…I received your letter…written in your hand. It has given me more than a little joy in our Lord to learn from it of matters that are drawn rather from an interior experience than from anything external; an experience which our Lord in His infinite Goodness usually gives to those souls who render themselves entirely to Him as the beginning, middle and end of all our good. –St Ignatius
“For it is not knowing much, but realizing and relishing things interiorly, that contents and satisfies the soul.” –St Ignatius
Moved interiorly, feeling silent, creative juices flowing, quiet in being, another Spanish saint marches into definitude. Listening to the ‘Autobiography of St Ignatius’. The storyteller in me marvels at the feats of the young worldly Ignatius. A man of war his ability to endure pain astounds. I think many before modern medicine experienced pain on an intense level I have never known, nor will know. Medical treatment, no anesthesia, must have been horrible. Years later, 16th century, St Jane de Chantel would lose her husband to a hunting accident, a hunting companion errantly shooting him in the leg. He survived the gunshot, however nine days of medical surgeries and treatment killed him. In a fascinating way the body was a source of torment in medieval days that proved peculiar, spiritually bountiful. St Ignatius would begin his conversion bedridden. Numerous saints suffered, stricken to the prone position, isolated from activity and the world. In all honesty, there must have been an awareness medical treatment could just as likely kill you as save your life. Divine providence, hope through God, centering within collective consciousness.
Here is the beginning of St Ignatius autobiography, the words dictated to a scribe.
LIFE Up to his twenty-sixth year the heart of Ignatius was enthralled by the vanities of the world. His special delight was in the military life, and he seemed led by a strong and empty desire of gaining for himself a great name. The citadel of Pampeluna was held in siege…All the other soldiers were unanimous in wishing to surrender on condition of freedom to leave, since it was impossible to hold out any longer; but Ignatius so persuaded the commander, that, against the views of all the other nobles, he decided to hold the citadel against the enemy.
…After the walls were destroyed, Ignatius stood fighting bravely until a cannon ball of the enemy broke one of his legs and seriously injured the other.
When he fell, the citadel was surrendered. When the French took possession of the town, they showed great admiration for Ignatius. After twelve or fifteen days at Pampeluna, where he received the best care from the physicians of the French army, he was borne on a litter to Loyola. His recovery was very slow, and doctors and surgeons were summoned from all parts for a consultation. They decided that the leg should be broken again, that the bones, which had knit badly, might be properly reset; for they had not been properly set in the beginning, or else had been so jostled on the journey that a cure was impossible. He submitted to have his flesh cut again. During the operation, as in all he suffered before and after, he uttered no word and gave no sign of suffering save that of tightly clenching his fists.
In the meantime his strength was failing. He could take no food, and showed other symptoms of approaching death. On the feast of St. John the doctors gave up hope of his recovery, and he was advised to make his confession. Having received the sacraments on the eve of the feasts of Sts. Peter and Paul, toward evening the doctors said that if by the middle of the night there were no change for the better, he would surely die. He had great devotion to St. Peter, and it so happened by the goodness of God that in the middle of the night he began to grow better.
His recovery was so rapid that in a few days he was out of danger. As the bones of his leg settled and pressed upon each other, one bone protruded below the knee. The result was that one leg was shorter than the other, and the bone causing a lump there, made the leg seem quite deformed. As he could not bear this, since he intended to live a life at court, he asked the doctors whether the bone could be cut away. They replied that it could, but it would cause him more suffering than all that had preceded, as everything was healed, and they would need space in order to cut it. He determined, however, to undergo this torture.
His elder brother looked on with astonishment and admiration. He said he could never have had the fortitude to suffer the pain which the sick man bore with his usual patience. When the flesh and the bone that protruded were cut away, means were taken to prevent the leg from becoming shorter than the other. For this purpose, in spite of sharp and constant pain, the leg was kept stretched for many days. Finally the Lord gave him health. He came out of the danger safe and strong with the exception that he could not easily stand on his leg, but was forced to lie in bed.
Informed of impending doom, on his deathbed, the worldly St Ignatius greets St Peter in prayer.
