“No,” Jobran replied, “But thank you anyway.”
The Abbot shrugged his shoulders, and poured his small glass of red wine. Carrying it back to the couch, he seated himself next to Jobran, and said, “I’m afraid that I’ve been somewhat remiss, by not speaking with you more frequently.”
Jobran shook his head, and said, “Not at all; you’ve got a very demanding schedule here at the monastery. Besides, I haven’t really been in a ‘communicative’ mood for most of the time while I’ve been here. But I’ve been fine; just lots of time for reading and thinking.”
“How long is it that you’ve been here?”
“Today is my 40th day.”
With genuine surprise, the Abbot said, “It’s been that long? I really have been remiss, then.” He took a small sip from his wineglass, then said, “So tell me, Jobran; how do you like it here?”
With mock fright, Jobran replied, “Don’t tell me that my time’s up?”
The Abbott laughed, and said, “No, nothing like that.”
Seriously, Jobran said, “I realize that I only paid in advance for a 30-day retreat, since that’s what my parish priest suggested; but I’ll gladly pay for my time beyond the 30 days.”
The Abbott waved it off with his hands, and said, “No, no, that’s not what I meant; you’ve already paid us far more than was necessary. Besides, since you join in and do the same daily chores as do all the monks and brothers here, you’re ‘earning your keep.’”
“Is my presence disruptive to the community? I don’t mean it to be,” Jobran said, apologetically.
The Abbot put his hand on Jobran’s shoulder reassuringly, and said, “I’m really starting off on the wrong foot here, Jobran; please forgive me. No, your presence here is not in the least disruptive to us. As you know, we regularly have lay people as our guests for weekend retreats, and some stay for longer periods, such as 30 days. We also have several oblates, lay people who follow our Rule and participate in the life of our community as much as their situations in life allow. Thus, we’re very used to having lay people around. So we’re glad to have you here, for as long as you wish.”
Jobran looked puzzled, and asked, “What’s the problem, then? Why did you want to speak with me?”
“There is no problem, Jobran,” the Abbot said, frustrated with himself. “I just wanted to touch base with you, to see how you are doing, spiritually.”
“Oh,” Jobran said, and he paused to think, before replying, “Actually, that’s a good question.”
Quietly, the Abbot said, “When you came here, it was under…well, some rather unfortunate circumstances. You were obviously distraught, and I think that your parish priest hoped that a period of relative solitude might give you a chance to find some degree of peace. I understand that you were going through a rather intense period of questioning, and even doubt—which is perfectly natural, given your circumstances.” Jobran remained silent, so the Abbot continued, “Do you mind talking about it? I certainly don’t mean to pry into your private affairs.”
Jobran shrugged, and said, “No, I guess I don’t mind. I need to get some of this out of me anyway, sooner or later.”
In an inviting tone, the Abbot said, “In addition to being an Abbot, I’m also a trained counselor, as well as a pretty good listener; and I hope you would think of me as a friend, as well.” Then, with a gentle laugh, he added, “Of course, as both a priest and an Abbott, I am authorized to take confessions, as well.”
Jobran gave a slight smile, and said, “I don’t think confession of sins is quite what I’m lacking.”
The Abbot smiled back, and said, “I didn’t think so. Why don’t you just start by telling me your impressions of life here in the monastery? Since we have an unusual number of lay visitors here, I’m accustomed to a wide variety of reactions: ranging from people who spend one night here and are convinced that they want to sell all of their worldly possessions and live here for the rest of their lives, to monks that have lived here for twenty years, and still have fantasies about running away one night and never coming back.” Jobran laughed. The Abbot took another sip of his wine, and said, “So how do you like being here?”
Jobran thought for a moment, then said, “Basically, I like it a great deal. I think it’s been very much a ‘healing’ experience for me.”
The Abbot looked pleased, and said, “That’s good to hear. In what ways?”
“I think that what I like the most about it is that it gives me the chance to study and think, without the need to be constantly answering to people. At home, I was constantly having to deal with phone calls and visits from well-meaning people, asking me how I was doing, wanting to take me out places socially, and so on. But by being here, I have a built-in excuse for being ‘antisocial.’” Jobran laughed, and added, “Besides, people here are more inclined to respect your privacy, which I appreciate.”
The Abbot nodded his head, and said, “Well, all of us need a period of solitude now and again. You’re welcome to participate as much or as little in our daily rituals as you wish—with the exception of the daily prayers, which I really feel that all of us need to attend. You’ve been doing the morning chores with us, for example, and you’re free to share in the afternoon chores if you wish, but you’ve indicated that you prefer to use that time for personal reading and study, which is fine. We don’t ask the paying guests to do any work, unless they ask to.”
“Actually, the two hours of scrubbing and sweeping in the morning is something I look forward to; it gives me a chance to think about what I’ve been reading. And I really appreciate the well-stocked library you’ve got here; you’ve got literally thousands of volumes of philosophy and theology. I’ve been studying so intensely these last few weeks, I read two or three books a day; that’s more than I read even at the height of my time in college.”
