Post #18.8, Wednesday, March 17, 2021

Historical setting: Sixth Century Bordeaux

         “Laz, I have to tell you, knowing my brothers as I do, they aren’t that analytical, especially when it comes to their own jealousy and their own flaws.”

         “Who is?”

         August continues,  “It sounds to me like you are ready to pass judgment on me but not on the brutes. They are only looking to damage my family’s opinion of me. They have no wish at all for brotherly bonds.”

         “But Brother August maybe this burden you feel to impress your father with your amazing gifts is something like the fear they also imagine is you against them. They see your beautiful work and they feel you threaten their value in your father’s sight. Your ridicule of this workmanship won’t fix this project anymore than their objections to your perfectionism can make you sloppier in your art. And attributing more wrongs to your brothers won’t make your mother and father love you any more than they already do.

         “Never, at least since the story of Jacob who had sons with two different wives, have I heard of a parent whose love for his children could be diminished by the dazzling giftedness of another son. Maybe it’s a common fear among siblings, that a parent’s love is unjustly offered to some superior son but finding perfect equality in a parent’s love it is like trying to find symmetry in God’s grace. Grace falls unevenly on humankind, more by chance or need than by human virtue. A parent’s love, like God’s free gifts, flows unevenly among those who are beloved. Yet love is vastly abundant, all encompassing, never ending, so an uneven distribution shouldn’t matter. Love doesn’t require perfect symmetry. I don’t imagine you will make your father love your brothers less just because you are so good at carving stone, even now that you have turned your life over to God and God herself is inspiring your work.”

         I give August no time to answer with a defense. I just keep talking.

         “I have a thought. Let me go with you to your family now. When someone comes to the door keep your hood up so they see you only as a monk. Then I will ask Shollo and Kairn to come out with me to this worksite so that I may ask them about the work, and maybe talk about my own usefulness as a builder.”

         August is hesitant.

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #18.7, Tuesday, March 16, 2021

Historical setting: Sixth Century Bordeaux

         Darkness impedes our tour of the work on the basilica, and August is anxious to go on to see his family. I’m looking for a way to be the silver cup in Benjamin’s bag who helps the reunion become something joyful and not a tirade of remembrances of envy and guilt.

         “August” I stop him from going directly to the house. “There is something to consider here before you go to that door.”

         “What?”

         “I met your brothers Shollo and Kairn.”

         “You met them?”

         “They were looking at the sculpture, and they recognized who the artist is.”

         “Oh yes!  Did they admit to its wonder?”

         “August, you told us your art is your prayer. So was the prayer in your heart, ‘Dear God, let me teach my brothers I’m really good after all?’ or was it, ‘Dear God, Let my hammer and chisel take away the stone that hides the family love’?”

         “Lazarus, You’ve met my brothers, but you don’t know them.”

         Again, August rubs his hand along the new wood of the crane arm. “I believe my brothers are the exact people who are complicit in this construction atrocity. If it wasn’t them who set this thing here, they’ve found others with no standard of workmanship either, and they are all just basking here in the ease of shoddy work.”

         “I hear what you are saying, August. But I have to tell you I heard something else this evening when Nic and I were putting the animals in for the night and Shollo and Kairn were looking at the sculpture. Yes, it was as you say, they did take careful notice of the skill and perfection and they recognized your hand in the art. It could be maybe they were humiliated by its quality as you wish them to be. But I heard them recalling their brother August as a sour memory and a hurt to them. They defended themselves with a criticism that your work lacks symmetry. They may have a valid criticism.”

         “Of course it is not perfect symmetry! It’s inspired by God! The Greeks and the Pagans have symmetry! Creation is mysteriously random.  It is my gift to see that and to show that with the image of a mother and child having no symmetry!”

         “Their criticism is not really of the art. But, like your own argument, it is wrought in envy which is the fear of loosing yours and their father’s respect.”

         “You don’t know, Laz. You don’t know what it’s like.”

