Hymn To a Homeless God
In his last official task as Abbot, the old monk had carefully tacked a sign to the front door of the Hermitage: "Closed by Order of the Holy Spirit". He walked then to the infirmary to bless the dying Brother Phillip, only to stretch out on the cot next to him, knowing that his time, too, was very short. "So", he said to Brother Phillip, "this is how it ends. We surely didn't see this coming fifty years ago, did we?" Hearing no answer, Fr. Abbot turned his head to look at Br. Phillip, asleep with shallow breaths barely lifting his chest... Still, Fr. Abbot continued to talk, "We were so young, Phillip! So full of enthusiasm for our vocation: how we loved to rise in the middle of the night even for another hour of prayer! We believed that sacrifice was the very heart of prayer and sanctity. Did one of us become a saint? Surely not you or I! But maybe Brother Michael, he refused Holy Orders like you, but he was actually humble! It was good that we sent him off to Africa to found another Hermitage: twenty years he struggled before returning, still he rejoiced everyday of his life... until the Blessed Lord took him from us. None of us ever really recovered from his loss... and then the passing of our blessed Father Henry the Serious Scholar, and later, Father Louis the Madcap... Five hermits in the beginning, swelling to a hundred in our heyday, only to dwindle to just us two... Ah, my dear Br. Phillip, who will come to bury us?" With that shocking thought in his mind, Fr. Abbot drifted off into a restless sleep...
He awoke -- did he awake? -- on his knees in the Little Chapel, rosary in hand, prayers upon his lips... he continued to pray even as he heard the Chapel door open and close behind him. Knowing that Br. Phillip was on his death-bed unable to walk, and that it had been years since anyone from any nearby village had visited the hermitage, he was curious as to who had entered: but his curiosity did not get the better of him: he was Fr. Abbot, a disciplined man: he could wait until he had finished his prayers before turning... "Holy Mother, Holy Mother" followed his breath... He suddenly realized that he had no recollection as to when he had begun his prayers, so how would he know when he had finished? "Holy Mother, Holy Mother", and then he simply turned, and looked into the face of a young African man who smiled and said, "Greetings Fr. Abbot! I bring you greetings!"
The heavy white eyebrows on Fr. Abbot's face lifted and he said, "Would you like to join me in prayer?" The young man answered, "No thank you. I no longer pray. But would you like to sit here with me?" Curious again, Fr. Abbot leaned on the altar railing to aid in rising, and turned to sit tiredly on the wooden bench, still turning the beads of his rosary. The two men sat looking at the altar and occasionally lingering a glance upon the other for what seemed a length of time. Finally, Fr. Abbot said, "Would you like to make your confession?" The young man threw his head back and let loose an uproarious laugh, before saying, "Now that would surely be something! Me! I am guilty of the sin of every single person who has ever lived! Dear Fr. Abbot, you really do not have enough time!" Fr. Abbot scratched his bearded chin, "I too am fond of the writings of Dostoevsky, but I assure you, you do not carry the guilt of every man! There is only one and he has already paid the price for our sin." The young man said, "Dear Fr. Abbot, dear Fr. Abbot, I am truly sorry, but that is not how it works! None of us are in any way separate from anyone else: skin and place and time are only illusions to assist for a while in the maintenance of relative sanity: while we learn to disappear into Only One. But I'm not here about that -- we can have this discussion later if you wish, much later!" Fr. Abbot scratched his chin and pulled the hair, feeling too tired to wonder at the meaning of the young man, and deciding to wait until he might speak again...
Fr. Abbot heard the young man whispering, "Holy Mother, Holy Mother"... He was tempted to point out that those words were a prayer to the young man but thought perhaps he would just continue to wait... Finally, the young man spoke: "Do you like the color of my skin? It is a deep, deep, brown... like the rich, dark, mud of my homeland... I remember it so well, especially my little boy feet squishing it between my toes and my blessed Mother scolding me ahead of time not to track it into our home -- but she knew that I would! And that we would clean it together and she would pretend that she was angry until I would jump on her back and try to tickle her neck! She would roar with laughter and toss me on my blankets and tickle me until I cried tears of absolute joy! Later, not that much later, I kissed her farewell and wandered off into the night: that was when I still used to pray, by the way... I only saw her a few times after that..." Fr. Abbot said, "You must have really missed her. Why did you not return home, at least to console her? Surely she must have been heartbroken to seldom see you again?" "Ah, Fr. Abbot," said the young man, "going home in that way was never the Holy One's plan for me. And that is precisely why I have come, instead, to you."
