CHAPTER 5
Brother Matthew was a great one for creating community adventures. “Well, since we are all in such good moods, why don’t we take a hike in the Delaware Water Gap this week end?”
His suggestion received unanimous approval.
Soon it was Sunday afternoon and the gang piled into two cars. In about fifteen minutes they were crossing the bridge from Pennsylvania into New Jersey, the Delaware River flowing peacefully below them. The town of Delaware Water Gap, locally famous for the Deerhead Inn and other folk and craft establishments, was in Pennsylvania and offered several trails through the huge cleft in the earth, which made up the Gap. The Gap itself spanned both Pennsylvania and New Jersey.
The two cars made a right into the parking lot for the Visitor’s Center just after they crossed the bridge. Several men and women Rangers, complete with Smokey the Bear outfits on, stood behind a long counter and expertly helped hikers and visitors choose trails to hike and places of beauty and interest to explore.
The monastic hikers chose Sunfish Pond as their destination. The hike would take about four hours total and was an uphill climb, with the Pond at the top. They ambled by streams and waterfalls and started out on their journey quite animated. Lots of laughter and stories were shared. Eventually the group became more contemplative and broke into little groups, quietly sharing thoughts about the week past or life in general.
Brother Matthew’s thick brown hair, along with the rainbow of leaves overhead, protected his scalp from the warm sunlight. Just the same he eventually wanted to put on his baseball cap. He rummaged around in his backpack for his headgear. “Let’s see,” he mumbled, “We have a bag of peanuts, a chocolate bar from our community friend Dotty, a book about the friendship between Saint Jane and Saint Francis called Bond of Perfection, and a lightweight jacket. Hmm, no cap. I’m sure that I put it in the pack, but I guess it must be back at the monastery.”
“Are people who devote their lives to contemplation always so forgetful?” queried Anthony.
“Maybe so,” Brother Matthew responded thoughtfully. “I guess thinking so much about the God of heaven keeps our heads in the clouds. Though this is the first time I can remember that so many of us are losing little things. Usually we pay pretty good attention to detail.”
The road along the Kittatinny Ridge, which they were hiking, became very rocky. It would be easy to twist an ankle on this route. After a hike of about two hours the small band saw Sunfish Pond glistening before them, calling out to them to rest and refresh themselves. This body of water is a Registered National Landmark in New Jersey. It is the first glacier-formed lake along the Appalachian Trail heading north. The pH level of the water makes the Pond crystal clear and fosters the life of the Sunfish who inhabit it, but not other species of fish.
The hikers found quiet places to be alone for a while and reflect. Such natural hermitages were quite easy to find among the tall and dense vegetation and rocks that surround Sunfish Pond. The stillness magnified the sounds of the birds, frogs, and other wildlife that made this place their home.
Brother Matthew, try as he might to keep his focus on the mantra he had been using for meditation in recent days, could not do so. The “Healer of my soul” repeated over and over was drowned out by a question that lightly nagged at the back of his mind.
Why were little things disappearing around the monastery? Why waste my time thinking about it? Maybe it was nothing; maybe it was something. Our community has a way of attracting unusual occurrences.
He tried again: “Healer of my soul, healer of my soul, healer of my soul.” It was going a little better now that the young monk had admitted to himself that something unsettled him. His mind settled and he was absorbed in God.
In a flash the one-hour of allotted meditation time was over and the group re-gathered at the trail that would take them back down the mountain to the parking lot and Route 80. The trek back was easier because it was downhill all the way.
The hikers peacefully descended the mountain, enjoying nature as they walked. Somehow their meditation heightened their senses and everything was more colorful and alive to them now.
“This area has such a rich history,” Brother Matthew mentioned to nobody in particular. About 18,000 years ago a large glacier gouged out a hollow. That hollow filled with water and became Sunfish Pond. One historian described the Pond as a ‘sheet of pure transparent water…strangely and unaccountably situated on the very summit of the mountain.’”
Sister Scholastica wondered aloud: “Didn’t some millionaire live in this area way back?”
“My interest in history sometimes serves me well, Sister Scholastica. Yes, a businessman named Charles Worthington owned about 8,000 acres spanning both sides of the Delaware River and had a small mansion here—if there is such a thing as a small mansion. Sunfish Pond supplied the water for his home. He knew what to do with getting the water to his residence because he was President of the Worthington Pump Corporation in the early 1900s. He did his hunting in the surrounding forest.”
Anthony joined in the conversation. “I don’t know how many ‘greats’ are involved, but Charles Worthington was a great grandfather of mine. It is wonderful to be here and finally see this area. Now I know why the family stories about Great Grandfather Worthington lived on in our family line from generation to generation, down to the present.” The Observer to monastic life seemed proud and confident.
The others questioned Anthony for more details he might know about his distant relative. What he had already shared was about all he knew.”
“Maybe we can do an internet search about Charles Worthington,” Sister Jane de Chantal suggested. “You know, trace his family tree or something. I believe the Mormons are expert at helping people find their roots and I think they have a genealogy website.”
Anthony gave a half-hearted “Yes” to the suggestion. It appeared as if someone had just knocked the wind out of his sails.