In silence and quiet the devout soul becomes familiar with God.
Prayer is a plant the seed of which is sown in the heart of every Christian, but its growth entirely depends on the care we take to nourish it.
Two Venerable Mother Catherine McAuley quotes combined, the essence of a prayer life before the Eucharist.
Retreat center, my room far left, second floor bay windows.
Thursday morning, looks like another rainy day, loving everything. Splendor in ambiance, this room supplies space to contemplate and adore. The Our Lady of the Pines website identifies my room as the McAuley Room. No wonder I’m developing such an affection for the saint. There is a stairwell next to my room, mid-travel she waits, posed in a painting (same image posted). At the bottom of the stairs stands a superb St Joseph statue. I start my day with prayers to St Joseph, seeking guidance for manliness; the embodying of strength within wisdom, gentleness, and kindness. Ascending and descending to my room: Holy Water, sign of the cross, the chapel: kneeling in prayer and a greeting to the Eucharist reposed in the Tabernacle a part. The retreat center, a mansion, was constructed in 1874 by a wealthy local jeweler Lewis Leppleman as a single family dwelling.
Last night a unique communal prayer session occurred. I saw a posting, yet when I walked by I felt hesitant, abstaining. The chapel was filled with thirty sisters, no men. I walked away content not to take part. I spoke with the night front desk clerk, attaining a multi electrical outlet strip. Walking past one of the sisters smiled in a welcoming greeting. In my room, a sense I should go to the prayer group settled in. I responded, forcing myself to go. I am a coward in presenting myself. Down the steps, I suddenly decided to act like I had no intention of going into the chapel, walking to the front lobby. Once in the lobby, registering my cowardly behavior, I consoled myself with the thought that they could not have me arrested. Once at the chapel, I held my breath, spotting an open seat by the front door. I crossed myself with Holy Water, genuflected and sat myself as inconspicuously as one can be when one is blatantly conspicuous. I blocked everything out, going into meditation, prepared for one of the sisters to tell me it was for religious sisters only. None did. I opened my eyes, feeling really awkward being the only male, plus nonreligious. I noticed several chuckling, finding amusement in my distress. One warm smile forthrightly announced welcome before standing and leading the prayer session. It was interesting, a meditation upon our hands. The thought of my hands. Where my hands have been. What they have touched. What they have created. What they have destroyed. What they have loved. Through my hands many things have been done. My hands as a baby, soft and supple. The thought of the hands of my friend Janet, now ninety-six preparing for an end. The thought of the healing hands of Christ. ‘The Kingdom of God is at hand’.
There are intentional thoughts, arguments, I dismiss, refuse to address. The sisters are taking me in, having welcomed me spiritually. Deeply within their silence, I find peace. I am grateful and pleased. God is showing me something. I needed their maturity. Their refined formation. Their years of service. Their silence. See how nature–trees, flowers, grass–grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence…We need silence to be able to touch souls (Blessed Mother Teresa). It is not a concept, something to tell others. It is reality.
I thought of Father David Mary, my time with him in the friary, almost two years of acquaintance. Those who know me know I have whined about Father David Mary. Let’s be clear his community is authentic, mature formation. He is a priest of power and might, wielding an effective animated message, invigorating especially for young people. Young people adore him and his friars. Softball games breakout, heated dodgeball games are waged, and a Saturday evening Sunday vigil youth mass always resounds with praise–youthful hearts raised in beating. The friar’s daily experience possesses a level of religious devotion and daily living steadfast within the Holy Spirit. They are being formed through a devout pious superior process. Few will encounter such a life. Father David Mary, his friars, and sister community of Poor Clares are heavy hitters within the Catholic Church, functioning at a spiritual level few can comprehend. It is not superior skills or intellect that elevates their daily lives. It is community service, humble devotion, continual prayer-including two daily Holy Hours, transforming fun-loving camaraderie, living detached from worldly matters, an absolute dedication to the spiritual life consecrated to the Church, an unconditional obedience to Catholicism, a striving to grow in faith, hope, and charity. Apropos words from St John of the Cross: Charity, too, causes a void in the will regarding all things, since it obliges us to love God above everything. A man has to withdraw his affection from all in order to center it wholly upon God. Christ says through St Luke: “He who does not renounce all that he possesses with his will cannot be my disciple”. (Luke 14:33) Upon this retreat, watching rain once again pelt my tremendous bay window, I realize God has blessed me once again with people functioning on a high spiritual level.
