Post #33.9, Tues., June 21, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. The path to the cottage in the Vosges

         It wasn’t exactly the ritual we were seeking, but now I do have a clearer understanding of Ana’s hopes and dreams.  I share the hope in the possibility that we could one day have children. It seems so common, but it is also such a shimmering dare.

         With or without a proper blessing, I continue the project of thatching the uncovered part of the cottage and we share these beautiful nights lying under the older roof of this cottage.

         On this new day the first crop of the garden is ready; today it is the chard.  A bird arrives this morning summonsing me alone, to the monastery so Ana stays to fetch the water and boil the chard for supper when I return.

         At Annegray I’m told someone has arrived from a pagan tribe on the Loire, and he is asking for “Anatase.” Now here it is Thole, come on horseback all this way from the village on the Loire where he still lives with the tribe who follows Druid Largin.

         “Ezra? I had heard from some hunters you were killed in an accident hunting.“

         “And Thole you know my oddity with death. And here you are also, looking surprisingly well, and you have a horse, I see!”

         “It’s borrowed from the count’s stable so I rode here after the rumor that Anatase is living among these Christians.”

         “I thought you and your little bride would satisfy the pagan need to continue the lineage. Are they still asking for the return of the borrowed child, Anatase, after all these years?”

         “Well, yes, but my father-in-law, Largin, has accepted that Tilp and I may keep the lineage.”

         I mean to change the subject, “Do you ever see your father, Jesse, anymore?”

           “Yes. We’ve made amends. The widow of Saumur left him. She quickly learned he was married to his grief. It’s a very sad house he’s made for himself there.”

         “I think Eve knew that too. She said Jesse always thought his sorrows would vanish if he could marry again. The utility of a woman comes and goes but grief is never replaced with new.”

         Thole knows a lot about grief. He finds comfort in pagan ways of knowing ancestors. Maybe that is the comfort that Christians find in saints. I, myself, find it in the shared Spirit of love — thank you God for staying close.

 (Continues Tomorrow)

Post #33.8, Thurs., June 16, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. Annegray

         Ana and Brother Servant are waiting outside the door here. Ana is sparkling as I tell her the Father will bless us.

         “So we will officially be married by a father!”

         “Not really, Ana. It is to be a blessing of our common bond of friendship – like the blessing he gives a whole community of chaste monks. There will be no mention of children.”

         “Blessings for prayers and dreams are good too, aren’t they Laz?”

         “Very good.” Thank you God.

         The servant monk is called to meet with the father just now, so Ana and I can sort through all the hopes and promises that can be blessed.

         We are invited back in to stand before the father with Brother Servant as witness.

         Our promises are spoken in earth things, a garden and a well, a hearthstone and a table and the father blesses our belonging to one another in holy poverty and obedience. The holy chastity vow was graciously not spoken.

         “Ana, I promise you a shelter with a roof and a window.”

         “Ezra, whom I call Laz, I promise I will take the shutter from the window and open the door to sweep out the rain, and let the sunshine pour in anyway, even if we have an actual roof someday.”

         We started back up the high climb with the next bird in the cage. And Ana stops. 

         “Laz, I think we made that blessing too easy for the father to dismiss our dream of having children one day. Let’s go back there, and ask for something more.”

         “Don’t worry Ana, if we would have children one day, they will still be blessed by God. What we have is what was blessed.”

         Let’s go back, and this time you say, “I promise to build us a stable with a hayloft, and a grain bin, and stalls for a donkey and donkey colts and cows and calves and hens and roosters and baby chicks! That manger we will have will be long to serve everything that comes to partake of our finest oats.”

         “Very well, if it would please you.”

         And so we go back, and Brother Servant and the father are yet meeting together, so I say it just as Ana told me to promise it.  “…And I promise you the stable will be large and the pastures vast.”        

         The father looks with sorrow on Ana and simply says, “Go with God.”

 (Continues Tuesday, June 21, 2022)

Post #33.7, Weds., June 15, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. The monastery at Annegray

         The father tells me that the promises Ana and I are making with one another can’t be blessed as a marriage because he assumes Ana can’t bear children; and apparently in these times marriage must be about procreation or it isn’t marriage. Of course that is how it is celebrated among the Celtic Pagans with their druid priests and maybe it always is; whether Pagan or Christian, Celtic or Roman, or just a legal contract, it is commonly assumed that marriage is a commitment for the generations.

         But then isn’t every human being already a part of generations past and generations to come. We are all the unison of humanity as surely as people are before us and people are after us. It can’t just be about children. We share in God’s spirit of love and when we join our hearts and minds and strength in this flowing river of spiritual life each is complete. We are one in the Spirit. This eternal flow of creative love makes us part of all generations regardless of the tangible spawn of humanity. Birthing children is just one metaphor for life continuing. And a possibility of birthing our own children is just one way to celebrate the gracious gift of all Creation. There are many signs in nature pointing to a truth beyond now toward evermore. And we aren’t asking for eternity, just a sign that evermore is the nature of God.

