Holy Spirits
Abbot Alcuin was almost at the door of his chamber when the knock came. He smiled slightly and nodded to himself. Brother John had come to tell him it was time for his rounds, and undoubtedly the good brother had brought one of his questions with him.
Alcuin opened the heavy door and exchanged greetings with Brother John. “It is time, Father,” said John deferentially.
“But there may be time for a question,” the Abbot replied. “What is it today?”
“I was wondering, Father,” said John after a moment’s hesitation, “about the brandy.”
“The brandy?” Alcuin said. “What of it?”
John took a deep breath. “Well, Father, you see… I understand that it dulls the pain of illness and can serve as a remedy for minor maladies. It is warming on a cold night, and there is no question that it is good.”
“But?”
“Well, Father, I see that the brandy we distil can be gifted to the nobles of the land, and it can be sold to raise revenue for our holy works. But… all things are good in moderation, yet it is so easy to be immoderate with strong drink. And immoderation can lead to loudness, arguments, impiety and lewd behaviour.”
“It can,” Alcuin agreed.
“Then why, Father, do we make it? Would it not be more proper to create something less open to abuse?”
Alcuin chuckled. “Walk with me today, Brother John. Observe, and you will be enlightened.”
With that, Alcuin began his rounds of the abbey. He gestured Brother John to fall in beside him and for a moment they walked in silence through God’s great house. A place of prayer, piety and order. A calm and peaceful place. A retreat from the madness of the outside world, where a man could be at one with the Lord and…
Alcuin and John had reached the cloisters when the peace was broken. A brown-robed Brother rushed up, greatly agitated. Alcuin gestured him to speak. “Father! Brother David is on the roof again!”
Alcuin sighed. “And so it begins,” he said, quickening his pace. With John beside him, he hurried outside the great church of the Abbey, where a little group of monks were gathered. They were gazing up at Brother David, who stood on the very end of the South Transept roof.
“What are you doing, Brother David?” Alcuin asked conversationally.
“Not Again! Not Again!” David shouted, once at the group below and once at the heavens above.
Alcuin made a questioning gesture, and one of the monks handed him a page from the book David had been transcribing. It was beautiful, handwritten in perfect script with illuminated letters and… well, it was beautiful apart from the utter mess that David had made of the very last letter on the page.
“Ah, is the good Brother still having problems with his calligraphy?” Alcuin asked.
“He’s been repeating that page since Anno Domini 983, Father Abbot,” said one of the nearby brothers. “It appears that this time he became a little complacent, perhaps improperly proud of his work, and an error resulted when he was almost finished.”
“And now he’s threatening to jump off the transept roof, Brother,” Alcuin admonished. “Perhaps you might consider the virtue of compassion at this point? It might be that the Christian thing to do would be to calm our agitated friend, and to offer him some help with the difficult parts of his work. Perhaps you might try that before you condemn his sin of pride?”
“Err, yes, Father Abbot,” said the monk. Before he could go on, Alcuin made a shooing gesture, sending the brothers about their work, and turned to John. He raised a finger and cocked his head, inviting a comment or observation.
“That was well handled, Father,” said John approvingly. “You reminded the brothers of their loyalty to one another, and that they should consider their own shortcomings before commenting on those of others. And you have solved the problem of Brother David being on the roof. Or at least set in motion a solution.”
All of that is true,” said Alcuin, but I was wondering if you could smell smoke.”
“Ah, yes, Father Abbot. Now that you mention it…”
“I rather suspect that the bakery has caught fire again. Would you please run over there and see if anything can be done?”
Brother John raced off, robe flapping, and Alcuin continued his rounds. He entered the great Church of the abbey and paused at the High Altar, offering a private but heartfelt prayer to get through the rest of the day without any further disaster. Lord Sandham was due in a few hours, visiting the abbey to make a pledge on behalf of his family. He would need to be shown an orderly and pious house of God in order to win his favour and the Abbey needed his donation – not least to replace the oft-destroyed bakery.
Alcuin remained there in the church, at peace and tranquil within, for a few minutes. Brother John rejoined him, smelling of smoke and charred dough. His expression was gloomy, which told Alcuin all he needed to know.
They stood in silence for a while, until the great church doors banged open and a scruffy Lay Brother came charging in. “Abbot! Abbot!” he yelled, ignoring shushing motions from Brother John. Alcuin sighed and motioned him to speak.