I determined this post would be short, trying to hold to my conviction. Other writing calls. My spiritual director and I are bonding. Daily, I meet with her for an hour. She is affirming so much, providing inspiration and guiding, challenging yet broadening, assisting in disarming. Who am I? I am Catholic to become holy. I am not Catholic to determine and enforce dogma, to impose duelistic self-will. I am not Catholic through self-love, the need to be recognized as an authority or intellectual, a searcher of social worlds to dally within; sweet consolations, reputation, and the pursuit of accolades are rejected. Something deeper draws me inward. As Father Roger declares, ‘Are you truly being transformed through your faith?’ Does my conduct draw me closer to Christ? Defining the question by what it is not. It does not ask: Do you know more? Do you write poems? Do you have the right opinions? Do you go on retreats? Do you do more? Do you go to mass more? Father Roger simply asks: Am I being transformed? My spiritual director understands my concerns; my strengths and weaknesses. My interest in poetry, prompted the suggestion I employ myself in the effort of writing Haiku poetry. Simple three line poems: first line five syllables, second line seven, and third line five. Tears come to my eyes, I worked for hours producing fifty. She touched something dear and close to my inner most being. She opened me. Strangely a quote from Crane Hart, of all places, comes to my mind: ‘One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment’.
Faith in things unseen
Beyond intellect achieve
Within God center
Hope blank memory
Unpossessed beautiful things
Await gratefully
Love avert free will
Embrace brothers and sisters
God royally reigns
Wisdom clarity
Eternal uncreated
In love resound truth
Gentleness true strength
Reign in sensitivity
Jesus’ soft touch
Chastity Christ like.
Mother Mary obedient
Joseph most chaste spouse
Balanced vigilance
Eyes present gazing intent
A white owl aware
Unknown unnamed God.
Beware man wanders hunting
Empty the ocean
Prayerful tendering
Hollow gentle persuasion
Care full infusion
Grateful spacious room
Our Lady of the Pines shines
Loving light reveal
Understanding see
Revealed, discursive thinking
Biblical teaching
Self-control discipline
Charioteer cracks the whip
Appease strong horses
A vow, a life lived
A sister’s silent intent
Christ’s majestic hand
Scripture, Mercy Seat
Old and new softly alight
Cherubim, wings touch
Francis dreamed knightly
A poor lady came weeping
A leper kissing
NOTE: For the sake of phone app viewing I was forced to format as I did. My website building skills are limited. I find little pleasure in researching or expanding my skills. I stated last week I was going to organize and expand this website, however I feel God is taking me in another direction. I am trying to spend only relevant time upon the blog.
First morning, convictions are made, goals identified. I am here to fine tune my ability to hear God. I read an Our Lady of the Pines handout this morning stressing the importance of silence. Internally and externally, eliminating noise. I am here to listen. “I have calmed and quieted my soul…hope in the Lord from this time on and evermore”. A seeker of wisdom, I am. A fool wagging his tongue, an individual demanding attention, I am not. Authentically, to be or not to be. I know who I am and who I am not. My parents instilled a personality trait that I will also put into check. Being overly nice, presenting myself as a bit of a bumbling fool, self-deprecating in words and action, complimenting and praising others, seeking others approval by over-extending myself, clearly and loudly establishing the fact I am a humble, non-egotistical man. I will be serious and quiet, my eyes kept low or distant, avoiding even the demand of beaming God to others. Within silence, I will not petition for attention, imploring others to witness my Godly presence. I am quiet in mind, disposition, and presentation, allowing God to direct and command my activities. Last night I was informed I was assigned a spiritual director. Immediately, I refused, imposing self-will. If the sisters so deign a meeting with a spiritual director, so be it. I prayerfully participate.