The Abbot nodded and said, “I must say, that our librarian has been thoroughly delighted by your presence here. He’s shown me a list of the books you’ve checked out; most of the books that you’ve been reading haven’t been touched by anyone here for years—serious books on theology, and doctrine.” With a slight frown, he continued, “Unfortunately, most of our new postulants aren’t very interested in such subjects. They like the structured times for prayer, and they really enjoy the communal activities such as meal times, and working and doing chores together. But as far as theology goes, I’m afraid that most of them are rather ‘lightweights’; they’d rather read the latest pop psychology guru, than some musty ‘Summa’ by St. Thomas Aquinas.”
Jobran nodded, and said, “Until my wife passed away, I was even worse. I doubt that I read more than three or four books on religion in my entire life, until recently.”
“Most of the people who come up for our weekend retreats find that, although spending a long weekend here proves to be a good experience for them, they’re very ready to leave after the weekend is over,” the Abbot said. “They miss the hustle and bustle of everyday life: the television bleating, car stereos booming, and so on. But in your case, you actually seem to like the solitude and quiet.”
Jobran nodded again, and replied, “I do. I like not having to answer to people all the time, and deal with their constant jabbering and questioning. I used to be a fairly sociable person, but now I much prefer solitude, and being away from people.”
The Abbot nodded, and took another sip of his wine. Then, in a careful tone, he said, “But solitude can be a trap, too. The monastery is not a place to turn to escape from the world. Yes, it is a place to turn once you have renounced the world, but I’m not certain that that is truly what you’ve done.”
Jobran shook his head vehemently, and said, “On the contrary, I feel like that is exactly what I’ve done. I’ve resigned from my teaching job, and given up any thought of a regular career for myself. I haven’t spoken to any of my friends or family in weeks. I’ve s
ubordinated everything in my life to my goal.”
With genuine curiosity, the Abbot asked, “And your goal is…?”
With a voice of utter conviction, Jobran said, “To find out the truth about eternal life; is my wife still in existence somewhere—and if so, where? In comparison to the importance of that one question, everything else pales to insignificance for me.”
“Interesting,” murmured the Abbot. “And you’re not even really Catholic— yet.”
Jobran went on, “I grant you that I was no different from anyone else until this tragedy happened to me. But now, it’s remarkable to me that people that claim to believe in the doctrine of eternal life don’t set everything else aside, in order to pursue it. If we truly are going to live forever in a place that is determined by the way we live our lives here on earth, then it seems almost nonsensical to waste time on the cares and considerations of this world. You would think we would devote every moment of every day to living for the anticipation of that future world, beside which everything here is meaningless.”
The Abbott grew animated, and said, “In fact, earlier in the Christian tradition, there were such people called ‘anchorites,’ or ‘eremites,’ who were renowned for giving up all earthly attachments. Some of them would sit up on top of a pole, and spend all day in prayer, eating no more than was necessary to stay alive. They were much respected by the townspeople.”
Jobran nodded, and said, “To me, that seems like the only rational thing to do, for someone who truly believes what they professed to believe.”
The Abbot tossed his hands into the air, and said, “But I don’t suppose that we’re ever going to see that level of commitment again. Even our own monks are often more interested in watching a football game on TV, than in spending time in fasting and prayer.”
“Is that disappointing to you?” Jobran asked.
The Abbot shrugged, and said, “At least they have made the commitment to give up their secular lives. But like you, what is truly remarkable to me is the number of people that profess to believe in our faith who don’t give up their secular lives.”
Jobran nodded, and said, “It almost makes you wonder about the degree to which they really believe in the doctrine.”
The Abbot stroked his chin thoughtfully, and said, “And that’s one thing that I really wanted to talk with you about: Belief. Although your knowledge about theological matters is growing at an astounding rate, from what I can see, it seems very far from having given you much ‘inner peace.’”
Jobran nodded in assent, and said, “I’ve got to agree with you there. Although I can now tell you what St. Thomas and St. Augustine believed about life after death, I can’t say that I believe it myself—although in many respects, I really wish that I could. For example, it would be extremely comforting to know that Sophia is in Heaven right now—or even Purgatory—and is simply waiting for me to join her. But the fact that Thomas and Augustine believed such things simply isn’t satisfying to me, somehow.”
The Abbot raised his index finger, and said, “Ahh, but that is where study is not enough; you must also have faith.”
Jobran added, rather bluntly, “‘Faith’ is a concept that I have a lot of problems with. To me, it seems like ‘faith’ is just something people turn to when they really don’t have any true answers.”
Quickly, the Abbot replied, “I would think that faith is the ‘true answer’; to many things, at least.” He took a longer sip of his glass of wine, and said, “Father Sanchez warned me that you had some difficulties with the notion of faith, however.”
In a reasonable tone, Jobran said, “I think that it’s hard for me to just affirm that ‘Faith is the answer,’ because the Catholic Church doesn’t take that position across the board. For example, there is a huge tradition of philosophical apologetics in the Catholic Church. People like St. Thomas, Augustine, and Anselm gave what they felt were reasonable answers to almost every possible objection they knew of—they didn’t just say, ‘have faith.’ When they felt they had an answer, they gave it. Again, it seems to me that ‘faith’ is only invoked when you don’t have any answers.”