“Father Abbot! The Lay Brother Bartholomew has fallen in the well!”
“In the name of all that is good and holy,” said Abbot Alcuin in a tone of weary resignation. “How did he manage that?”
“I don’t know! Bartholomew is clumsy and a bit…”
“You may say ‘slow’, if you need to,” Brother John said. Bartholomew’s lack of mental acuity was well known, and many of the monks thought that was why his family had sent him to join the abbey rather than letting him loose in an uncaring and dangerous world.
“He’s stupid as a pig!” the lay brother exploded. “He tried to bring up some water for the sheep trough, and just tipped himself in!”
“And did no-one think to help him out of there?” Alcuin asked.
“Well, everyone is busy…”
“Busy?” Alcuin said. “What could they possibly be doing that is more important than rescuing the unfortunate Bartholomew from the well?”
“Father Abbot, Lay Brothers Aella and Gudrun got into a fight over whose fault it was that Bartholomew fell into the well, and in the confusion the sheep escaped. Most of the brothers went after them.”
“And this was deemed more important than stopping the fight or rescuing Bartholomew?”
“Brother Gudrun has an axe and is chasing Aella around the meadow. He’s from Denmark you know,” the lay brother babbled. “And the sheep, well, they’re in the cloisters. Most of them, anyway.”
“Most of them?” Still Alcuin’s beatific calm did not slip in the slightest.
“Some are… err… I think some may have found their way into the guest quarters.”
“If you would walk with me, Brother John,” Alcuin said, setting off towards the great church doors. “You see, this is one problem that we must face as senior officials of the Church. An abbey is a community without women, and as you may know women – in their role as wives or mothers – can act as a calming influence on the… I’m afraid I must say ‘unbridled stupidity’… of certain young men. Without them, we can only provide guidance and set a good example.”
“I see, Father Abbot,” said John.
“You begin to, perhaps,” Alcuin replied as they stepped out into the morning sunlight. “Now, if you could find any of the brothers who are not improvising a means to get David off the roof, trying to extinguish the bakery fire, chasing sheep or trying to murder one another, you might be able to rescue poor Bartholomew and clear out the guest quarters before our flock completely destroys them. When you’re done, report to me in my chambers.”
Alcuin walked slowly and calmly off, leaving Brother John amid the chaos. He would do well, Alcuin decided. John was the steadiest of the Brothers, and a good choice for more responsibility. Yes, everything would be fine in his hands. Alcuin carefully shut out the shouting and the smell of smoke, and smiled as he blessed soot-covered brothers running past in pursuit of escaped livestock. Finally, he reached his quarters and entered. He knelt and offered a prayer for deliverance that went on for a long, long time.
Alcuin was just about finished begging the Almighty to sort out the holy mess that his Abbey had become when a polite knock sounded at the door. He called out for John to enter, dusting off his robe as he stood.
John was filthy, streaked with soot and slime from the well. In his hand he held a woodsman’s axe which was mercifully free of bloodstains or bits of Brother Aella. John looked weary to the bone, and actually flinched as the sound of the midday bells reached him. His hands were visibly shaking.
“How are we faring?” Abbot Alcuin asked his subordinate. “Remember that Lord Sanford will be arriving at sundown. We need to impress him if we are to win his support.”
Brother John shuffled his feet. “Father Abbot, we have rescued Bartholomew from the well, and Gudrun has been pacified somewhat. Aella fled into the forest and is missing; we will have to search for him. Brother David has been rescued and has been sent to look for Aella, mainly to keep him away from the transept roof. We have retrieved most of the sheep from the cloisters and the brothers are working to repair the damage caused to the guest quarters.”
“And the bakery?” Alcuin asked.
“It was totally destroyed, Father Abbot,” John said, then added more brightly, “But the fire’s out.”
Alcuin could do nothing more than nod. He took down a bottle from a nearby shelf. “Brother John, you asked why we distil strong spirits?”
“Yes, Father Abbot,” John said.
“Tell me again what happened this morning,” Alcuin said as he poured large measures into a pair of goblets. He held out one to John, who downed it in one massive gulp.
“Father Abbot, there was a brawl in the abbey grounds, and the bakery was destroyed. A lay brother fell into the well. We are due a noble visit in a few short hours, and the guest quarters are a wreck. There are sheep loose everywhere. We have brothers missing and others who may at any time hurl themselves off the roof of God’s house.”
