#41.11, Thurs., Feb. 23, 2023

Historical setting: 590 C.E. Cottage between Annegray and Luxeuil

         “Bringing a new bird now.” That was the message that arrived today on the leg of one of our birds.  We had sent a message to Annegray that the boys arrived safely but we had not heard back, nor had we received the visitors we were expecting.  Apparently Colleen is the only one concerned about baptism immediately. So now we hear that Brother Servant is coming today.

         Our guest with the new bird doesn’t arrive until this afternoon. He has just come all the way from Luxeuil.  He tells us this grayish feathered bird he brings was fledged at Luxeuil and that is where any messages should be sent from now on. We expect our message of the news of our family landed unread at the dovecote of Annegray, as no one is there anymore but the pigeons.

         Brother Servant has barely laid his winter cloak aside when Sister Paula and Colleen have already provided him with hot tea and biscuits.

         “So you’ve moved on to Luxeuil?” I ask Brother Servant.

         “Indeed.  And it all seems a deliberate temptation to threaten our vows. Where is our poverty when we bask like emperors in the soothing waters? How can we be obedient when vast corridors keep the Father at such a distance we can’t even hear his voice. And our obedience to God is challenged by the awe of so much ancient pagan beauty.”

         “You’ll surely make it your home soon, with lots of endless psalm singing. I imagine those old Roman halls will chant the new songs of Christians any day now. And you have a church bell to announce the hour.”

         Brother Servant argues, “When all the sisters arrive even the chastity of some of the brothers may be at stake.”

         Colleen finds a place with us at the table, as Sister Paula goes to the other room to let Ana know of our guest.

         Colleen assures Brother Servant the vow of chastity is not entrusted to the monks alone. “Surely the women of Luxeuil will mind those vows most solemnly.” And she asks, “Brother Servant, just what is required by Father Columbanus for a woman to belong to that community?”

         The Irish monk raises his eyebrows and looks straight at Colleen. There is an excellent teacher already there so you can practice reading and writing when you are there. So whenever your spirit is ready you will be received.

(Continues Tuesday, February 28)

#41.10, Weds., Feb. 22, 2023

Historical setting: 590 C.E. Cottage between Annegray and Luxeuil

         Sister Marcella always keeps her eye on the hour, and she is expecting the babies will be waking just now.  Ana sits with the first son in the chair, and opens her tunic.  Sister Marcella checks on Gabriel, still sleeping soundly.

         “His name is Gabriel” I whisper to her.

         “You’ve named them already?”

         “Yes.” Ana answers.

         “And who is this fine fellow?” Sister Marcella asks.

         I answer, “We are still waiting for his name to be revealed.”

         “Well,” answers Sister Marcella, “You had better name him something more down to earth than Gabriel.  God knows we have enough flitting angels already, and the saints are way too heavenly for this strong boy.  Name him for the new pope why not?”

         “Gregory?” Ana considers it.

         I can say, “We don’t even know the new pope.  Maybe he isn’t one we would want to remember in this way.”

         Ana argues, “I like the way it sounds though. Gregory seems a noble name, and it is so popular now, every churchman it seems is naming himself for a Gregory.”

         I add, “I happen to know Gregory, Bishop of Tours took his name from one of his own noble relatives.  In his youth he was called George.”

         “Well we certainly won’t name this little fellow George,” announces Ana.  “But saints and nobles aside, Gregory is a popular name, so it could mean any good Gregory, now-a-days, and he could make a name for himself of it.  And when you realize that all we know of Pope Gregory we’ve learned from messengers on fine horses all dressed up so pretty in silks, surely Gregory is a worthy name for this child.”

         So we name both our boys for well-dressed messengers, one with feathered wings and the other on horses – the horses that bring the news.  It seems right enough, since these boys were conceived on our journey when we were messengers for Father Columbanus. And that Father is named for the birds that carry the messages to and from the monastery. Or, was it that the birds were named for him? Names after names both honor and confuse.

