Stinging Nettle Soup

   “Alfred,” said Mother, “Just what am I going to do? As wonderful as Easter Sunday was, last Sunday was terrible. That Moana Crutchley! What am I going to do?”

            Alfred looked up from his new copy of the American Art Review and said, “What seems to be the difficulty Mother?”

            “You know, Alfred, that when Ima Hatchett left the Church I thought that we had weeded out the major source of complaining. But I was wrong. That Crutchley woman is quite onerous. What bothers me is that she is always carping about something. She is an authority about absolutely everything and she is just so negative. Everything must be performed to her expectations and she is always right. What confuses me is that she acts so spiritual, and when I listen to her pray; her prayers are so much more eloquent than mine.”

            “I’ve had a little experience with her myself Mother,” said Alfred. “Mind you, I think she does better with men than with women, but I’ve noticed that she’s a sharp shooter, and a subtle one at that. If you’re not careful you can wind up full of holes and you don’t know how you got them.”

            “That’s exactly what I have been experiencing Alfred,” said Mother.

            “Abbot Wigbert said that evil is like Whack-a-Mole game,” said Alfred. You bang it down in one place and it pops up in another. As Abbot Wigbert said, it’s just an uncomfortable part of growing in grace, but let me tell you a story that might help.”

            “One spring day when I was a little boy in short pants I was running in the garden behind our home when I ran through some bushes not realizing that they were stinging nettle. It hurt like billy-yo and I ran crying to the house. The first thing my mother did was gently rub off the area with cold water and a rag; then she applied a paste of baking soda and water.

            “She asked me where the stinging nettle was, because she said she had an interesting way of dealing with it. She put on some rubber gloves, took a plastic grocery bag, and a pair of clippers. Then we went to the back of the garden and I showed her where the stinging nettle patch was and she cut a bag full of stinging nettle.

            “When we got back to the kitchen she put the kettle on and when it came to a boil she put the stinging nettle in a sieve and poured hot water over it which took all the sting out it. Then she cut it up and cooked it with carrots, onions and potatoes, and made soup out of it.

            “It tasted OK, if you like that sort of thing, but I didn't really care for it because I remembered how much it stung; but my father thought the stinging nettle soup was quite fine.

            “Mother,” continued Alfred, “dealing with Moana is like dealing with stinging nettles. First, as much as you can, avoid going into the stinging nettle patch. Second don’t wear short pants in that part of the garden; you have to go in with your defences up. Third, you may need to handle encounters with her with kid gloves on. Having said that, remember that even stinging nettle has its uses. She probably can’t help what she is, and inside she’s probably just an unhappy, frightened woman.”

“We know that for those who love God all things work together for good” [Romans 8:28].

Yorkshire Parkin Cake

It was the Tuesday after Easter and Mother and Alfred were enjoying a mid-morning cup of St. Helene coffee, and a wee bit of Parkin; that moist, dark, Yorkshire cake, made of ginger, oatmeal, and black treacle molasses.

“Ah, Mother,” said Alfred, “What a treat! Did you know that Parkin is made with Lyle’s Golden Syrup, and Lyle’s Black Treacle Molasses? I have always been fascinated by the Lyles motto, “Out of the strong came sweetness.”

“That’s such an odd saying, Alfred,” said Mother. “Where does it come from?”

“Mother, I had wondered about the same thing. After a little research I discovered that it comes from the Book of Judges where Samson kills a lion and bees build a nest in the carcass. Samson comes by later and scoops out some honey from the carcass, then poses a riddle, “Out of the strong came something sweet.”          

            “How odd,” said Mother, taking a bite of her Yorkshire Parkin Cake. “My, that’s a strong flavor.”

            “Yes, indeed, Mother, one of many strong flavors,” said Alfred. “With joy, it is only one of many strong flavors.”

            “Yes! Quite! Alfred,” said Mother. “And do you know what has been another strong flavor for me? Easter! Alfred. “Easter!”

            “Yes! Quite! Mother,” said Alfred.”