“Does that answer your question?” Alcuin asked.
Brother John held out his goblet for a refill, which suggested that it did.
Alcuin opened the heavy door and exchanged greetings with Brother John. “It is time, Father,” said John deferentially.
“But there may be time for a question,” the Abbot replied. “What is it today?”
“I was wondering, Father,” said John after a moment’s hesitation, “about the brandy.”
“The brandy?” Alcuin said. “What of it?”
John took a deep breath. “Well, Father, you see… I understand that it dulls the pain of illness and can serve as a remedy for minor maladies. It is warming on a cold night, and there is no question that it is good.”
“But?”
“Well, Father, I see that the brandy we distil can be gifted to the nobles of the land, and it can be sold to raise revenue for our holy works. But… all things are good in moderation, yet it is so easy to be immoderate with strong drink. And immoderation can lead to loudness, arguments, impiety and lewd behaviour.”
“It can,” Alcuin agreed.
“Then why, Father, do we make it? Would it not be more proper to create something less open to abuse?”
Alcuin chuckled. “Walk with me today, Brother John. Observe, and you will be enlightened.”
With that, Alcuin began his rounds of the abbey. He gestured Brother John to fall in beside him and for a moment they walked in silence through God’s great house. A place of prayer, piety and order. A calm and peaceful place. A retreat from the madness of the outside world, where a man could be at one with the Lord and…
Alcuin and John had reached the cloisters when the peace was broken. A brown-robed Brother rushed up, greatly agitated. Alcuin gestured him to speak. “Father! Brother David is on the roof again!”
Alcuin sighed. “And so it begins,” he said, quickening his pace. With John beside him, he hurried outside the great church of the Abbey, where a little group of monks were gathered. They were gazing up at Brother David, who stood on the very end of the South Transept roof.
“What are you doing, Brother David?” Alcuin asked conversationally.
“Not Again! Not Again!” David shouted, once at the group below and once at the heavens above.
Alcuin made a questioning gesture, and one of the monks handed him a page from the book David had been transcribing. It was beautiful, handwritten in perfect script with illuminated letters and… well, it was beautiful apart from the utter mess that David had made of the very last letter on the page.
“Ah, is the good Brother still having problems with his calligraphy?” Alcuin asked.
“He’s been repeating that page since Anno Domini 983, Father Abbot,” said one of the nearby brothers. “It appears that this time he became a little complacent, perhaps improperly proud of his work, and an error resulted when he was almost finished.”
“And now he’s threatening to jump off the transept roof, Brother,” Alcuin admonished. “Perhaps you might consider the virtue of compassion at this point? It might be that the Christian thing to do would be to calm our agitated friend, and to offer him some help with the difficult parts of his work. Perhaps you might try that before you condemn his sin of pride?”
“Err, yes, Father Abbot,” said the monk. Before he could go on, Alcuin made a shooing gesture, sending the brothers about their work, and turned to John. He raised a finger and cocked his head, inviting a comment or observation.
“That was well handled, Father,” said John approvingly. “You reminded the brothers of their loyalty to one another, and that they should consider their own shortcomings before commenting on those of others. And you have solved the problem of Brother David being on the roof. Or at least set in motion a solution.”
All of that is true,” said Alcuin, but I was wondering if you could smell smoke.”
“Ah, yes, Father Abbot. Now that you mention it…”
“I rather suspect that the bakery has caught fire again. Would you please run over there and see if anything can be done?”
Brother John raced off, robe flapping, and Alcuin continued his rounds. He entered the great Church of the abbey and paused at the High Altar, offering a private but heartfelt prayer to get through the rest of the day without any further disaster. Lord Sandham was due in a few hours, visiting the abbey to make a pledge on behalf of his family. He would need to be shown an orderly and pious house of God in order to win his favour and the Abbey needed his donation – not least to replace the oft-destroyed bakery.
Alcuin remained there in the church, at peace and tranquil within, for a few minutes. Brother John rejoined him, smelling of smoke and charred dough. His expression was gloomy, which told Alcuin all he needed to know.
They stood in silence for a while, until the great church doors banged open and a scruffy Lay Brother came charging in. “Abbot! Abbot!” he yelled, ignoring shushing motions from Brother John. Alcuin sighed and motioned him to speak.
“Father Abbot! The Lay Brother Bartholomew has fallen in the well!”