         The father breaks into my thoughts, “Son, by your silence you must have been assuming a marriage could be proclaimed without a promise of children.”

         “I was thinking that through, yes, Father.”

         “Of course, I understand.”

         I can agree with the father that it wouldn’t be appropriate to invite this community of monks to a big feast. But… 

         And so I answer, “We can respect the solemnity in the simple. In fact I believe we would both welcome a simple blessing. But just because there is an unknown possibility of children couldn’t our vows to one another and to God be opened to a wider ‘maybe’ as are all marriages I would suppose? I mean, Jesus didn’t speak of the wedding ritual, except to offer a sign of abundance at a wedding where there had been a dearth of wine. Abundance comes many ways not just children. So when the wine ran out Jesus simply asked for water and with a blessing it became more than anyone could imagine. It was good.”

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #33.6, Tuesday, June 14, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. The monastery at Annegray

         Ana expected we were called here for a medical need. I was prepared with an accounting of the cottage. But the father’s concern is not about the uses the monastery has for us. His only care is that Ana is safe and living in a fearless circumstance close to God and nurtured in Christian love. Her answers were apparently satisfactory to allow me to continue to be a part of her life up there. So he has asked me specifically what of our plans – dreams – hopes, whatever it is to account for our continuing together.

         “Yes,” I answer, “It would be marriage, surely.”

         “Marriage? Ana said that too, and that you were thinking I would bless a marriage between you.”  He sounds skeptical.

         “That is surely a good piece of our hopes and dreams.”

         My mind is racing through centuries of marriage ceremonies, the dance, the wine gone to soon worrying his mother so Jesus gave us a sign of the nature of abundance turning water to wine. [John 2:1-11] And the latest wedding I’ve witnessed, the Pagan event rich with symbol of fertility along with hours into the night drinking ale and women dancing with a white snake passing among them all.

         “Yes, Father.” I answer, “A ceremony of marriage with you presiding would be a blessing and an honor.”

         “Oh no. There can’t be an actual marriage ceremony of course. We can’t have the monks thinking a marriage is possible after they themselves laid their eyes on Ana in an unfortunate incident.”

         “She told me of the incident. I understand. A simple private blessing of marriage would be very fine.”
         He explains,  “You and Ana may speak your promises of friendship to one another, and I will offer a simple prayer of blessing.  The servant monk will be the witness.”

         “We are just promising friendship to one another? You mean in a way that brothers in a community are brothers and friends living together?”

         “Exactly. It will be promising a forever of chaste belonging.”

         “So our promises to one another should not be about children?”

         “Surely you must know, Ana suffered injuries that may keep her from bearing children so I can bless your chastity together but surely I can’t bless any promise of children. It is no judgment on Ana. I’ve blessed others who are chaste in friendship without procreation.”

         He answers my silent pause, “Surely Ezra, you aren’t anticipating an actual marriage to that woman?”

 (Continues tomorrow)

Post #33.5, Thurs., June 9, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. The Monastery at Annegray

         Ana and I have been called before Father Columbanus for some kind of accounting. On our walk we are both thinking up possible reasons he’s called for us.  Ana suspects someone has a medical need and I wonder if he wants to assign me to stay there and help with the construction of a scriptorium. I can see he would need my help in making the old fortress ruin into a suitable shelter with windows to allow light for the work in the inks.  It’s obvious that Annegray will be better suited to compete with the Roman monasteries already producing manuscripts if these monks can establish a practice of copying scriptures.

          But really, we both expect he just wants some kind of accounting. They endured the storm as we did. And the cottage by the well is part of the ruin he was granted by Guntram, the king. It is the father’s responsibility to care for the properties.

         Arriving the servant monk greets us, and takes the bird we’ve brought so that the messaging to and from the cottage can continue. As I supposed, the father first wants to speak to Ana alone and she is told she doesn’t need to take her medical kit. I wait on a wooden bench. The servant monk paces before me without speaking, as though I am still, in his mind, a captured pirate awaiting interrogation.  When it is my turn to meet with the father Ana sits on the bench and the monk seems much more at ease.

         The father tells me he has spoken with Ana and he asked her about my continuing presence at her cottage. He seems to be expecting me to wonder what she might have answered when she was asked. I don’t have to guess.

         “We share a dream.” I answer.

         He smiles and sits back in his chair, touching the tips of his fingers together leaving the space of his hands opened for thought but not at all closed together in as in prayer. He seems to be waiting for me to say more. So I offer an accounting of the cottage.

