"Monks!"
I suspect this one word comes to mind whenever people see the friars waiting
in the airport or walking down the street. Many people smile and say hello,
yet only if the greeting is initiated by the friars themselves. You see, "monks"
aren't supposed to speak. On fashionable Fifth Avenue, the stylish and sophisticated
stare straight ahead and briskly walk by, tightly lipped, as if they might
catch some medieval disease. Meanwhile, the "down and outs" are
refreshingly down to earth, especially the homeless who unabashedly and enthusiastically
greet us across crowded subway cars or streets. Silly or snide remarks generally
only emanate from small clusters of teenage boys, while teenage girls scream
and laugh with one another exactly seven seconds after we pass by. Contrary
to popular fashion, some friars sport long beards making them look like they've
stepped out of the pages of the Bible. Others wear their sandals even in the
snow which seems to draw the concern of every mother within a ten mile radius.
The friars are certainly aware that a well-worn and patched habit may give the appearance of sanctity, but, like beauty, "holiness" can also be only skin deep. Saint Francis abhored duplicity and often warned the friars against just appearing like poor men, while holding within their hearts a great amount of wealth. Self will, he would say, was a "purse" which had to be emptied if anyone wanted to be an authentic follower of the poor and humble Christ.
As you might expect, the friar's day begins and ends in the chapel. Every night at about 9:15, the friars pray "Compline" or Night Prayer. This simple but beautiful Office begins with a few moments of silence in order for a friar to examine his conscience and ask for forgiveness. Now, since everyone is "up and at'em" early, spending much of their day racing from pillar to post, no one has any energy to waste. So, by night time it's really tough thinking through all ten commandments or pondering the depths of all eight beautitudes. Besides, how can you remember Scripture verses when you're so exhausted that you can't even recall your own name? So, to get the job done quickly and efficiently, the friars have a tried and true method of sniffing out the hidden sins in their soul even when their bodies are half asleep. It's called "The Admonitions of Saint Francis".
The Admonitions are a collection of wise sayings written by Saint Francis. Since they were written for the friars, they have little to do with bunnies or butterflies. Most Franciscans are well aware that Saint Francis treated the laity with kid gloves, yet when dealing with himself and his own, he put on boxing gloves. Although a friar may be exhausted after battling the world, the flesh, and the devil all day, every night, like it or not, he steps into an invisible ring and goes one round with "Franky". This is why friars appear punch drunk before going to bed. They wonder what hit them. Let me tell you about but one of my many bouts - blow by blow.
One morning I had just finished celebrating Mass and was spending a few quiet minutes in the chapel to offer a prayer of thanksgiving. I heard the phone ring in the kitchen. Looking at my watch I thought, "Nine o'clock, it's a bit early; it must be one of the friars". I quickly left the chapel, walked into the kitchen, picked up the phone and said, "Fr. Glenn!" A woman's voice asked, "Is this Fr. Sulano"? Between the name change and an overly sweet sing-song voice, I thought it was a friar having some fun. I smiled and said slowly, "Can I help you"? Well, it took a few seconds but I realized it wasn't a friar at all; the lady with the kindergarten voice was for real. Soon it became clear to me that the person didn't want to talk to me but at me. She was a telemarketer reading a sales pitch. I sighed, sat down and listened with half an ear while watching the brothers pour their coffee and dig in to their cornflakes.
I've received telemarketing calls before and actually have used them as a perfect opportunity for evangelization. Callers are surprised when I tell them they've called a friary. It's prime time for public relations, and, for many, the first time they have ever spoken with a Catholic priest. I've had wonderful conversations about the Church, faith and prayer. However, this morning I just didn't have the time. I had tons of work waiting for me in my office. Besides, it was early and I hadn't enjoyed even my first cup of coffee. But, quite frankly, I was also put off because the caller was far from professional.
Since many of the telemarketing companies are centered in the South, the women sound like elegant Southern Belles. This woman sounded like she walked off the street and into the office. "She's not going to sell anything to anyone", I thought to myself. Feigning a certain air of enthusiasm, she read her script from a storybook: "Wouldn't it be wonderful being on a cruise ship headed for the Bahamas and other beautiful and exotic getaways? Imagine: eleven sun and fun-filled days aboard a magnificent modern ocean liner? Yes, spend eleven days meeting new friends, swimming in our olympic-sized swimming pool, playing tennis on real clay courts. Enjoy three all-you-can eat banquets each and every day. And each morning, Fr. Sulano, you can use our inspiring interdenominational chapel for your religious services or ceremonies. The rest of the fun-filled day is all yours. Of course, Fr. Sulano, you pay nothing, if you bring only thirty members of your congregation..." Now the needle on my annoyance gauge jumped to life.
As she continued to talk, I was making an heroic effort to be patient. Meanwhile, my mind walked upstairs to survey the paper work piled high on my desk. Amazingly, before my eyes it magically began to multiply. Slowly, the desk began to creak and sag in the middle. Then the clock above my desk went wild, the sweep hand spinning wildly around like a South Western windmill. I began to panic.