         Ana affirms, “with a pope by the name Gregory there will be lots of Gregorys; so he will become known for who he is, not who he is named for.”

         “Very well” I agree, “So be it, Gregory is this first born.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#41.9, Tues., Feb 21, 2023

Historical setting: 590 C.E. Cottage between Annegray and Luxeuil

         Both babies are well today. The three nuns-to-be and I use a little flask with a spoon top to feed one of them while Ana has the other.  It is a very nice thing to hold a baby and to nurture his strength with milk while his bright eyes stare into the parent face linking soul to sound, so of course I sing. “Lu, lu,” and the baby shapes his lips to “oooo.” Of course my little man can sing! As long as the song is this one note and syllable of his own choosing. These Sisters think I’m silly. Wait until my hands are free and I will build a harp. Then they will recognize the baby sound as singing. It is all about the imagination and the accompaniment.

         I carry in the bundles of wood to keep both fires, and we have two caldrons of water aways filled: one for washing and the other for cooking. Ana is strong and able to tend to the babies, and she helps  with the ceaseless washing of the linens. So in this quiet moment when the women are in cooking, and the babies are sleeping, Ana and I launder the endless baby clothes, rinsing and washing, rinsing again and wringing, hanging them on the lines by the fire in the bedroom. It is in this moment we can talk.

         “What should we name them?”

         “Is it too soon to give them names?”

         “Ana, how could it be too soon for names? We would surely grieve for them were they not to be. Our grief would need a name, but so too does our gratitude for their little beings, their sounds and songs and cries… we already know them. So what names should we call them by?”

         “I already call the second one Gabriel. He shows me courage through the most questionable darkness, and through his trust and perseverance he speaks the incessant angel message, ‘don’t be afraid.’ In his baby grapple for message he speaks of God’s relentless love.”

         “Gabriel, he is. Did we name him, or just discover his name?“

         The first boy stirs in the cradle, and Ana goes over and picks him up, even before he cries. She asks him his name. He stares into her face still wondering at the meaning of any words at all.

         Sister Marcella taps on the door.

         (Continues tomorrow)

#41.8, Thurs., Feb. 16, 2023

Historical setting: 590 C.E. Cottage between Annegray and Luxeuil

         Ana is concerned about the smaller baby fearing he isn’t well. Colleen and the sisters don’t find this unusual. Being born is always dangerous, and these two infants have just come through that most terrifying journey into life. 

         But Ana is especially concerned and so we all are. She takes great care to keep him warm and when he seems warm she fears a fever. He does seem fussy and not as enthusiastic about the breast as his brother, but maybe the babies are just different from one another.

         Colleen says we need to have them baptized immediately. And Ana wants to give the babies baths with or without the blessings so she asks Colleen to prepare the large earthen bowl with tepid water. I’m sure that isn’t what Colleen meant by baptism.

         Once in a time before Jesus was even famous, my sister followed one of the charismatic leaders of new theologies arising within Judaism. Mary followed John. And Jesus also followed him. John was preaching near our home in Bethany making the bathing in the Jordan into a holy cleansing – offering repentance – a turning around – a change.

         As I am reminded seeing the Roman ruins in Luxovium and Metz, bathing was a popular social gathering back then. So all of us, in our little clusters of Christians following the changing ways of Judaism, were seeing all things of daily life as ritual “on earth as it is in heaven.” By the blessings of John, bathing became a sacrament. And by the blessings of Jesus feasting became a sacrament. [Footnote]

         I’ve seen it myself. First the baths and the feasts were social gatherings, then they were symbol, then sacrament, then sacrament became a single order by holy proclamation and sacrament and creed became an organized religion. Now, by symbol of bathing both body and spirit become new. This Christian ritual seems a fine thing to me, after-all, I was presented at the temple for the briss when I was only eight days old. I don’t remember that at all but surely it was a way bigger physical commitment than simply cooling the fevers of birth with a sprinkling.