            “What I hadn’t expected, Alfred,” said Mother, “was that the presence of Jesus would be so real, so very real. It’s like that prayer from the Book of Common Prayer,”

            “What prayer is that, Mother,” asked Alfred?

            “Just a moment,” said Mother, leaving the room and returning a moment later with her Book of Common Prayer. She ruffled through the pages and finally read,

Be present, be present, O Jesus, our great High Priest, as you

were present with your disciples, and be known to us in the

breaking of bread; who live and reign with the Father and

the Holy Spirit, now and for ever. Amen.

            “It was just like that for me, Alfred,” said Mother. “When I talked with Abbot Wigbert in the garden last week I told him everything that had happened. He gave me Absolution, and I knew, I absolutely knew that I was forgiven. I have been floating ever since. But when I knelt at the Altar Rail on Easter Sunday I felt the Presence of Jesus in a way so strongly that I stand amazed.”

            Alfred bowed his head in gratitude. “Mother,” he said, I know what you mean. Last year at Easter when we were singing that beautiful Palestrina hymn, ‘When the Strife is O’er, the Battle Done,” I was undone. When we came to the fourth verse, ‘He closed the yawning gates of hell, the bars from heaven’s high portals fell,’ I knew in my heart of hearts that he had died for me.  Mother, that was when I surrendered my life to Him.”

            Mother smiled, “I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time last year, but I really felt so bereft, so very alone, and I knew you had discovered something precious that I thought I could never have.”

            “Mother,” said Alfred, “Don’t worry about it. Goodness knows that coming to faith wasn’t easy for me either.”

“Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your soul” [1 Peter 1:8-9].

In The Garden

In the garden where I love to go

There are lilies standing in a row,

All their faces shining bright,

Oh, what a wond’rous beauteous sight.

                   ~ Alfred Montrose

           “There sits Mother,” commented Alfred to himself, “and Abbot Wigbert beneath the blue wisteria, chair by chair, Mother with her Prayer Book upon her knee, and seraphic Abbot Wigbert with a gentle smile upon his face.”

            Half an hour previously Alfred had stepped out of the solarium onto the garden path with a tray bearing afternoon tea. The Brown Betty teapot with Scottish Blend tea, three Royal Standard Fine Bone China Floral cups and saucers, and a dainty dish of McVitie’s Digestive Biscuits. What a fine repast for a springtime afternoon.

            Abbot Wigbert had caught Alfred’s eye and with an almost imperceptible nod and had warned him away. It was Mother’s time and she had serious business to do with God, with Abbot Wigbert, and with her troubled conscience.

            Alfred nodded to the Abbot, turned about face, headed quietly back to the kitchen, and put the tray back down on the kitchen counter. He looked out the window briefly at Mother and Abbot Wigbert, then averted his eyes and stood in awe, amazed at the grace of God. Who would have thought that Mother would actually make a confession to God in the presence of the Abbot? Will wonders never cease?

            Alfred poured himself a cup of tea, picked up three McVitie’s biscuits, and headed to the study with Pippa the frou-frou dog trailing behind him. As he sat at his mahogany 19th Century Partner's Library Desk he briefly bowed his head and said a prayer for Mother. Truth be told Alfred was quite pleased. He loved Mother dearly and he knew that she wasn’t quite easy in her mind over that business with Paolo Vizzini years ago.

            Alfred had never felt the need for a formal confession. Goodness knows that he had spent many hours pouring his heart out to God in his own private prayers, and what few things  that still nagged him he had shared with his good friend Horace Whittington. It was wonderful to have a trustworthy friend.

            In their own ways both Mother and Alfred had truly discovered that it is good not to be alone with their sins, and the pains, of the past.

__________________________________________________

 “Examine your lives and conduct by the rule of God’s commandments, that you may perceive wherein you have offended in what you have done or left undone, whether in thought, word, or deed. And acknowledge your sins before Almighty God, with full purpose of amendment of life, being ready to make restitution for all injuries and wrongs done by you to others; and also being ready to forgive those who have offended you, in order that you yourselves may be forgiven. And then, being reconciled with one another, come to the banquet of that most heavenly Food.

