laborare, laborare est orare. It means: To pray is to work and to work is to pray. Prayer is the centre of our lives. That’s what it’s all about. Prayer. Do you pray, Finbar? You rarely come to the chapel.’
Finn hung his head miserably. ‘I’m not a believer, Father. You know that.’
Jerome smiled. ‘Then there’d be many times during the day when you’d have real trouble being a Benedictine.’ His voice sobered. ‘Look, when you came here, your condition was acute; now you’re in the chronic phase, and you have to learn to cope with life again. You won’t recover yourself here, Finbar. This isn’t a place to hide from life. We’ve done as much as we can. You’re strong enough now. It’s time you thought of leaving.’
Stricken, Finn returned to his cottage and looked around at the sparse furniture, his blue coffee mug, his few books, and the plain white bedspread visible through the open door of the bedroom. Out of the window, he could see a honeyeater perched on the bottlebrush and, in the near paddock, Kevin berating the hapless tractor. Walking away from the main cloister, Finn had felt angry and abandoned. So that’s it. They pick you up and throw you out like so much garbage. Now, in this little place where he had lain each night with his brokenness, the anger turned to sadness. Not grief, he thought, surprised. Just a deep sadness and sense of loss.
Weariness suddenly turned his limbs to liquid, and he went into his bedroom to lie down. It seemed like hours before his head finally rested on the pillow and the viscous substance that was his body found the hollows and contours of his bed. Jerome didn’t find him worthy. He turned onto his side and looked at the simple crucifix on the wall. He willed himself to believe. He prayed: If you are there, make me believe . But the plaster face, glazed with pain, was turned away. It was then that Finn accepted what he’d known in his heart all along. This was a monastery of Catholic monks whose lives were dedicated to serving a god he couldn’t acknowledge. Father Jerome was right. It was time to go.
He left a few days later, again on a bus. Despite his professed love for the sea, he perversely turned inland, partly as a self-imposed penance and partly because he was attracted by a name attached to a tiny speck on the map. He had studied the towns along the bus route, looking for something small. Passing on the provincial city of Cradletown and the prominent town of Mystic, he found what he was seeking halfway between the two larger centres. Opportunity. That would be his destination.
Before he left, Kevin shook his hand.
‘I’ll miss you, old mate. Just like you to go off when there’s work to be done.’ He grinned crookedly. ‘You look after yourself now, and don’t forget all I taught you about vegies.’
Boniface traced a cross on Finn’s forehead and murmured a blessing. ‘You’ll know what to do when the time is right, Finbar. Remember, the Silence isn’t designed to let you brood. It’s to give you space to listen. Look into your heart and listen, my friend. Go with God’s blessing.’
Jerome walked him to the gate. ‘Go in peace, Michael.’
‘Thank you, Father. For everything. But from now on my name is Finbar.’
‘Go in peace, Finbar.’
It was a long trip from the coast, and when Finn reached his destination and alighted from the bus it was mid-afternoon. He headed for the inevitable corner pub which was circled on both levels with a classic iron-lace verandah. He kept his eyes lowered, but was forced to nod to an old codger who was carefully negotiating the bar door. Finn felt his appraising gaze.
‘Jes’ steppin’ out to check on old Blue here,’ the man said, indicating a stringy cattle dog snoring peacefully in a patch of sunlight. ‘Blue’s me dog,’ he added helpfully. ‘I’m Clive— Cocky to me mates.’ His face widened in a toothless grin.
‘Nice to meet you, Cocky—Clive. I’m Finbar,’ he
Finn hung his head miserably. ‘I’m not a believer, Father. You know that.’
Jerome smiled. ‘Then there’d be many times during the day when you’d have real trouble being a Benedictine.’ His voice sobered. ‘Look, when you came here, your condition was acute; now you’re in the chronic phase, and you have to learn to cope with life again. You won’t recover yourself here, Finbar. This isn’t a place to hide from life. We’ve done as much as we can. You’re strong enough now. It’s time you thought of leaving.’
Stricken, Finn returned to his cottage and looked around at the sparse furniture, his blue coffee mug, his few books, and the plain white bedspread visible through the open door of the bedroom. Out of the window, he could see a honeyeater perched on the bottlebrush and, in the near paddock, Kevin berating the hapless tractor. Walking away from the main cloister, Finn had felt angry and abandoned. So that’s it. They pick you up and throw you out like so much garbage. Now, in this little place where he had lain each night with his brokenness, the anger turned to sadness. Not grief, he thought, surprised. Just a deep sadness and sense of loss.
Weariness suddenly turned his limbs to liquid, and he went into his bedroom to lie down. It seemed like hours before his head finally rested on the pillow and the viscous substance that was his body found the hollows and contours of his bed. Jerome didn’t find him worthy. He turned onto his side and looked at the simple crucifix on the wall. He willed himself to believe. He prayed: If you are there, make me believe . But the plaster face, glazed with pain, was turned away. It was then that Finn accepted what he’d known in his heart all along. This was a monastery of Catholic monks whose lives were dedicated to serving a god he couldn’t acknowledge. Father Jerome was right. It was time to go.
He left a few days later, again on a bus. Despite his professed love for the sea, he perversely turned inland, partly as a self-imposed penance and partly because he was attracted by a name attached to a tiny speck on the map. He had studied the towns along the bus route, looking for something small. Passing on the provincial city of Cradletown and the prominent town of Mystic, he found what he was seeking halfway between the two larger centres. Opportunity. That would be his destination.
Before he left, Kevin shook his hand.
‘I’ll miss you, old mate. Just like you to go off when there’s work to be done.’ He grinned crookedly. ‘You look after yourself now, and don’t forget all I taught you about vegies.’
Boniface traced a cross on Finn’s forehead and murmured a blessing. ‘You’ll know what to do when the time is right, Finbar. Remember, the Silence isn’t designed to let you brood. It’s to give you space to listen. Look into your heart and listen, my friend. Go with God’s blessing.’
Jerome walked him to the gate. ‘Go in peace, Michael.’
‘Thank you, Father. For everything. But from now on my name is Finbar.’
‘Go in peace, Finbar.’
It was a long trip from the coast, and when Finn reached his destination and alighted from the bus it was mid-afternoon. He headed for the inevitable corner pub which was circled on both levels with a classic iron-lace verandah. He kept his eyes lowered, but was forced to nod to an old codger who was carefully negotiating the bar door. Finn felt his appraising gaze.
‘Jes’ steppin’ out to check on old Blue here,’ the man said, indicating a stringy cattle dog snoring peacefully in a patch of sunlight. ‘Blue’s me dog,’ he added helpfully. ‘I’m Clive— Cocky to me mates.’ His face widened in a toothless grin.
‘Nice to meet you, Cocky—Clive. I’m Finbar,’ he
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