         So if Ana wants to bathe the little fellow, wash him, restore the comfort of well-being to the tiny little body, it seems a good plan. Call it what you will.

        

[Footnote] If history were only about old stuff it wouldn’t be as interesting. The cultural importance of bathing in Jesus time is considered in a full chapter in The Westar Christianity Seminar takes a new look at an old time in A Historical exploration of the first two centuries of Jesus movement after Jesus and before Christianity, Erin Vearncombe, Brandon Scott, and Hal Taussig: Harper One, 2021, Part II, Chapter 12.

Photo credit: Rev. Christopher Marlin-Warfield, “From the bridge at Knoff Family Reservation”

(Continues Tuesday, February 21)

#41.7, Weds., Feb. 15, 2023

Historical setting: 590 C.E. Cottage between Annegray and Luxeuil

         When two babies sleep the mother sleeps, the midwives get their rest, and so many thoughts and notions, remembrances and dreams race through my imagination just now. I can be the one who is awake to rock the cradle.

         I can remember lullabies. It’s been a very long time since I’ve sung an actual song other than chanting psalms. At this moment I can sort of understand how lullabies get such strange lyrics. They are a low hum of music forced into breath in a fog of new birth, crazy world of light and life, mother screaming for life, father fainting for helplessness, and now the stillness of fatigue and need and hunger plunging more humans into the earthly world of need.  What is there to eat? Send the little red bird off to find a seed, a bug, a twisting little worm — things only a famished dad would think of. There are no lullabies in my head that have any sense of reality. Whose imagination do they quill — baby’s or the father’s?

         “All night long, we’ve worked so hard to keep these human babies safe, and now you can only sing of birds?”

         Ana is awake and grinning at me across her pillow.

         “Shhh they’re both sleeping now.”

         “Well, don’t stop singing just because they’re sleeping.”

         To Ana I sing,

         “Laz, wake up.  You can’t sleep when you are the one keeping watch.”

         A baby is crying, and Ana caught me sleeping. Now Sister Paula has already come in with a clean wrap for the baby.

(Continues tomorrow)

#41.6, Tues., Feb. 14, 2023

Historical setting: 590 C.E. Cottage between Annegray and Luxeuil

         It was a very long night. And now this disheveled morning is dizzy with sleeplessness. I add more wood to the fires. In our minds this is the good ending we were praying for. In our hearts we are not so sure. Actually, Ana and I prayed that we could find our way through this however it turned out. The idea of perfect little humans, smiling with fluffy pink checks, babies seeing us all with Ana’s eyes, for all the wonder, we really hadn’t spoken that prayer aloud. The one we did say was the “‘not my will but yours’ dear God.” And by grace, Ana is exhausted, but Colleen says she is well, and here are two little boys, red and scrawny, with round eyes like turtle’s eyes, or maybe little hatchling sparrows fallen from the nest without feathers. Ana knows they are both very delicate and tiny. She worries that she didn’t spend enough time waiting for them in the stillness of the bed. She begs me to tell her she didn’t accidentally hurry them too fast. I promised her she did her very best, and they have the best possible mother.

         Colleen has more encouraging words than I’ve ever heard from her. She tells Ana she is doing well and the babies are perfect. She has prepared something of a thinned posset to give them nourishment if they can’t figure out Ana’s offering of her breast, but the first, the first born, has already discovered how to do this thing and now he is sleeping soundly, and the second is making his try. This must be very tiring for Ana but she is so hopeful to try this and she isn’t even thinking of herself right now. It all did take more time and worry than we were really prepared for. So three midwives a new father and a new mother are all-in just now.

         Now this restacking wood to bring the woodpiles inside seems a peaceful reprieve. I actually find myself hoping the women will assign me more useful tasks.

         The first baby has had a taste of his mother’s milk, and now the second has figured out the technique.  As far as the women are concerned this is complete success. The babies are sleeping in their huge woolen buntings, tiny little promises of new life in the long carved cradle intended for two much larger-sized babies to be rocked so efficiently both at one time.