         “We found a well, back in the underbrush. It is spring fed and very accessible to the cottage. I’ve been adding a thatched roof to the opened room. We have a garden started, and a field plowed ready for grain.”

         “Ana also said you both share a dream, but wasn’t specific. Just exactly what did she mean by that?”

(Continues Tuesday, June 14, 2022)

Post #33.4, Weds., June 8, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. Ana’s cottage in the Vosges Mts.

         So here we are blest on this new morning of forever having the consummation of the promise borrowed from the dream, beautiful and new with terrors fading, fears washed nearly away in bright morning light and the ever-flowing cool of the mountain spring always filling the well.

         Thank you God.

         I mention it. “We could have a marriage of our union now, with promises and blessings and all.”

         She answers, smiling, “That surely could shatter a pirate curse, In fact it already has. So, Laz, if we make a marriage of our promises aloud, I would promise you the sun and all the stars.”

         “You can promise that? I was only thinking I could promise you a roof.”

         “A roof? I promise you all the wonders of creation, and you only promise to lay a heap of thatch over my head?”

         “Well, Ana, I would promise you the endless heavens where the sun and the stars dangle so playfully these days, but you already have that– you are that — the full canopy of love, the all of heaven.”

         “Of course, Laz, That is what love is. And we are talking about love are we not?”

         “We are.”

         “Well then make sure you tell God it is about more than a roof.”

         “Dear God, thank you for this blessing of forever love.”

         One of the birds fledged here on top of the wall was carried back to Annegray by the servant monk; and now here it is, returning again to its mate. There is a message attached.

         “Fr. C. requests you both.”  And so we will go.

         Ana supposes someone has a medical need. She prepares her kit with fresh herbs and cleans and sharpens the little blades we were using to scrape the inks.

         As for me, I suppose the father will take Ana aside and ask her if she is well as he no doubt wonders if I am an intrusion in her solace. His plan may be that I stay at Annegray, particularly if Ana says she doesn’t want me here.  But I also know they have need of someone to help with building a scriptorium from the part of the ruin where they gather.

         So we go with medical kit and a bird in a cage, and the saw I borrowed from the tools at the monastery.”

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #33.3, Tues., June 7, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. Ana’s cottage in the Vosges Mts.

         Some things were kept covered and dry — the starter for the flame — the seed for the birds. The rainwater on the floor inside is whisked out the door. The rainwater in the cooking cauldron, the feed trough and the pail will save us a trek to the creek. And I’ve emptied the wet heaps of straw from the mattress ticking, and spread the linens out to dry in the sun. Ana is spreading damp firewood out to catch sun on the hearthstone.

         This is the good day to start building a roof.

         Back here behind our cottage in a place we’ve never gone is some brush I can cut for thatching. But now, here I find a circle of stones as though people were once marking a well. After the rain it is filled with water and slimy overgrowth, so I start pulling roots from it and now realize it is indeed a well, and it is fed by a mountain spring. In fact, this was probably why the cottage was first built here. How fortunate we are to have a clean water source so near the cottage. I cut through the brush heaping saplings in one place, thatching in another, and wilted fibers to strip bare for weaving and winding rope in another place.

         By this day’s end we have a well, and a ladder I’ve lashed together and supplies for a roof.

         Thank you God, for the sun and the rain and the spring of water, for the grasses and the trees, for all that grows; for the creatures that share in the blessings; for enough; for warmth and breeze, for good health and dreams and particularly, thank you God for Ana. Maybe the state of being in love illuminates everything mundane with a blissful golden haze.

         And so it is four days now that the linens have been folded on the guest bed.  It is four nights we’ve slept in one another’s warmth with her trust and my patience moving ever so slowly toward convergence. I’ve heard Ana’s hints that the pirate’s curse on her is crumbling away allowing her to have dreams again. And we watch through the new rafters as a wild bird is flitting from her mate, until he stops her and they are a pair stealing straws from our heap of grasses to make a new nest.

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #33.2, Thurs., June 2, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. Ana’s cottage in the Vosges Mts.

         It was the storm and Ana’s gentle compassion that sets this scene – Ana, beautiful as always, with a kindness radiant as warmth, and me, cold and naked, a guest in this mysterious room with a roof.

         How can I not seem frightening to her? But this fear that was forced on her is not at all the kinds of fears that can be conquered with courage.  She has all the courage any human being would ever need to make her way into new places and live alone with God in a wilderness. What she doesn’t have is trust in men. So here I am, a naked man in a rollicking, crashing thunderstorm, invited into her room and now into her bed and in some way I only wish I could earn the trust that was stolen from her.

         Here is the softness of the circumstance she touches my hand, and now my arm but not with her physician’s hands, rather with a woman’s gentleness.

         “Ana, I know it will take time for you to learn to trust me, and also for me to learn the patience worthy of that trust.”