The handout greeting retreatants upon entry is Songs of Taize. I have conducted research, discovering the subject of Taize draws a vast array of opinions. Conservative Church voices, as should be expected, express strong concern, fanatical voices declaring outright harsh opposition, due to the emphasis upon an ecumenical approach and the adoption of a New Age approach to prayer. They reason and argue in defense of what they identify as true Catholicism. Pope Francis opens the way to a new Catholicism, rejecting those who feel the need to declare who and what the Church is. Those with the strongest opinions, those clinging to conservative ways as being the only way, those establishing faith through reasoned righteousness and might are a bit left out in the cold. The Taize prayer, or song stems, from a French community in Taize joining Protestant and Cahtolic brothers. The founder Brother Roger Schutz, born in Switzerland in 1915, formed the community as a Protestant, eventually converting to Catholicism. He honors papal authority, a personal friend to all the popes during his life. Brother Roger passed away in 2005.
Jacques Berthier composed Taize song/prayer as it is being incorporated by select parishes throughout the world. The chanting prayer meditatively utilizes simple phrases, in four part harmony, repeating over and over rudimentary concepts. An example is the words of Dismas, the redeemed thief: Jesus remember me when you come into your kingdom. Another is the Taize chant, Veni, Sancte Spiritus (Come, Holy Spirit). The Latin chant ubiquitous at Catholic ceremonies invoking the Holy Spirit.
Overall avoiding conflict, the imposing of self-will during a retreat of listening I embrace rather than judge, unafraid and unreserved. I know who I am and who I am not. I am a man of prayer, not a man seeking to rule. I am a human striking deeper into faith, a man of weakness attempting to build upon progress made, while recognizing the intense and difficult path ahead. I just came across words of a blogger describing his education, comments following the receiving of his doctorate. When I received my bachelor’s degree, I thought I was really smart. The world was mine for the conquering. When I received my Master’s, I felt humbled, wondering what ever gave me the courage to think I knew so much. When I received my Doctorate I honestly looked about confused, realizing I really possessed so little knowledge. In conclusion, I resort to a comment I made on a recent post. I am Catholic not to be self-righteously Catholic, a fanatical fan supporting his favorite team, collecting playing cards of favorite players, learning intricacies and canon law for the sake of being judgmentally and victoriously Catholic. I am not Catholic for the sake of being Catholic. I am not a student competing to graduate with the highest honors. I am a broken human being trying to get well. Catholicism authentically provides a path to perfection, the means to becoming a man of depth. Salvation, grace and mercy for family and loved ones is everything. Personal victories, the defeating of others, and accolades are not necessary. It is all a part of the quieting of myself. I am ceasing to fight all things.
Finally words of Pope John Paull II, friend to Brother Roger Schutz, both men intimately involved in the horrors of World War II. Brother Roger’s story is interesting. He rode his bicycle from Geneva to Taize, France. There in 1940, he and his sister purchased a home on the warring front, utilizing the home to hide refugees. There the spirit of the Taize community was born during World War II. Standing peacefully in the face of the Nazis, he subversively sheltered individuals. Eventually, he would be forced to abandon his efforts when the Gestapo became aware of his efforts. Understanding the roots of the community is essential in establishing permanency. Relevancy in regards to one’s birth provides a fruitful future; one must know how and where one arose. Organizations must also know who they are, as Pope Leo XIII states all organizations must return to that which gave them birth if they are to prosper, in monastic communities that process being recognized as reform. In faith as Christians that being known as Christ. A cleansing reform is not the embracing of new concepts, rather the return to that which gave something life. Foreseeing the complications the Taize community would confront, Pope John Paul II comments and encourages:
“I do not forget that in its unique, original and in a certain sense provisional vocation, your community can awaken astonishment and encounter incomprehension and suspicion. But because of your passion for the reconciliation of all Christians in a full communion, because of your love for the Church, you will be able to continue, I am sure, to be open to the will of the Lord. By listening to the criticisms or suggestions of Christians of different Churches and Christian communities and keeping what is good, by remaining in dialogue with all but not hesitating to express your expectations and your projects, you will not disappoint the young, and you will be instrumental in making sure that the effort desired by Christ to recover the visible unity of his Body in the full communion of one same faith never slackens.”
