Fr. A. is a monk who lives in one of the Palestinian Authority areas of the Holy Land. I am very thankful that I was able to meet him last week, and to be inspired by him to try to live a less pretentious, more real, and more practical spiritual life. Here is a man who is modeling the kind of life that we should all live. I will share something of that visit, but I will neglect many details in order not to draw undue attention to a man who already attracts more attention than he needs.
Our group had only planned to stop by his compound to find out about a certain monastery. After we were given entry through his huge metal gate, and exchanged greetings, he directed us to a place where we could enjoy a Judean sunset, and where we had a nice visit with some Orthodox Palestinian women out playing with their children. We had been invited back by Fr. A. for some liquid refreshment, but when we arrived back he suggested that we have dinner with him.
Hospitality is impressed upon me any time that I am around monastics, and this time was no exception. Fr. A. supplied us with a table full of food, most of which was from his own efforts. He had inherited the task of overseeing an olive grove that had been used by monastics for hundreds of years. He had also inherited a bombed out stone house and a neighborhood intent upon undoing all the good that he was trying to do. A few years ago there had been a request for someone to take on this job, and after four days and no other volunteers from his monastery, Fr. A. had taken the assignment. I don't think he has had any regrets.
We were very impressed by what this man has been able to accomplish in just a few years: rebuilding his house, walling in his compound, maintaining his olive trees, using natural methods to produce his abundant inventory of livestock and other farm animals and a garden. We ate his olive oil and bread, and meat from his farm. He shared other things with us that I know were luxuries for him. In other words, he was generous beyond words. We sat around his table for a long time, soaking up the hospitality, and encouraging one another. Before we left the table, he asked me for the names of my family so that he could pray for us.
His walls are not ornamental walls. He has to keep out people who are intent upon destroying his work, stealing his olives, poisoning or killing his livestock, and doing bodily harm to him. He has to be defensive at all times, and sleeps with a prayer rope and one eye open. He does good for the very people who are intent on killing him, and prays for them. Yet, he maintains a sense of humor and keeps a twinkle in his eye. I was astounded by the improvements that he has made in that place, and at the amount of daily work that is required just to maintain it. I asked him how he was able to pray as he should and yet accomplish all of the work. He conceded that there were days that he had to do more work than prayer, but that he would then make up the lost prayers on other days.
At some point in the evening I asked him if I could have his address so that I might send him something. He smiled and said that he "didn't have an address". When I pushed him a little on it he anticipated my thoughts and told me that I didn't need to think about sending him support, that he had people who were helping him. With a smile on his face and that twinkle in his eye he said, "all I need is your love, and your prayers".
Fr. A., you have both.