(Continues tomorrow)

#41.5, Thurs., Feb. 9, 2023

Historical setting: 590 C.E. Cottage between Annegray and Luxeuil

         After our midday meal Brother Servant is on his way taking a bird, and leaving the two nuns here with Colleen and Ana.  I find that this is a good time to work alone in the stable to hone my winter projects, the cradle for two, and an oaken churn. I’ve already completed the bucket for milking, and Colleen has been using it for a few weeks now. And I happened to find a fallen forked branch about that time also that I shaved and shaped into a fine one-legged milking stool for her.  So at least Colleen finds me useful as a carpenter.

         Thank you dear Jesus, for teaching me to plane the edges of wood that they tighten together to make a good churn; and thank you dear friend for teaching me to hone the jagged edges among people that I can recognize the beautiful gift of a house full of people enjoying one another’s company. Amen.

         I hear the women chattering like birds filling the high limbs of trees at an autumn flocking. It feels like a welcoming nest for the babies we are waiting to take into our arms very soon. Dear God, stay close. Amen.

         And so it is, only a day after the women arrive, I am in the stable ever smoothing the inside of the two-baby cradle when Sister Marcella comes to tell me to bring some water from the well. I understand what this means. They are finding me a task so I won’t be in the way of the women’s gift.  But I fully intend to be with Ana at this time. It isn’t enough for me to hear news, whatever the news may be, from one of these chaste sisters who vows never to understand this bond of marriage. Yes, I know that isn’t a fair assumption.  Each of us has our lives and different ways of knowing others with all sorts of variations on working together for a purpose. And didn’t I just ask Jesus to smooth the rough edges of having so many guests at this most intimate time? I asked that we may make a useful bond like the slats of a bucket despite our differences. There is no sense for me to go into that women’s room already resentful of taking orders from women who aren’t Ana. So I need to prepare myself with humility and forgiveness. 

(Continues Tuesday, February 14)

#41.4, Weds., Feb. 8, 2023

Historical setting: 590 C.E. Cottage between Annegray and Luxeuil

         Colleen’s prayer aloud this morning was a bit of a surprise to Ana and me. We learned that Colleen has been worrying that she would be helping Ana deliver twins with no one to help but me. And now, she is bursting with gratitude to God for sending two women to stay with us while Luxeuil can be made ready for them. Ana said she assured Colleen I would be an able helper. But Colleen doesn’t know of my strange gift of life and life again which has led me to be present for births of my children in other times; and unlike Thole, becoming a father for the first time, I have had experience being allowed to help. I already know of ways I can be useful.  I really don’t think they will need to send me off for water in order to get me out of the way. But apparently, Colleen’s prayer to God asking for some knowledgeable women to come and help has been answered boldly and on time. 

         Thank you God, Amen.

         At noon Brother Servant arrives with the two young women and  we already have a place prepared for them to sleep these nights with fleeces and straw near the hearth. They have chosen the names of chaste women who were saints, Sister Paula and Sister Marcella.

         I greet them at the door and Sister Marcella remembers who I am.

         “I saw you last summer.  Are you still a follower of the wise teacher, Ana?” Turning to Sister Paula, she adds, “Don’t you recall this fellow? He is the same man who was following Ana when she visited us in Laon.”

         “Oh, yes, now I remember the teacher Ana did have a man with her when she visited us.”

         “I’m her husband.”

         “Follower, husband, whatever…”

         I have to admit, I’m not accustomed to being known as a ‘follower’ of Ana. Husband has never seemed so humbling before.  I glance at Brother Servant who perfectly understands the humility of title.  He is grinning at my fluster. And here he is leaving me with this bevy of chaste women who seem to have no use at all for a man. It’s a strange twist I may have to become accustomed to.

         Colleen scurries around in her bliss of guests, preparing a fine tasting broth that she even seasoned for this special occasion, perfect for dipping the oven-hardened biscuits.