Brother Roger Schutz
Post Sunday mass, a stimulating lunch, ideas emerging, possibilities becoming a reality. Adult in formation, I feel prayers are being blessed, grace extended. My lunch appeased, stirring upon satisfying depth. The gentleman sharing lunch, designing his demise, intrigues upon an intellectual level that will be pursued. I am trying to convince him to allow me to create a website for him. An amateur photographer, images centered upon religious architecture, worldly in travel, he showed me around Chinatown, talking of many things. He is old school in regards to his photographs, nothing digital. I want to convert the images to binary, allowing display upon the web. He has photographed monasteries and churches in Spain, France, Russia, Turkey, throughout the United States, not allowing his vision to rest solely upon Catholic institutions. I spoke with the gentleman before mass, praying intensely during mass upon the matter, convinced it was a design of God for me to work with the well-educated gentleman. I have been wrong before. I think he is leery about me as academic credentials equate esteem within his eyes. Possessing a doctorate, speaking of highly educated friends, a Cuban poet friend of advanced studies writing a history detailing the multiethnic nature of Peru. Amusingly, conversation steered toward Pittsburg, Duquesne University, the focus being Father Adrian Van Kaam, a man who shaped his spirituality. I smiled, mentioning Susan Muto and Father Van Kaam joining forces through their efforts with the Epiphany Association, Academy of Formative Spirituality. Previous post document my invigorated interest for the message of Ms. Muto. For my new friend, she is a former student, an associate, a person of individuality and knowing. Startled, interiorly I counted my blessings. It was amazing we were talking so flowingly. God is good. Many more topics exposed, the potentiality of a meaningful relationship rests within Divine Will. I reflect upon tomorrow’s cook out with the associates of the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament, the meeting with the author Father Paul Bernier, and immediately after the commencing of the cookout travel to Fremont and the retreat at Our Lady of Pines. Something is in the wind, adults of spiritual formation are being brought to light, a revealing being experienced. Another woman from St Paul’s was brought into confidence. Last summer she enjoyed a week long retreat at Our Lady of Pines. She is excited for me, extending well-wishes and prayers.
The following part of the post, created in the morning, before mass, I decided not to post. Gathering my thoughts, I said no, I will post everything. I have been suffering awful dreams the past several nights. The blessings of the afternoon overwhelm the morning, yet the morning was important, especially coming after another nightmare involving Ann. It is an email to my Romanian friend Lavinia that exploded into many thoughts and directions. I think important matters were touched upon. This blog is essential to cleansing. It serves a tremendous purpose. The spewing of thoughts and words provides psychic purgation. I move forward, progressing, means of regressing cathartically removed. Lavinia has been there for years supporting in reading and observing my thoughts, ideas, and writing. Her friendship is a blessing, simple and sincere, absolutely nothing immoral regarding motivation or interaction. We expand one another’s spiritual life. We are better people through our interacting, nurturing growth. It is an elder to one younger, foreigners yet friends, equals in decency and respect.