         (Continues tomorrow)

Post #18.6, Thursday, March 11, 2021

Historical setting: Sixth Century Bordeaux

         Brother Joel and Brother August are in the guesthouse let to Nic by the stable master.  And I know we will have to tell them Brother August’s family was asking about the artist who carves so perfectly in sandstone. Surely we can’t keep Brother August hidden from them, especially since he is anxious to see his parents again. Maybe I should go talk with August so that the revelation of finding one another will not become an unwelcome surprise.

         Now I understand the Joseph story and that mysterious reason for hiding the precious cup in the grain bag of Benjamin as though Benjamin had stolen it.  In that way the jealous brothers would come with humility bringing their father to the grain officer of Egypt still not realizing that royal assistant is Joseph who is preparing to surprise them with his reveal. In the bible story it makes such a happy reunion Joseph is said to have wept. But I fear we aren’t going to see any tears of joy in this reunion. [Genesis 44]

         With the darkness, all the workers have left the site for the day and I know August must be anxious to go to his family. Of course I’m not so sure if he longs to see his brothers again. I know they don’t yearn for his return.

         Nic is preparing our evening meal in the little guesthouse that has a fireplace with cooking pots and grates and all the luxuries of an indoor place in the wintertime. I ask August to come with me to the construction site so we can consider the work that is being done.

         I explain my interest, “I was apprenticed in construction as a youth before I took up the work of scribe and Christian messenger. This subtle, limy whiff of fresh mortar nudges my recollections and I was thinking while we are here waiting for the healing of Brother Joel, I could make good use of myself walking a tread-wheel or chipping stone.”

         “Yes, if my brothers have anything to say about hiring they will welcome more brawn.” August runs his hand along the wood supports for the crane’s tread-wheel. “Obviously they have no use for skill and precision. Even the carpentry is rough.”

         My observation, “They probably thought it was temporary while the build is going on. You have to admit they have stacked a substantial stone wall here so far.”

         “Is that the standard? ‘substantial’?” August asks, still critical of the workmanship.

(Continues Tuesday, March 16)

Post #18.5, Wednesday, March 10, 2021

Historical setting: Sixth Century Bordeaux

         We’ve overheard two brothers of August taking notice of the statue in the cart just outside this stable. Nic went down to confront these art critics.  I’m not sure if Nic means to defend the art or the artist, but now his demeanor is more of camaraderie, as is Nic’s nature.

         Shollo tries to justify his and Kairn’s dislike for August. “We who had to put up with all his bossing believe we work better in his absence. He was always measuring our work by his own superhuman standard of perfection.”

         Kairn adds, “And whatever way we tried to do something he always had a better plan, but since he was a little fellow who didn’t do the heavy lifting himself the real work of it was always on us.”

         Shollo gives up any thought he might have had of defending August, “He just told us how to do it and our father thought August could do no wrong and since we were always wrong we were required to listen to him.

         Kairn adds, “And what irked me was he was always setting aside sandstone blocks to add little carvings and do-dads to our great constructions, and now, seeing this thing we are feeling the creep of his work has chased us down again.”

         Nic affirms, “And you worry that your father has found him and now your brother is back to take over your work and make your lives miserable?”

         “You’ve got it!  So you must have a smart-ass older brother also.”

         Again, Nic answers with his relentless understanding. “I wasn’t born with any brothers, but believe me, I’ve had a long lifetime of smart-ass officers and bosses. I know just how you feel. Nothing is ever perfect until the guy in charge can take credit for it.”

         As I make my way down to meet the brothers, Shollo has an arm around Nic, in a gesture of greeting old friend.

         “Laz, these men were working on this new basilica, and they took notice of the sculpture I’ve purchased. They think the artist is their brother.”

         “And so it is a strange coincidence it is that we would stop here in Bordeaux for shelter while Brother Joel is mending.”

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #18.4, Tuesday, March 9, 2021

Historical setting: Sixth Century Bordeaux

         Nic and I are spreading our fleeces in the stable loft near the construction of a new basilica in Bordeaux and from here we can overhear the conversation between two of the workers who are looking over the stone sculpture still in the cart just outside.