“In the name of all that is good and holy,” said Abbot Alcuin in a tone of weary resignation. “How did he manage that?”
“I don’t know! Bartholomew is clumsy and a bit…”
“You may say ‘slow’, if you need to,” Brother John said. Bartholomew’s lack of mental acuity was well known, and many of the monks thought that was why his family had sent him to join the abbey rather than letting him loose in an uncaring and dangerous world.
“He’s stupid as a pig!” the lay brother exploded. “He tried to bring up some water for the sheep trough, and just tipped himself in!”
“And did no-one think to help him out of there?” Alcuin asked.
“Well, everyone is busy…”
“Busy?” Alcuin said. “What could they possibly be doing that is more important than rescuing the unfortunate Bartholomew from the well?”
“Father Abbot, Lay Brothers Aella and Gudrun got into a fight over whose fault it was that Bartholomew fell into the well, and in the confusion the sheep escaped. Most of the brothers went after them.”
“And this was deemed more important than stopping the fight or rescuing Bartholomew?”
“Brother Gudrun has an axe and is chasing Aella around the meadow. He’s from Denmark you know,” the lay brother babbled. “And the sheep, well, they’re in the cloisters. Most of them, anyway.”
“Most of them?” Still Alcuin’s beatific calm did not slip in the slightest.
“Some are… err… I think some may have found their way into the guest quarters.”
“If you would walk with me, Brother John,” Alcuin said, setting off towards the great church doors. “You see, this is one problem that we must face as senior officials of the Church. An abbey is a community without women, and as you may know women – in their role as wives or mothers – can act as a calming influence on the… I’m afraid I must say ‘unbridled stupidity’… of certain young men. Without them, we can only provide guidance and set a good example.”
“I see, Father Abbot,” said John.
“You begin to, perhaps,” Alcuin replied as they stepped out into the morning sunlight. “Now, if you could find any of the brothers who are not improvising a means to get David off the roof, trying to extinguish the bakery fire, chasing sheep or trying to murder one another, you might be able to rescue poor Bartholomew and clear out the guest quarters before our flock completely destroys them. When you’re done, report to me in my chambers.”
Alcuin walked slowly and calmly off, leaving Brother John amid the chaos. He would do well, Alcuin decided. John was the steadiest of the Brothers, and a good choice for more responsibility. Yes, everything would be fine in his hands. Alcuin carefully shut out the shouting and the smell of smoke, and smiled as he blessed soot-covered brothers running past in pursuit of escaped livestock. Finally, he reached his quarters and entered. He knelt and offered a prayer for deliverance that went on for a long, long time.
Alcuin was just about finished begging the Almighty to sort out the holy mess that his Abbey had become when a polite knock sounded at the door. He called out for John to enter, dusting off his robe as he stood.
John was filthy, streaked with soot and slime from the well. In his hand he held a woodsman’s axe which was mercifully free of bloodstains or bits of Brother Aella. John looked weary to the bone, and actually flinched as the sound of the midday bells reached him. His hands were visibly shaking.
“How are we faring?” Abbot Alcuin asked his subordinate. “Remember that Lord Sanford will be arriving at sundown. We need to impress him if we are to win his support.”
Brother John shuffled his feet. “Father Abbot, we have rescued Bartholomew from the well, and Gudrun has been pacified somewhat. Aella fled into the forest and is missing; we will have to search for him. Brother David has been rescued and has been sent to look for Aella, mainly to keep him away from the transept roof. We have retrieved most of the sheep from the cloisters and the brothers are working to repair the damage caused to the guest quarters.”
“And the bakery?” Alcuin asked.
“It was totally destroyed, Father Abbot,” John said, then added more brightly, “But the fire’s out.”
Alcuin could do nothing more than nod. He took down a bottle from a nearby shelf. “Brother John, you asked why we distil strong spirits?”
“Yes, Father Abbot,” John said.
“Tell me again what happened this morning,” Alcuin said as he poured large measures into a pair of goblets. He held out one to John, who downed it in one massive gulp.
“Father Abbot, there was a brawl in the abbey grounds, and the bakery was destroyed. A lay brother fell into the well. We are due a noble visit in a few short hours, and the guest quarters are a wreck. There are sheep loose everywhere. We have brothers missing and others who may at any time hurl themselves off the roof of God’s house.”
“Does that answer your question?” Alcuin asked.
Brother John held out his goblet for a refill, which suggested that it did.
