course I know what is good and what is evil, and I will always take the righteous side. I know righteousness is always the side I’m on.”

         I ask, “When it is a council of bishops? When it is holy men devoted to righteous teaching, are these the evil or the good?”

 (Continues tomorrow)

#45.7, Thurs., June 15, 2023

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

         I’m tempted to lecture little Simon on the assurance that God is with him even though silent. I would tell him that, but he isn’t asking me to send him God. And really, for any of us, it is only God who can answer the longing.

         The best I could say is, “I love you Simon, please know your Papa loves you.” I can only trust that God will speak for God’s self as I have always known to be the nature of God, though it is so rarely a voice that rattles the house and speaks in the familiar language. This thirst-quenching Word comes more often as a wordless knowing from the depths of soul. Is that what little Simon is listening for?

         I wake to hear Greg and Gabe are home and Ana is greeting them with “Shhh, your Papa is sleeping.”

         What a shabby welcome home that is!  These days I’m much better than when they left.  So, I get myself up to give them a proper welcome. Ana is preparing a homecoming meal. And I can be the one to bring the water from the well. It’s been a while since I’ve been any help at all for this family. 

         Simon meets me at the well, and he draws up the water. He carries the heavy pail to the door and sets it just outside so that I can heft it into the house, as though it was all done by my strength alone. Ana gives me a scolding look.  In all his quiet observation little Simon knows that I need not let his brothers see how slow is my healing.

         It’s wonderful to have this family altogether at the table for this meal.

         To bless the food, I offer thanks to God for an itemized listing of gracious gifts – beans enough for porridge — water, pure and fresh — safe journeys for Greg and Gabe — and I think I accidentally spoke aloud my hope they stay home now until they are fully grown. Whatever it was I said, Ana kicked my shin under the table to tell me to hone my words less selfishly. She has already heard them bubbling with a new kind of enthusiasm — hopes and dreams and possibilities. She whispers to me I should listen to their plans before I speak.

(Continues Tuesday, June 20)

#45.6, Weds., June 14, 2023

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

         So today Simon and I are sorting through his collection of strangely shaped tree roots, aged and washed in the creek.  Which of these elbows of old root is a harp? Some are too fragile, some have too many parts, and some have no place to drill holes for strings. 

         I show him how I hold my harp and he tries these forms of wood nestled in his arm, on his knee, and with the harp standing on its own as on the bench. He chooses a branch that he can hold close to himself but my concern is that it won’t resonate and be heard. And now it comes to me that he isn’t preparing to perform with this but to simply have some music of his own which was how I coaxed him toward music, and that’s how he received it. He really isn’t a child who would go off slaying Philistines and await a royal crown. He is the quiet and obedient child who lives in his own secret world.

         Thank you, God, for a glimpse of Simon’s smile today.

         He has a particular psalm in his mind that he wants to put to tune. This one begins with an image of a little deer wandering off to find the creek.  But really, it’s a psalm of a desperate longing for an unreachable God. I assumed, since he’s only ten-years-old, and as our children go, he’s not the most precocious, that he just wants to sing about a little animal looking for a cool drink of water.  But he unfurls the full lyric from his lessons on Psalms and now I realize he really does mean to sing the full lament of Psalm 42. It is his own intimate plea, and like the root that can become a harp he holds it close to himself.

         Dear God, you have let me become the parent to a child, but not the owner of his soul. I’m grateful for your presence, though sometimes you seem too silent — sometimes you demand waiting more patiently than any earthly parent can wait. I love you too. Amen.

         With only one string to drone to his singing, he sings:

         “My soul thirsts for God,

                  For the living God.

         When shall I come and behold

                  The face of God?

         My tears have been my food

                  Day and night

         While people say to me

                  Continually,

         ‘Where is your God?’” [Psalm 42:2-3]

(Continues tomorrow)

#45.5, Tues., June 13, 2023

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

         I’d been telling my ten-year-old a story about those pesky psalms his brothers memorize so easily, and then I happened to mention that David, the little harp player, became a great king. So, all I was doing was adding another rung of out-of-reach accomplishment for Simon. I only meant to offer a suggestion of a simple joy in music. Now he’s looking for a quick exit.

         But here he stands with his head bowed like an obedient monk, and he asks, “Is this the same fellow who killed the giant with a rock?”

         “Yes, it was David!”

         “Papa, I have chores to do.”  And now he’s gone.  But now I’ve laid before this little broken spirit a challenge to be a child prodigy in music, a little warrior with a stone, then a great king. All I meant for him was to give him a way to make a song. How can I ever make this better for him?

         Maybe I should listen to Ana who complains that I try to be too controlling. Of course, I don’t have control over how my child receives a story, or music, or love, or any of the things I wish for him. I can only guide him in building a harp. I can’t make a song come from him.

         Dear God, thank you for the beauty wrapped deeply in my own way to Spirit. But how long must I wait for my children to find their own ways? Please give me the patience to let them grow as they will. Thank you for being, for me, the parent, always waiting. Amen.

         I will try harder to cloak my expectations only in praises.

         At this waking I hear Simon now at the table with his sister.

         I call him. “Simon!” He’s here immediately.