         “Do you know, Kairn, I just had a terrible thought. Look at that thing closely for the chisel marks. Go ahead, examine it, even search the hidden places.”

         “It lacks symmetry. But there are no chisel marks. It’s perfect workmanship.”

         “Exactly. And don’t we already know the hand of this artisan?”

         “Oh, your not thinking its…”

         “… he’s back to taunt us, the small but mighty, August! Do you suppose Papa found him and ordered this work?”

         “Did you see who brought it here?”

         “It was two monks leading the ox with the two horsemen riding guard as though there were great value in a piece of stone.”

         At this point, Nic has strapped on his sword and gone down the ladder from the loft to encounter these art critics.

         “Hello fellows. I was in right here at the stable and I heard you talking about this art. I’m the patron who purchased it.”

         “We just wanted to know who the artist was.”

          “Yes, I heard you talking about it. To answer your concern, it was purchased from a marketplace for sacred Pagan and Christian works of art. And you will surely be pleased to know it isn’t intended for this basilica. It is meant to be a gift to inspire the scribes and artists working in the inks who have vowed poverty as seen in the face of this woman. It’s being transported to a monastery near Poitiers where the literate monks will appreciate this most as they are busy copying scriptures.”

         The one of these two called Kairn asks, “So who made this?”

         “Why do you ask?”

         “We had a brother who is gone now. Our parents grieve for him.”

         The other brother adds, “We aren’t grieving though.”

         Kairn interrupts, “I know it’s against God to speak ill of ones brother. So what Shollo means is…”

         Shollo adds his own words, “What I’m saying is we are much better off now that he is gone. And we hope he stays gone.”

          “What Shollo means is our father put that older brother in charge and he was a hard taskmaster.”

         “What Kairn means is that August, your artist here, was a very smart…shall I say, donkey. And we really don’t miss him.”

 (Continues tomorrow)

Post #18.3, Thursday, March 4, 2021

Historical setting: 564 C.E. Building site in Bordeaux

         Nic and I are looking for sleeping quarters in Bordeaux for the two monks and for ourselves, and we’ve stopped to ask at the thatched house near the construction of the basilica that August told us would be his family’s home. The woman of this house, who must surely be August’s mother, suggests a stable with a sleeping loft only a short distance away. She graciously offers that we may share the sleeping quarters of her sons if the stable owner doesn’t oblige.

         So now we find the stable is accommodating for our horses and ox, and Nic and I can sleep in the loft. And what’s more, the stable owner is happy to meet all of our needs because Nic has paid him well. He even has another little house of thatch where the two monks can stay, since Brother Joel cannot climb the ladder into the stable loft at this stage in his healing.

         We return to our wilderness camp with this place procured.  I told August of the helpful woman in the house adjacent to the construction, and he found delight in learning she was still wearing a tattered green tunic with a cincture and apron, but her hair has silvered. As much as he claims to be rid of family, I think August looks forward to seeing them again.

         We start on the short jaunt to Bordeaux at first morning light because ox-speed turns it into a day’s journey. We arrive late in the afternoon. Brothers August and Joel settle in at the little thatched guesthouse, while Nic and I tend to the animals.  The cart with the sculpture of stone is parked outside the stable in view of the construction project and it attracts the attention of two of the workers as they are wrapping up their day’s project. We are in the loft of the stables and can hear them talking about the artwork.

         “Lifelike, yes. But why would the artisan choose to set in stone the life of a poor woman with an infant?  A true artist could have made it anything, so why a poor woman?  An emperor or a god would at least have better symmetry.”

         “Worry not, my brother, it’s only sandstone so it won’t last.”

         “I wonder if the two monks we saw bring it here intend to add it to our work on the basilica?”

         “Do you know what this makes me think of?” One of the brothers asks the other.         

(Continues Tuesday, March 9)

Post #18.2, Wednesday, March 3, 2021

Historical setting: 564 C.E. The road into Bordeaux

         On this ride to Bordeaux I am telling Nic what I remember of my life before I was found robbed and beaten.