Email to Lavinia:
Ann does mean well, yet she hides. Definitive, she hides from feelings, from emotions. On the deepest level, she is a stranger to herself. Growth, maturing, spiritual expansion only arises from love, learning to love we expand within. Experience is the educator, the process of formation. You are growing into a new woman, Gabriel a new man, through being parents. Trinitarian, a family: father, mother, and child is a profound formation to be engaged within. Raising your son Calin, you not only know about a greater love, you experience a greater love, formation in progress. Watching Calin grow, knowing how much you mean to him as a mother and father forms you into a new person, a wiser more mature man and woman blossoms from your experience, an authentic mother and father emerges, individuals vulnerable to the tender mercy of God. You know commitment on the most profound level. Love, the greatest attribute of God, induces a growth that must be experienced. No book or high amount of intelligence can provide the grace. Ann will not allow a higher love to touch her, protecting herself, not knowing herself well enough to allow such splendor to immerse her being, not trusting God enough to allow the supernatural to transform through the ordinary, the extraordinary to infuse a metamorphism through daily reality. However God always acting, her state of immaturity saved my life. A woman of intensely high caliper, exceptional talents and intelligence blessed by God, should have been married to a man equal in Godly blessings; active in the lives of brothers and sisters, knowing and experiencing love, immersed within the lives of children, people bountiful in number through in-laws. However her brokenness, her inability to allow life to penetrate, an obstinate refusal to open herself, to become vulnerable, forced her into a loneliness. Her estrangement to proper love, or the seeds of love, allows an overriding immaturity to consume her inner most being. I remember distinctly the night I knew things were futile, an effort of disgrace being intimately involved with her. She had the day off, a Monday, telling me she was spending the day with her girlfriend. She did not come home to well after midnight, never calling. Walking into her home, the look of a fifteen year old was imprinted upon her face. I could only fear what conniving and scheming her teenage mindset had put into action. In truth, I was dealing with a broken little girl exercising free will, manipulating her way through life, unable to intimately interact with others as an adult. Dr. Nichta stresses not only the importance of self-knowledge, yet also the proper identifying of others. I must accept others for who they are. I cannot expect people to be who I want them to be, or who I think they can become. I must accept people for who they are. No matter how gifted, Ann at her core is an immature woman unable to know the possibilities of love, or how to interact with others with respect to an adult comprehension of love and respect. The formation has just never been exercised. God does not leave us alone. She is too special. God never abandons his chosen ones. In her broken state, she drove to Toledo and picked me up, removing me in my awful condition from that hotel room, saving my life. Something potential, powerful in dimension was offered to both of us. Through self-discovery, self-awareness sets in, I am a holy man, gifted to a humble degree. I know that more and more, learning about myself on a level that only experience teaches. Formation occurs only through experience. Wisdom garnered through living. Reading, studying, teaching, and counsel cannot offer what life supplies. Prayers are essential, enriching interiorly. Sharing stories, parables, come the closest to embracing the graces existing within exterior communication. Jesus spoke through parables. Knowing I am a holy man is also knowing my weaknesses–the fact I am an alcoholic. I was thinking this morning, the third day of a ten day vacation, that if I were drinking, I would be drunk right now upon waking. Days would blend into a confusing loss of clarity, two or three drunks a day, the early morning drunk my favorite. By the fourth or fifth day, I would have lost track of days, even time itself, not sure if it was morning, night, or day, not caring, consumed within an overwhelming misery that physically makes the flesh crawl. Insane, extreme adventures would have ensued, writing to you a part. God always protected me during these awful times, yet the dreadfulness was dangerous. Experience can also be a teacher of horrible things. Grace abounds were sin increases. Wisdom exist within depravity, however its lesson is so tremendous it can crush eternally. Becoming a parent forms through love, wretched things teach through excruciating terror and despair. Watching ‘Mysteries of Lisbon’, I marveled at the fact, these royal, extremely wealthy individuals living life on an extravagant materialistic and social level did not revel in the majesty of their elevated worldly status, rather self-absorption captured them in lives of gloom, despondency overwhelming individual experiences through intense emotion and intricate designs, love a phantom being chased, life a drama being acted upon a stage, the end pointing to an unseen force, Divine Will, always subtly playing within the tenderable conniving of men and women. Ann’s brokenness, her self-willed attempts to be a heroic figure acting through reason for the benefit of God, underestimated God. God is above, while within our schemes reposes the potential for a revealing upon the divine level, a step forward upon a path of perfection.
Second daily reading 2 Corinthians 12:7-10
Brothers and sisters: that I, Paul, might not become too elated because of the abundance of revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan, to harass me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I besought the Lord about this, that it should leave me; but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities; for when I am weak, then I am strong.
DIALOG: ‘Mysteries of Lisbon’. Something is there, many thoughts regarding matters. I just present the words shared between characters, stories in the telling.