To make matters worse, what absolutely irked me, was she kept referring to me as Fr. Sulano. After a while, I squeezed out a smile and said: "that's Fr. Sudano". Intent on getting through her text, she didn't hear a word. "Yes, Fr. SuLAno..." Was it my imagination or did she say "La" louder just to annoy me? Imagine, Fr. SuLAno, you can choose the time and date of your departure..." Now, as I gently rolled the first correction at her feet like a bochee ball, this time I decided to toss the second like a soft ball. "Excuse me, Miss, that's Fr. Sudano". Nothing. She continued to read her script like she was reading and running downhill. She was barreling without brakes, flying past every attempt I made to have her stop or at least slow down. After the third SuLAno, I had had it. Time to play hardball. I pitched the next one high and inside almost hitting her head - "Lady, it's not Sulano it's Sudano, Su-DA-no, S-U-D-A-N-O". She didn't flinch and continued to talk. I said over her voice, "My God, help me!" Finally, throwing any patience I thought I had to the wind, I shouted into the phone: "Lady, listen! I'm sorry to disappoint you but I don't do cruises!! Did you hear me! Father Sudano-does-not-do-cruises!
Silence. Was it my imagination, or did she actually stop? Without a word, I heard what sounded like the flipping of plastic pages. "Oh no", I thought to myself, "she's looking for the 'I Don't Do Cruises' section". Before I could say another word, she opened, aimed, and fired another fresh can of whipped cream at me - "Fr. SuLAno, imagine, loads of sun and fun, entertainment, tennis, hot tubs, visiting port cities for strolling and shopping..."
Well, by this time the vein on the side of my head was bulging and on the verge of bursting. Meanwhile my guardian angel had me in a half Nelson with one hand trying to cover my mouth. Of course he could do absolutely nothing to stop the verbal venom I was quickly concocting in the backroom of my brain: "Listen, Little Miss Sun-and-Fun, you're speaking to the wrong person. First of all, I'm a friar - a monk O.K.? - and we don't go on vacation cruises. And besides don't try to take me as a fool; this trip is not 'free'. In fact, you're using me. Forget it, lady, you couldn't get me on your rotten rowboat even if you filled your hot tub with a million dollars!
"Plus, I could think of plenty of things I'd rather do than eat all day and get sea sick. Like go to a Tupperware party or have dental surgery in Calcutta! And besides, lady, I'm a Catholic priest, and I don't do services, I don't do ceremonies, I do sacrifice!!" Slam!
Well, right reason and prudence prevailed and I didn't say those things. How the whole affair ended, I frankly forget, but I do remember both of us hanging up very frustrated. Later that evening, to entertain the brothers, I replayed the whole affair at the dinner table. I must admit, although I don't have a single ounce of Irish blood in me, I told a great story. Some of the brothers were holding their sides and pounding the table. Later in the evening, as it was time for Compline, we all made our way to the chapel. As prayer leader that week, it was my job to read the nightly Admonition. Well, I stood up to do the reading, forgetting I was stepping into the ring. Here's what this humble, holy friar read to his brethren:
" 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven' (Mt 5:3). There are many people who spend all their time at their prayers and other religious exercises and mortify themselves by long fasts and so on. But if anyone says as much as a word that implies a reflection on their self-esteem or takes something from them, they are immediately up in arms and annoyed. These people are not really poor in spirit. A person is really poor in spirit when he hates himself and loves those who strike him on the cheek (cf. Mt 5:39)."
Well, the thirty seconds of silence after the reading felt like thirty years. It was so quiet I thought everyone could hear my heart beating. The soiled state of my soul was stretched out like a laundry line from one end of the chapel to the other, my sins flapping in the breeze: "Hypocrisy", "Pride", "Conceit". Although physically tired, I was spiritually on my toes after spending one round in the ring. In fact, both the singing of the Salve and the rosary took on a certain depth and a dimension I never knew. After praying, the friars lingered in the chapel kneeling quietly in the dark. In time, one by one, they stumbled out of their pews, kissed the floor as is our custom, and silently made their way upstairs. I stayed alone sitting in the back, but as my body tottered on the edge of sleep, my mind went off to work.
"She was very nervous as she picked up the phone. Besides, she was also tired after staying up late practicing with grandma who acted as her coach. Reading was never her best subject when she was in school. She grew up quicker than most since mom was hardly ever home. A man she never called dad was already dead. In time, she moved in with someone who promised her the world but left her nothing - nothing, that is, besides a broken arm and a baby. Now, besides God, grandma, and her little boy, she's all alone. More than once she thought of giving up, but grandma would warn her: 'Girl, you gotta get on with your life, have faith, find a job, things will get better, you'll see'. So, for once she decided to listen and found her first job."
I awoke with a start as a sense of guilt hovered about me. Was it just my overactive imagination? The admonition acted like a powerful searchlight scanning the depths of my heart, and there, on the bottom, hidden from the eyes of men lay my treasure: my "valuable time" and sense of self-importance. It was then I asked myself, "How is it possible that I, who received Him so reverently at the altar this morning, could reject Him mere minutes later on the phone? How sad it is to admit that while I was guarding my gold, the poor and humble One passed me by." I hated, but had to face, this frightening fact: that what could have been the very first call on her very first day, became, because of me, a wealthy friar, her very last.