The Abbot said in a pedagogic tone, “Faith is simply our intellectual assent to a truth revealed by God based on his authority, rather than simply based on the evidence presented to us. Faith is our loving response to God’s own love for us. It shows our trust in him, that we believe he knows what is best for us.”
Unfazed, Jobran said, “And yet the Church does encourage people to read and study, in order to try and find out the answers to many of our questions.” Searching for the right way to express his thoughts, he added, “I just have trouble when I come to that yawning gap between what I know, and what I would like to know, or be able to believe.”
Blandly, the Abbot added, “Faith helps us to bridge the gaps between what we know, and what we need to do.”
In a fiery voice, Jobran said, “But I can’t be satisfied with just being told to ‘have faith’—I need to know. I need to know with absolute certainty if Heaven is a reality; and if so, what are the conditions for people getting there? And most importantly, whether I can be reunited with Sophia there.”
Calmly, the Abbot replied, “What the Church teaches us about Heaven is all that we need to know during this lifetime. The important thing is to realize that it is a reality, and to live our lives with that knowledge.”
Jobran shot back, “But can’t you see, that’s not enough for me!”
The Abbot looked surprised, and said, “Heaven isn’t enough for you?”
Jobran replied without blinking, “Certain conceptions of Heaven, yes; others, I’m not so sure. For example, Jesus is supposed to have said that in the afterlife, ‘they neither marry, nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels of God in heaven.’ (Mt 23:30) I wouldn’t want eternal life, if it meant I would have to live apart from my darling Sophia; she is my only love, my only light.”
The Abbot said, “Don’t you think that what our heavenly Father provides for us will be adequate? It certainly isn’t necessary to live a traditional married life in the afterlife in order to be happy; it isn’t even a ‘necessity’ in the present life. Monks and nuns certainly won’t acquire a spouse in the hereafter.”
“For me, it is a necessity. Life without Sophia is barren, meaningless.”
The Abbot was about to reply, then he stopped himself. He drank the last of his glass of wine, then got up to pour himself another glass. “Sure you won’t have a glass?” he asked Jobran, who shook his head. After returning with his refilled glass, the Abbot said, “There’s another aspect to this that you appear not to be considering. In Heaven, our ‘natural’ form of love will be changed to supernatural, which is a far greater state.”
Jobran looked worried, and replied anxiously, “What are you saying? That Sophia and I won’t even recognize each other, if we both make it to Heaven?”
The Abbot replied smoothly, “Oh, we will certainly recognize our loved ones in Heaven, and will love them in a greater way than we did on Earth. But by the same token, you will no longer be ‘married’ in the earthly, conjugal sense.”
Jobran replied calmly, “Then Heaven is of no interest to me.”
The Abbot looked greatly surprised. “I thought you were a Christian; how can Heaven possibly be of no interest to you? To be in Heaven is to be in God’s presence, forever! It is a state of perfect happiness, and perfect peace.”
“The only way I could possibly experience perfect peace and happiness would be with Sophia; apart from her, my life is Hell—literally.”
Frustrated, the Abbot said, “But no one is saying that you would be ‘without’ Sophia; I’m only saying that there would be a change in the fundamental nature of your relationship. It would be purified, and infused with genuine, selfless love.”
“If that is what you believe Heaven is like, then it
almost makes me wish that the atheists were correct, and that Heaven is just a myth,” Jobran said.
In a voice filled with increasing exasperation, the Abbot said, “Well, then, suppose that the atheists are right and Heaven doesn’t really exist. How would the ‘knowledge’ of this improve your life?”
With certainly Jobran replied, “It would greatly simplify it. If I knew there was no possibility of being reunited with Sophia in another life, then I would kill myself.”
The Abbot shook his head, and said, “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme? Even atheists generally feel that there is some reason for living.”
Jobran replied, “Extreme or not, that’s the way it is for me,” and he sat on the couch, with his arms folded across his chest.
The Abbot appeared to be stumped, so he sipped his wine, as he thought of another avenue of approach. Sitting back down next to Jobran on the couch, he said, “Well, I frankly don’t really know just what the afterlife is like; and the Church doesn’t teach about it in the sort of detail that you apparently want. St. Paul said, ‘Eye has not seen, ear has not heard…what God has prepared for those who love him.’ (1 Cor 2:9)” In voice of genuine sympathy, he added, “But God will surely provide whatever is needed for our true happiness—whether it is possible for you and Sophia to set up ‘housekeeping’ together, or not.”
In an agitated voice, Jobran replied, “But can’t you see—that’s precisely the thing that I need to find out!” He sat back in the couch, looking defeated. “I can’t believe that the Catholic Church has been around for almost two thousand years, and can’t even come up with more details than you’ve given me.”
A notion occurred to the Abbot, and he said in a tentative voice, “Well, although the official teaching of the church doesn’t go into such things in exhaustive detail, there are some people—saints, and visionaries—who have provided more detailed descriptions of what Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory are like.”
Beyond Heaven and Earth Page 9