Vespers from the Office of the Dead by Brother Bernard Seif, SMC, EdD, DNM - HTML preview

CHAPTER 25

After lying low for a few days and shaking his jet lag, the Abbot rang a bell at the dinner table and joyfully shouted “Benedicamus Domino,” to which the community responded “Deo Gratias.”  This monastic ritual meant that the community could speak at dinner rather than listen to someone read from a book or listen to a CD lecture as they ate.

The conversation was animated and the food nourishing and plentiful.  They had lots to be grateful for.  They were all back together again and Brother Francis had mentioned that he had some good news to share.

The good news really came from Clare.  At Brother Francis’ invitation, she told the community that she had requested permission to make an official one-month Observership in possible preparation for entering the community as a postulant.  Everyone applauded and the community members closest to her at the table gave her hugs.  Clare shed a few tears.  She had come through a confusing time but was now stronger and more realistic about life at the Salesian Monastery.

“It is so fitting that Clare consider a Salesian community.  Francis de Sales, you remember, is the patron saint of the hearing-impaired.”  Somehow Clare had missed that piece of information and the shock made her weep all the more.

“How did that come about Brother Francis?” she queried.

“Francis de Sales befriended a young man who was hearing-impaired and gave him a job taking care of the residence Francis lived in.  Our co-founder created a sign language so that he could communicate with the young man.  It’s that simple.”

Brother Matthew covered a laugh with a cough.

“What?”  Clare asked.

The young monk looked at his Abbot, who was also laughing.  “Did you ever see those comic book type publications they print on the saints?  There’s one on Mother Theresa I think.  Well, there’s one on Saint Francis de Sales too.”

“I think so,” Clare responded with a mix of mirth and wariness.

“Well, the one on Saint Francis de Sales has a word omitted under the drawing of Francis and the hearing-challenged young man.  It is supposed to read something like:  “And Saint Francis took the young man in to his home and gave him a permanent job.’  Instead it read:  “And Saint Francis took the young man into his home and gave him a permanent.’  So, quite naturally, I decided that our dear Saint Francis de Sales, Doctor of the Church, is also the patron saint of hair dressers!”

The community enjoyed their brother’s offbeat humor.

“Such a simple act as that is all it takes to make a difference,” Clare responded.  Her own future ministry might well lie in ministry to the hearing-challenged, but that possibility was indeed a long way off.  “Maybe I’ll take up hair dressing as a ministry.  The Rule encourages us to use whatever gifts we have for the good of others.”

More laughter.

The Abbot next directed his words to one of the professed nuns.  “Please don’t give me a karate chop or anything in response, Sister Scholatica, but I have a message for you.”

“Wow, for me?  I hope it’s not from another ghost from my past,” she said laughingly.  The community had lost that little bit of caution they once had around her since she revealed the story of her past work with the CIA, or at least some of it.  They joined in with her laughter.

“Only indirectly, Sister.  I understand that you had a visit from Madam Wu in my absence.  Even though you met only once, at Brother Benedict’s simple profession, Madam Wu was very impressed with you.  She had an intuition that you would somehow play an important role in influencing the course of her life at some point in time.”

“She implied as much when we had our brief meeting the day after Brother Benedict died, but for the life of me I can’t see how.  Folks like you, Madam Wu, and Clare are the intuitives; I’m pretty much a logical black and white thinker.”

“We need both kinds of thinking to keep us balanced,” Sister Jane de Chantal interjected.

“The message from Madam Wu is that she says yes.”

Sister Scholastica was confused.  “Yes to what?”

“Why, to whatever you are going to ask her to do.”

Sister Scholastica gasped.  “It only came to me this afternoon--that I might ask her to meet with my old boss Calvin and possibly work for the CIA.  Her intuitive gifts and sharp mind would be a Godsend to them.  How could she know the question before I even formulated it in my own mind?  You’ve not been in touch with her since leaving Hawaii have you Abbot?”

“Not even by phone,” he responded mysteriously.  “But I think we will probably be seeing more of her down the road.”

It was time to do the dishes and celebrate Night Prayer, Compline.  A peaceful rhythm had once again been restored and everyone was grateful.  Here’s hoping it lasts, at least for a little while.

Anoai kou ala hele!

 (May your way be blessed!)