         “When we talked earlier, I didn’t mean to say you have to learn the harp. I just meant if you want your own thing, you could easily learn to …”

         “Papa, I found a large ash root washed clean at the creek. It has all kinds of twisty prongs and one or another could be a harp. I’m chopping it into small pieces that I can bring up here and show you. Those branches you don’t choose will make a fine hot fire when burnt.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#45.4, Thurs., June 8, 2023

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

         Simon is sitting with me here as I search for the secret of his smile that seems so rare.  I asked him if he likes to sing the dancing songs at the little church.

         “Yes, I do like that, Papa.  But without you the music has a terrible hole in it.  I know Haberd and Brandell notice too; during the music part they just sit there talking to each other and making silly faces. So, I’ve been trying to sing louder to make music seem important. I try to make it better.”

         “You’ve been doing that?  Of course, you have – my little man who makes all things right. So let me tell you what I was thinking. Maybe that hole in the music is because there is no harp.”

         I see that look of panic across his face as though everyone but Simon knows the next verse.

         “No Papa, I can’t play your harp. I’ve watched carefully and I have no idea how you know exactly which strings make music. I could never learn that.”

         “The strings on my harp are only the one I know. I was thinking if you had your own harp the only strings it would have would be the one or two you would know.

         “Let me tell you an ancient story. A shepherd boy with a harp that had only five strings, played his songs for the sheep. I imagine he sat on a great rock by the creek.  I’ve heard his older brothers were very good at everything they did so they might have laughed if they heard him playing his harp and singing. Maybe the songs he sang came from his own imagination, his heart, his prayers — and maybe only some people would think they were songs.

         “People love music in different ways. Some make up their own songs and sing just for themselves and maybe for God. Others only want to sing what everyone else is singing. The little shepherd just sang his songs for the sheep in his quiet times. But then when that little fellow grew up he became a great king and his little songs became the songs everyone was singing. Those are the same psalms we chant today.”

         “Yes, Papa.  So now, I will go clean out the stable.”

 (Continues Tuesday, June 13)

#45.3, Weds., June 7, 2023

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

         “Psalm 139 goes on after ‘I rise up…’ then comes ‘you discern my thoughts from far away.’” So now here I am correcting this child when I meant to ease his worry over all the lessons. I know it’s hard for him.

         “Simon, I wanted to say music comes to people in different ways. You can be rich in song without having to memorize long passages of psalms for chanting.”

         “I know what you are saying Papa. It is something else I can’t do and everyone else can do so well. But I’m working on it. I’m practicing Psalms even when I’m collecting up wood.”

         “Oh, dear Simon. Come closer. Sit down here near me. I really mean to tell you that I love you as the person you are, not because I imagine you different. If your learning was no greater than a snail on a rock, I would still love you. But now that we have had this hard time in our family, I can see even more clearly that you do so many things to help. I was just thinking of how much we appreciate your quiet helpfulness. Yet we let your brothers shine so brightly with all their gifts. I know you go off to the quiet places, to the rock by the creek, and back behind the well to the place where only flowers may grow.”

         “No Papa.  That’s my secret. I will always come when you call me, even if I’m there.”

         “I know you are always where you need to be, but I was thinking of something you might like for your quiet times alone.”

         “Momma already gave me a secret book with pages for inks.”

         “She did?  I didn’t know that.”

         “It’s a secret. She said it’s mine alone.”

         “I didn’t know that. I guess I was thinking that same way as your momma was. But I’ll keep your secret too. I won’t tell your brothers you have a book and I won’t ever try to fix it. I guess I was also thinking of how you are not just like everyone else, but that you have your own gifts.

         When we are at the church in the wood where we only sing dancing songs, I’ve noticed you join right into the singing.  Do you like that kind of music?”

(Continues tomorrow)

#45.2, Tues., June 6, 2023

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

         The full burden of my absence and the travels of his older brothers puts huge responsibility onto our ten-year-old, Simon.  He is so careful with details and so mindful of the habits of farm chores that we really depend on him for the daily chores – stacking the wood, storing the harvests of the winter crops, minding the needs of the animals – all these things fell onto him in this crisis. I’m amazed in watching these children achieving so much beyond their years that I let myself loose sight of Simon and all his hard work to maintain the normalcy of every day. May these days of healing allow me a peaceful time to appreciate all of our children growing in their own ways.

         This springtime day remembers winter with a cold wind and relentless drizzle. I hear my children in the main room by the fire working on their lessons.  Ten-year-old Simon and four-year-old Haberd are pressing letters into the wax boards to practice shaping letters with a stylus. I overhear as Simon is being corrected, as usual, by his younger sister complaining about the spacing of his letters. Hannah is relentless when it comes to the layout of the full page, while Simon is probably taking great pains to get the swirl of the “E” perfect and the tail of the “Y” precisely aligned with the hoop of the “G.” Then little Haberd gets right into this thing of picking on Simon with his critique of this older brother’s bulky “L.”

         I hurt for this child. Who would notice if he saved our harvests and supplied our firewood? The animals know he cares for each as though it were his own brother. He knows which hen is suffering from melancholy, and it matters to him that the mule perks his ears when he speaks. I hurt for this child who is always being criticized by his siblings yet tries so hard to get every little detail correct.

         “Simon, I want to talk with you.” I call to him into this room.

         I can see he is uncomfortable standing at the bedside of this bedridden parent.

         “Yes, Papa.”

         “Simon, with your brothers away we don’t need to spend so much time working on the psalms and the chants.”

         “It’s okay Papa.  I’m trying to keep practicing them anyway. I was thinking of Psalm 139, but I can’t remember what comes after ‘when I rise up.’”

(Continues tomorrow)