         “I was walking back to my family’s home from Tours when I was attacked.”

         “So how was your wealth worthy of a robber if you were living the poverty of a monk?”

         “I remember this all now.  I will tell you, Nic, why I had a treasure with me that day. I hope you find the humor in it.

         “There was this fellow, George who was supposed to teach me all the trimmings of a superstitious belief system which is searing a mark from a pagan root unto Christianity. He was writing a history of the Franks, a hagiography, and had his sights on becoming Bishop of Tours. He dreamed up his name to be, ‘Gregory of Tours.’

         “His assignment for my lesson was to claim an ancient saint as my patron. But I can tell you this Nic; a living breathing patron is much better company than a dead saint, even if the living guy is an old soldier.”

         “Again,” Nic mentions, “You know, Brother Joel would differ as to the value of a spiritual presence over the worth of a skin and bones man.”

         “Yes, Nic, but you notice Joel is back in camp. His spirit may wander, but it is his physical infirmity that is holding him back.”

         “So, tell me your patron saint provided you with a treasure they robbed from you on the road?”

          “As a matter of fact, he did. It was kind of a joke that I made a relic of my own to fulfill the instruction. So I was carrying a fray of my own whiskers in a walnut shell as a reliquary. That was the ‘true whiskers of Saint Lazarus’ a fourth century Christian martyr. He was no doubt, a heretic who still believed in a tangible human Jesus, but that seemed not to matter to young George.”

         Nic laughs. “Oh, so it is ‘Saint’ Lazarus now. But I’ll just probably keep on calling you Laz.”

         “I’m only telling you this because it explains the so-called ‘treasure’ that was robbed along with my clothing. It seems a pilgrim awaiting healing at the tomb of St. Martin saw my relic when I was pretending to calm the waters for our river crossing. The coincidence of the calming apparently gave credence to my ruse, and made it seem my walnut shell was a thing of value.”

         Bordeaux is just as August told us.

(Continues tomorrow)

 

Post #18.1, Tuesday, March 2, 2021

Historical setting: 564 C.E. The road into Bordeaux

          “That was two deaths ago.” I’m telling Nic what I was reminded of in my search for a doctor. I now have that memory of wife, Susanna and that foggy image of the family we sought in vain.

          “I can recall I buried Susanna before my own death from plague. After that rising I learned the two children who survived were taken to a pagan hag of healing and when they had recovered from plague my son was taken from her to be trained in the tending of vineyards and my daughter stayed and was apprenticed in the pagan art of healing. When the old woman died Eve inherited her book of remedies, and she herself, then filled the need for the healer in that place along the River Loire. When I returned and found them, Eve and Ezra were adults already living their own lives. Now they know about my oddity of life and life again since I reunited with them only a few years ago.

         “My son was the one assigned the task to bury the dead when a recent round of plague hit a nearby village, since he, himself bore the scars and the plague’s withered limb – signs that he would be safe from it.

         “After we reunited I thought I would be useful to my children in their daily work but then I realized I was really just a misfit to their families, and a tax burden so I decided to find my place in the scriptorium of Marmountier close enough to my family that I could return and help in the seasons when help is most needed.”

         Nic interrupts, “If Brother Joel heard you speaking like this, making things only about their earthly purposes — farming and taxes and the like — he would surely remind you that the spiritual oneness is more than a person’s measure of physical benefits.  I’m just saying what the wise elder would want said.”

         I know the ‘shoulds’ of faith, but I argue, “Regardless of holy virtue, I still keep looking for purpose in my tangible being. So I went to Tours to be useful in copying scriptures. And you know of the need and the dearth of writings. Even with no holy orders I was welcomed to work in the inks. I was tonsured as a monk, and I was being instructed in the growing Christian ways of saints and relic worship, a pagan ooze of superstition ever seeping into the Jesus way.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#Remembrances, #Scars of plague, #Finding purpose, #Value in life, #6th Century illiteracy,

Post #17.12, Thursday, February 25, 2021

Historical setting: 564 C.E. The Gaul Side of the Pyrenees

         I’m anxious to let Nic know of my recent clarity of memory. It’s all come back to me now, not as grief but as hope. I have a breathing reality in knowing where I will find my children and grandchildren.  I suggest Nic and I ride on into Bordeaux and look for an inn where we can safely take Brother Joel and wait out the healing into spring. The ride will give us time for me to talk with Nic.