SCENE. JOAO, A YOUNG MAN, IN A CEMETERY. A DISFIGURED BLIND BEGGAR APPROACHES.
Joao: Can I help you?
Blind Beggar: Oh, sir, please…Are we in the eastern part of the cemetery?
Joao: Yes…We’re in the right place…it’s here…
Blind Beggar: Thank you very much. I’m looking for the mausoleum where my daughter is…
Joao: Mausoleum?
Blind Beggar: My friends assure me it is monumental. My friends say it is the most beautiful in the entire cemetery…I’m unable to see it. With the last money left from my fortune, I had this mausoleum built…Would you be so kind as to describe it to me? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I don’t know if I would be able…I am the Marquis of Montezelos. What is your name?
Joao: I am a simple student, Marquis…my mother died and I came to visit her…
Blind Beggar: So your mother is also in a mausoleum, right?
Joao: No, Marquis, my mother is in a common pauper’s grave…
Blind Beggar: Poor woman. Had I mentioned to you that I was a bad father? No. I hadn’t. This head of mine, and now, as you see I am a beggar, and now that we’re having this conversation, would you happen to have a small coin, for the love of God?
Joao: Of course…
Blind Beggar: Thank you very much…
Joao: Marquis, your friends are waiting for you…
Common Beggar: Poor Marquis. He’s lost his mind…The accident…
Joao: He had an accident?
Common Beggar: It wasn’t an accident…more of a failed suicide attempt…His daughter’s dishonor…What to us are the things of life, are enormous tragedies to the nobility…He fired the shot as they left the Mass. He didn’t kill himself, but he was blinded. He wasted away the fortune and people were moved by this sadness. They were moved by a beggar Marquis and still give him a lot of money. That’s the blessing of beggars…Even in disgrace, the nobles are favored.
Joao: And the mausoleum?
Common Beggar: The mausoleum doesn’t exist. It was an invention of the Marquis…
Blind Beggar: Where are you , Manuel?
Common Beggar: I’m here, Marquis.
Blind Beggar: I’ll be right there! Please excuse me…
SCENE CHANGE. JOAO DEBOARDING A SHIP.
Joao (Voice Over): I’ve heard that Alberto de Magalhaes (his savior at birth, the man he challenged to a duel, a man of many identities who saved his life a second time) has enjoyed excellent health. You lacked courage my dear. And I, whose heart you once possessed…My life no longer made any sense. My only thought was to disappear, to lose myself quickly, completely…and without a trace…I caught the first boat I found, bound for Tangiers, which allowed me to board for the coins I still had in my pocket…One soon discovers that it is not difficult to disappear from the eyes of others, but that our own eyes follow us wherever we go. I continued to travel randomly, aimlessly, to lose myself. I don’t know how, but the representatives of Alberto Magalhaes never lost my trail and I continued to regularly receive the money intended for me. My footsteps have finally led me here. I don’t think I can go any further. My condition doesn’t allow me many illusions.
Joao (to hotel assistant): Excuse me, could you kindly direct me to an inn that is far from the center of town?
Hotel Assistant: That won’t be easy. Most of our inns are right in the center.
Joao: In that case, I’ll have to settle for the closest.
Hotel Assistant: This is the closest.
Joao: Thank you.
SCENE CHANGE. TIME CHANGE. JOAO A TEENAGER LYING AWKWARDLY UPSIDE DOWN IN BED.
Joao (voice over): I was fifteen years old and I didn’t know who I was at all…Sometimes, the others would ask me if I was Father Dinis’ son…I didn’t know how to answer them. They all had surnames…four, five, even more…I was just “Joao.” Unlike the others, I went on no family outings, had no holidays, received no presents. I don’t know how long had passed between the time I lost consciousness…and the moment I opened my eyes again…I thought I had dreamt it all.
Nun: Dona Antonia…
Father Dinis: Help him lie down.
Nun: Father Dinis! He is cold.
Father Dinis: We’d better find a doctor! I’ll order the coach to be readied.