         Dear God, thank you for this great and beautiful storm, gracious, awesome, cleansing… Yet in our prayers for things like rain or sun you so often answer ‘yes, but in a better time.’ So human patience is probably not something you even believe in; but I ask to be privy to that virtue now. Already I find myself asking how long must I wait to build another’s trust? Is it three days, as Jesus was in the tomb before the resurrection, or because this is a physical metaphor for new life, not a spiritual one, should it take four days? And who is measuring the days? Is it the sun or the moon? I know women follow moon patterns, like the tides on the sea but surely a whole month is way more time than would be needed to learn trust. She would think me complacent. And I’m not complacent. I simply don’t want to set her into a terror. Thank you for Ana, beautiful and wise. Amen.

         In this little room with a roof there is a window and it has a shutter that was placed in the sill for the storm. And now on this bright morning Ana has taken down the shutter and light is streaming in. She is in the other room — the one with no roof — sweeping wet ash from the hearthstones.

 (Continues Tuesday, June 7, 2022)

Post #33.1, Weds., June 1, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

         The storm starts with distant thunder, the wind, and now curtains of rain are moving across the hilltop in the darkness. I hang a buckskin down from the canopy of thatch over my bed, but the rivulets of rain run between the thatch and the deer hide and have thoroughly soaked the straw mattress, the sheet, the pillow and even my clothing.  Every gust of wind jostles the edges of the hide and breezes into my refuge and chills this bed space. At a great bolt of lightning with a shattering boom of thunder I get up to check on the birds. 

         The nesting box we’ve set for them where a rafter would be, had we a roof, seems fine and nearly dry. The pair of young birds are nestled together in the straw. They seem to be sleeping or maybe so fear-filled they dare not poke their heads up. The bird from Annegray takes notice of me, but then nestles back again also.

           I catch sight of a light behind me, and turn expecting the flame is still on the hearth; but it’s a candle’s light in the room beyond the doorway – Ana’s room with the roof.

         And here is Ana, standing in the open doorway, beckoning me into that forbidden room.  It’s often my dream. But now that I am drenched in cold rain from head to toe I can’t possible be sleeping. We can hardly hear our own voices over the torrential storm. I go in, under the roof, and she draws the door closed. It muffles the storm. It’s dry in here. I wonder at the workmanship of this old roof.

         “I’m so glad you have a dry place to sleep, Ana.  I was worried about you and about the birds, too.         “

         “Are the birds okay?”

         “Yes, surprisingly so.”

         “They are birds you know. They have their own ways with storms.” She giggles, “But not so much the nature of man, I see. You seem very wet through and through.”

         “And I am probably getting everything wet in your little dry room as well.”

         She hands me a cloth of linen and tells me to put my wet clothes out the door. And so I do. This room is warm and sweet, scented in lavender like my best-honed dreams of it always are. And here I am trying with all my willpower to keep the promise never to touch Ana.        

(Continues Thursday, June 2)

Post #32.13, Tues., May 31, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

         We are sitting here at the table after our meal, and Brother Servant tells us “Father Columbanus is dealing with the bishops of this land over the reports brought back to other abbeys by the Lenten pilgrims. It’s not just our Celtic tonsures they are complaining about; it’s our different day for Easter.  We use an older calendar that considers the Passover in the Jesus story, but here they call Easter the second Sunday after the first full moon after the equinox.  It seems random and Pagan to me.  Some of us don’t want to change our ways just because this wilderness was already peopled with these Christians who’ve invented their own rule, the Rule of Benedict.

         “And now we’ve heard a rumor the bishops are considering sending the father back to the island where he came from.”

         “I thought he was given permission to use Annegray by the king.”

         “Yes, but only by the king. The father didn’t even know of the bishops when he arrived here. He was expecting to find a barbarian wilderness. So when we arrived in this land he went to the king for permission and particularly asked for a place in the depths of wilderness.  The king graciously gave him the ruin of an old Roman fortress.”

         “There is a bit of irony finding Irish monks in a Roman ruin.” I have observed.

          “The irony of meeting the Christ in a gutted out Roman fortress didn’t escape either the father or the king but now these bishops appear to have sprouted up from the Roman root and they are complaining.”

         And just now our little ruin of a cottage with hardly a roof seems a beautiful refuge but it is looking more and more like rain today. The clouds scurry faster across the springtime skies as the servant monk takes the empty bird box when he leaves to return across the hills to Annegray hurrying off before the clouds let loose.

         I love both the wise and the beautiful natures of Ana though I know she would have me choose other words for her gifts so we stay here at the table talking until the rains start.  We talk about dreams for a hilltop farm, though we avoid the most important thing we both know. We cautiously say nothing at all about our dreams for our lives together. And we haven’t really considered out loud our frailties — my patience or her fears.

(Continues Tuesday, June 1)