         So we are riding north. The horses’ easy gait makes a brief jaunt of this, but it is time enough to tell Nic of the revelation of memory.

         “There was a reminder when I asked in Bordeaux and I was told there was no surgeon. There was a known healer who owned an ancient book of remedies. Then it came to me — an ancient book of remedies. It was held in the hand of my daughter, Eve. She was pretending it was filled with Pagan stories, really from her own imagination intended to entertain my grandchildren, Daniel and Celeste, and the baby Margey who was asleep in Eve’s arms. They are my son Ezra’s children. Eve was caring for them while Ezra and his wife, Colleta, were away in Tours.

         “Now all the webs of forgotten life are unwound and strung together as my true memories of this family. They live on the River Liger, or in these times called Loire.”

         Nic interrupts. “That’s where we found you, beaten and left for dead. Do you mean that road was so near your home?”

         “My wife, Susanna is buried on the hill near that bend in the river, and my son has the vineyard there.”

         “There is a known healer right near that place. We would have taken you to her instead of to Nantes, but we were hurried along by the rotting condition of our ship, and by the fact that we thought you a Christian because you wore a monk’s tonsure and she is known to be Pagan.”

         “Maybe she is Pagan. It’s how she’s thought of. My son and his family are Christian. Eve and Ezra were orphaned in the first wave of the Justinian plague delivered to us in 543 by the Roman soldiers who traveled on the river.”

         “Yes.” Nic adds his comprehension, “I joined the Roman Navy to fill the gap left by that first round of the plague. What else do you remember of that?”

(Continues Tuesday, March 2, 2021)

Post #17.11, Wednesday, February 24, 2021

Historical setting: 564 C.E. The Gaul Side of the Pyrenees

         August is telling of his becoming a hermit monk. “I wandered alone until I found a quarry for my stonework and I made my cave near that place, so my prayers could be my artwork.  Yet, even now I think often of my father and wonder if he is searching for me.”

         Brother Joel again, reaches to touch the hand of Brother August. “So here it is on earth, the same as it is in heaven. You don’t know if the longing you have for family is your own yearning for them, or if it is your father’s; just as you wondered if your solitude was for you, or for God’s sake. All this wonder about whose need it is you are answering is found in listening to the Spirit. When we are one in the Spirit the question of ‘whose obligation do I answer?’ is moot. Like the creek flowing out of its banks these structures of duty that separate us from the flow of God’s love are washed aside, and all that we have is the love of God, and we were taught to pray ‘as it is in heaven, it is on earth.’”

         August’s hidden hope is exposed. “I think of Joseph in Egypt, how by dreams and wonders he came from the pit to become a governor distributing grain in famine. I imagine myself like that, giving nurture to my brothers in their suffering a spiritual famine. If only they would realize they are starving I could offer them the Good News of Christ.”

         I feel like the rub of the brothers’ distain is August’s imposition of virtue. I offer my opinion, “In the Joseph story he didn’t force the grain sacks on the brothers. They had to feel their own hunger then they came begging.”

         Nic amends,  “Imposing a valuable cup, yes, but Joseph didn’t force the grain on them.”

          “I hear what you are saying.” August answers, “My family is surely not begging for a spiritual rescue.”

         And my own Jewish inheritance of the Joseph story doesn’t even end in such sweet resolution. I hear it as the scroll that explains how the Israelites got themselves into slavery in Egypt in the first place.

         I speak my so-called wisdom. “The story is as it is. The meaning of it depends on where one chooses to end it. Is it an amazing synchronicity, or the root of brotherly enslavement?”

(Continued tomorrow)