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I lit my cigarette and began to walk down the garden path on the monastery grounds. It had proven to be an extraordinarily long day. The stress and anxiety had been building all day in our small flat in the retreat annex; the children had indeed driven my wife to the brink. So when I arrived back from a day journey to interview a priest, I walked into the thick of it rather unexpectedly.
As I strolled along the gardens, I heard the bell calling the community to Compline--the final service of the day. Compline simply means "complete" and it's a way of completing the day with a beautiful service praising God for the blessings of the daytime. I fell down into the comfort of a wooden bench, perched strategically behind some blossoming flowers. Privacy, I thought to myself, and a brief escape from the world. I could not bring myself to enter the
monastic church that evening, I was beyond my capability to use words or find a sentence to utter in the coming twilight.
After I snuffed out the butt, I sat there in a daze. I wondered all about the predictable stuff: did we make the right decision to move our small family to England for a time? At what cost was this to my family to merely live out one of my longest-held dreams?
Before I came round, I could see the movement of black cassocks in the distance. I snapped to and glanced down at my watch. Blimey, I thought, Compline was over and so was my free time. I needed to get back to help get the children to bed. While I had not discovered any new answers to my cause, I had enjoyed a brief respite from the hell of cranky children and a distant spouse. I dreaded going back, fearing another screaming, crying meltdown from the kids. My ears were exhausted.
Just then, a black cassocked monk strolled along the path. He rose about five feet in the air
and his grey scapular was neatly swaying as he walked with his hands clasped behind his back and his head hunched over. It was too ironic or coincidental that this one brother of the Community had taken to fancy night walks following Compline and here I was in his pathway. He was clearly deep in reflection or what one professor loves to say when he daydreams, "off in wonder, love, and praise!" I had met Father John several weeks ago during a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Walsingham down in Norfolk. He is a Guardian of the Shrine and a runner. A monk-priest from Northern Ireland, John has been in the Community for nearly thirty years--an incredible source of spiritual wisdom! I remember vividly waking up from my power nap on the bus back from Walsingham when I overheard him talking about running to a nearby seminarian--he must be in his late 60's and the shock jarred me out of my slumber. What was more surprising was this seemed to be the first time I felt as though I had something in common with another person in the Community. Running, I thought, was the perfect God-given commonality so I went for it and begin a conversation with John.
"Father John," I cried out, "do you have a minute?" Knowing full well that the CRs enter into their silence following Compline lasting until Matins, I chanced it. I was desperately reaching out. Being fully pastoral, John broke his silence and sat down next to me on the bench. I had managed to pull myself together by this point, wiping away tears and fearing my awful smoke-stained smell.
It did not take any remarkable power of observation to see that I needed the company and someone to talk to about what was going on inside. John was able to talk sweetly in his Irish voice and helped me calm down. His faith and insight truly makes him stand twenty feet into the air even though I tower over him.
Thus began an unexpected spiritual friendship that continued on throughout my time at the Community. He agreed to serve as my temporary confessor and spiritual guide and I remain forever grateful to him. Just as I began to think I was alone and disconnected to the community that I found myself in, God gave me Father John. It surpasses the explainable coincidence, this was truly a gift and one that I quickly recognized in the silhouetted figure of a small, Irish monk off in the distance.
God the Unexpected was the face that I saw that evening. I even smiled afterwards thinking about this blog post and knowing full well that I had encountered this joyous face in the midst of my own stress and spiritual loneliness. Thanks be to God for this and for what I believe will be a friendship for the rest of my life.