(Continues tomorrow)

#41.3, Tues., Feb. 7, 2023

Historical setting: 590 C.E. Cottage between Annegray and Luxeuil

         A message arrived on a bird’s leg simply mentioning “the nuns of Laon.”

         “Laon has no nuns, or convent or monastery. We were there this summer on our journey looking for nuns.” I can attest.

         But Ana knows what this means and she’s delighted.

         “Laz, do you remember when we stopped there when I was looking for medical knowledge and the young women we met were longing for any learning; they were even listening to me?”

         “Yes, I remember that stop Ana, you were the teacher for them.  I remember how we met at a house and you answered their questions long into the night.”

         “They wanted a Christian community for women and we both talked with them about what we knew of monastic rule and vows. They were already followers of Father Columbanus, which is probably why he sent us to Laon with a message in the first place.”

         Ana goes on explaining to Colleen, “And we hadn’t imagined then anything about Luxeuil. We surely had no thought that there would ever be a double monastery in the Irish Rule with Father Columbanus as founder and abbot.”

         Colleen wasn’t with us then. But now she realizes the news of these women is also about her own dreams and hopes.

         “Does this mean that women are already arriving to enter the community at Luxeuil?” she asks.

         “I think that is what these few little words on a bird’s leg could mean.” I can only guess, “So Colleen, we should prepare for these guests to stay in the main room with you. Luxeuil isn’t ready for them yet, and it’s too cold for them in the stable these nights. I’ll send a message back to Brother Servant to let him know they are welcome here.”

         Colleen asks if she may say the blessing for our morning gruel.

         “Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be your name. Thank you for answering the desperate prayer of this simple midwife who I am, Colleen of the Irish! And even though Brother Laz tells me over and over again, God’s time is different than our time, you are sending me the helpers I’ve been praying for at exactly the right time!  Thank you God, for helping me be prepared to deliver the twins for Ana. You must have noticed that I was feeling so helpless. Thank you.  Amen, oh, and also bless this food, amen.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#41.2, Thurs., Feb. 2, 2023

Historical setting: 590 C.E. Cottage between Annegray and Luxeuil

         When I mentioned our child yet unnamed Ana smiled with her beautiful whole face beaming far beyond that recent dinge of worry. Together we touched her round belly. We’ve been in the shadow of this thing Colleen calls “circumstance” for what seems a very long time. Alone with Ana, I ask if she’s afraid.

         “Not really afraid, Laz, since I’ve never birthed a child I have no idea what to expect so I don’t really have fear, so much as anticipation and maybe a hope. I do worry for the child and if our child is two babies, I will worry twice as much forever and now. How can I be a mom for two at once?”

          “Imagine, Ana, what it will be for us with new empathy, to see everything in our world through the brand new innocent eyes of an infant. How will our faces look starting from our chins then our noses as a baby sees us?”

         Ana giggles. “Before we even have our new names, ’Momma and Papa’ you will be the soft beard, and I will be a breast. We already are the first people ever to be seen by her or him or them. What is there to worry? Whatever we say it is, so it is.”

         “I was giving the little person a bit more leeway to think for herself. I’ve known babies before and, I have to say, try as we may to create their world for them, they always have their own minds.  I don’t mean to worry you, Ana.  It’s just an interesting thing to consider.”

         I share my prayer aloud. “Dear God let us lay our fears out as opened strands that you may lay threads of love among them, so we place one piece of worry over a cord of holy love then allow a winding strand of simple trust, and in that way let us become the full braid of everything this child may need. Amen.”

         We talk late into the night before we are both sleeping as though there were never any worries at all.

         This new morning I wake to hear Colleen about the morning chores. She must know we needed this time together; she doesn’t just come in, she taps on the door.  I answer.

         She has a little thread of parchment from the leg of a bird.

         It says, “Nuns of Laon here.” She asks what this means.

(Continues Tuesday, February 7)