THE END
Mixing everything together into a prayer, a final offering is made. Within the novel by Remy Rougeau ‘All We Know of Heaven’, the author strikes moments that absolutely pierce me. This is one. Regarding identity, the pursuit of the spiritual life, a glimpse of clarity within uncertainty, Antoine reflects. He has just suffered a serious face injury due to his mislighting of a gas burner in the kitchen. His accident is put on the backburner as he is rushed by a brother monk out to witness the uncorrupted body of Brother Bernard. Forced to dig up the monastery graveyard during a government forced move, Cistercian monks buried simply in their habit—no casket, the gravediggers discovered Brother Bernard’s body intact, appearing as if he was buried for only days. Three years the body of the holiest and profoundly prayerful brother laid buried in the soil.
A sudden breeze cooled Antoine’s bandaged face and rushed like a sigh in the leaves above him. For a moment he felt as though he would float away, as though his spirit might leave his body and travel away to where Bernard had gone. He wanted to disappear. But when he looked at the faces of the living monks around him, he knew he could not go. A chasm existed between the living and the dead, and he was not ready to cross it.
These odd faces he knew so well, men in search of God, no different from St Anthony or all the holy monks of old, these men had come to a remarkable place called the abbey, not connected to earth by geography. The holy desert. ‘We have come to find God here’, he thought, and ‘we are breathing God. The holy desert is full of God’.
How easy it had been, Antoine realized, these years in the cloister, to construct a sweet little program of the spiritual life. He had tried again and again to frame his spiritual growth within the safe boundaries of his own preferences and talents, his aptitudes and the means he had at hand. But the grand scheme brushes all human constructions aside. If he had succeeded, if his scheme would had worked, he would have led a pleasant, happy but small life, harmless and sunk in mediocrity. But it never came to pass. The abbey was being uprooted. His brothers on the move. All along, the real monastic life of a greater scheme had forced him to practice more than he had thought possible. Detachment, self-denial, charity, all things that make saints, these had come to him in unanticipated ways. The life of the cloister had overturned all his little plans and arrangements, as well as his opinions about others. The manner of death, the expression on a dead man’s face, the color of bones: Antoine knew that none of these things made a difference. He knew, also, looking at the faces of his brothers, that they would become saints, each of them. Either willingly or by force, God would make them saints.
The novel by Remy Rougeau ‘All We Know of Heaven’ swept softly upon a utilitarian path of perfection with the ending of a chapter in which the main character, Antoine, concludes his solemn vows. After six years as a Cistercian monk, a vow of permanency is performed. He chooses his mother’s birthday as the date of the ceremony. She never accepted his religious choice. Grandchildren her imagined perfection, emotionally, she suffered tremendous angst over her only child giving himself to the cloistered life. During celebrations, Antoine’s mother’s mother, his grandmother takes center stage,weeping in gratitude, endlessly praising and hugging Antoine, stating how she suffered since none of her numerous sons entered the priesthood. His mother makes a grand speech, expressing her displeasure within her acknowledgment she was proud of her son. Within her overwhelming sorrow, she identifies joy. Aunts and uncles, cousins, many attend the ceremony. Antoine’s quiet farming father loses himself during the boisterous gathering after formalities. Antoine finds him in an alcove under a stairway with one of his brothers, the monk in charge of the cattle. The two men are talking of cows as if they have known each other all of their life. Antoine realizes his father would be content within the monastery walls, and not as a slight to his mother. Everything comes together to allow God to grace him with the understanding his discernment is divinely pleasing.
He knew he was not responsible for the day; how could he accept credit for having come from a good French-Canadian family? And he knew that it was not for his intelligence or virtue that the Cistercian monks had taken him in. Even after he swallowed several times, his tears stubbornly flowed.
The emotion Antoine felt was broader than gratitude. He was appreciative, yes, but he also wanted to be better than he was: more virtuous, more sympathetic, more responsible to the world. He had an idea about what holiness meant–something the size and shape of Brother Bernard–and he struggled toward it. He wanted to make that shape his own somehow. He wanted to wish that shape upon the world.
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