After a short pause of several deep and slow breaths, Fr. Abbot said, "My son, are you here because you think you have a religious vocation?" Once more the head of the young man was thrown back in uproarious laughter, with tears running down his face, he nearly choked out his words, "Good God Almighty! A religious vocation! Do I have a religious vocation? No! Certainly no! I do not even believe in God!" Fr. Abbot was then clearly irritated as he said, "Are you here to mock me and this blessed hermitage?" The young man said, "I am sorry dear Fr. Abbot! I laugh when I find something funny! I would never think to mock you! I am here because of the sign you placed upon the door to your hermitage: you are to remove it!" Fr. Abbot pushed himself up to stand, "There is now only Br. Phillip and I! We are both knocking upon the door of death. There are no others and there haven't been for years! I am sorry, but I must now return to my watch of Br. Phillip," Fr. Abbot made as if to turn and walk away, when surprisingly, Br. Phillip entered the Chapel saying, "Fr. Abbot, you had really better listen to him. I am quite well, or different, or something!"
Fr. Abbot sat. Br. Phillip sat next to him, placing a hand in the cold hands of Fr. Abbot. As one, they turned to look into the eyes of the young man, mud-brown eyes, eyes that suddenly held them as if bound by unseen ropes. The young man stood, walked to the altar, caressed the cold stone, touched the small Madonna statue in the corner, and stood for a long minute staring into the icon on the wall of St. Mary Magdalene, before turning to face them: "Dear brothers! You have prayed! You have loved! You have served! You have been noticed and cherished! Be certain in your hearts of that! You are cherished! It is time now though, for you to both be utterly silent. I will only speak of what else you need to know. Are you ready?" Fr. Abbot turning to Br. Phillip, could only mutter a single, "What?" Br. Phillip answered, "Why not?" They turned their eyes back upon the young man, nodding their heads in silent assent.
The young man came to stand directly in front of them, both Fr. Abbot and Br. Phillip lifted their grizzled old heads to gaze in rapt attention upon him. He spoke, "Fr. Abbot: There is a homeless God wandering the Universe: it is finally time for you to welcome him home! Remove the sign from the door of your hermitage: replace it with another sign that simply says, "Welcome Home!"
Your prayers have been wonderful, but God does not need those particular enjoyments right now! Words are fine, but only if your love should fail...
There is a homeless God who hungers for your hands extended to every one of your sisters and brothers!
There is a homeless God who is starving for your hearts to surrender into the adoration of remembrance with your every breath! Your little hermitage -- and every family, and everyone -- is an essential part of a wheel slowly turning, turning, turning the world into the embrace of endless, limitless, Love!
It is by love-in-action that your hearts, your hermitage, your families, this precious little Planet, and this great mysterious Universe will be healed and brought once again into the wholeness of Unity...
There is a homeless God waiting for you in the villages and homes about you...
There is a homeless God in the breaking hearts living in those villages and homes...
There is a homeless God everywhere when there is a need for beauty, kindness, justice, and liberation...
There is a homeless God who is everyday hungry in the dreams of children that have been shattered by the failures of adults...
There is a homeless God in the believing communities who can't bring themselves to forgive, reconcile, and embrace everyone who is different or hurting...
There is a homeless God every minute of your lives, waiting, waiting, waiting to be welcomed home...
And, I assure you, He is here right now, standing before you!
Know this Fr. Abbot: I do not 'believe' in God because I know: and I do not 'pray', because I am prayer...
It is now time! Make your life a hymn to a homeless God -- and see how absolutely everything will change!"
With that, the young man turned and walked out of the chapel. One old man remained, sitting on a bench, weeping: until suddenly he stood: walking to the chapel door, he opened it, removed the sign and pulled from his robe his writing pen, in illustrious script he wrote, "Welcome Home"... Hurrying then to the Kitchen, he said to himself, "Now I will be a cook! There must be people coming! Welcome home, oh welcome home, all my Loves..."