And if, in your preparation, you need help and counsel, then go and open your grief to a discreet and understanding priest, and confess your sins, that you may receive the benefit of absolution, and spiritual counsel and advice; to the removal of scruple and doubt, the assurance of pardon, and the strengthening of your faith” [The Exhortation in the Book of Common Prayer, p. 317].

The Abbot

            Abbot Wigbert had been with Mother and Alfred for two days and the household had fallen into a new routine. Mother and Alfred were sitting out under the pergola in the back garden, and it was mid-afternoon.

            “I don’t quite know what I expected Mother,” said Alfred, “but it certainly wasn’t this fusion of solemnity and joy.”

“You know Alfred,” said Mother, “”I asked him how we should address him. He said, ‘Just call me Wiggy. Wiggy at home and Abbot Wigbert in the parish.

“Wiggy!” snorted Alfred, taking a sip of his Lapsang Souchong Tea. “Wiggy!”

“He prays four times a day,” said Mother, “and he has invited us to pray with him; Morning Prayer, Noonday Prayer, Evening Prayer, and Compline at night. It’s a bit much, but it really does add a sense of orderliness and peace to the day.”

“Mother,” said Alfred, “He also gets up to pray the Office of Vigil at sunrise.”

“I know,” said Mother, “he asked if I would lay out the makings for coffee in the morning so he could make himself a mug before Vigil.”

“A mug?” said Alfred. “I didn’t know we had any mugs.”

“A mug” replied Mother!

            Alfred took another sip of Lapsang Soochong, then asked, “Out of curiosity, Mother, what mug did you give him?”

            “The one that Jeremy left the last time that he and Winifred visited,” said Mother. “You know, the one that says ‘Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil.”

            Alfred laughed, “You gave a Monk a mug with three Monkeys on it? What did he say?”

            Mother replied, “He actually said, ‘Monkey see. Monkey do.’ Then he added that “Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil,” was sound advice for Monks as well as Monkeys, and probably wouldn’t do the rest of the Church any harm either.”

            “Wiggy is a remarkable man,” said Alfred. “It’s not just his sense of humor. I found him out in the garden yesterday afternoon pulling weeds. Do you know what he said Mother? He said, ‘It’s all about balance. If I have not worked I cannot pray, and if I have not prayed, I cannot work.’”

            “That would explain why he insisted on doing the dishes after breakfast,” said Mother. “He the easiest house guest I’ve ever had. He also asked if I would mind if he cooked us dinner on Friday. “I think he doesn’t eat meat on Friday. He says that he wants to cook us Grey Havens Fish Stew. It’s sounds delicious.”

            “Hmm,” said Alfred, looking at the recipe that Mother had handed him, “that looks like a wonderful way to fast.’

St. Benedict’s Instruction to Abbots: “He must show forethought and consideration in his orders, and whether the task he assigns concerns God or the world, he should be discerning and moderate, bearing in mind the discretion of holy Jacob, who said: If I drive my flocks too hard, they will all die in a single day (Gen 33:13). Therefore, drawing on this and other examples of discretion, the mother of virtues, he must so arrange everything that the strong have something to yearn for and the weak nothing to run from” [The Rule, Chapter 64].

Rice Pudding

“Alfred,” said Mother, “I have discovered a wonderful recipe for Rice Pudding,” putting a bowl of rice pudding down in front of Alfred.

“Oh?” said Alfred.

“The old recipe I had took eight hours in my Euro-Pro Ninja Multi Cooker” said Mother. “This new recipe is quite as good, and only takes a minute or two in the microwave.”

Alfred looked up from his New York Times Crossword and asked, “What’s a eight letter word for improbable? It has to start with a “U”…“Oh, I know, “Unlikely,” said Alfred, picking up his Crown Princess Pattern silver dessert spoon.

“I have also discovered a new word,” said Mother. “‘Snarky’, as in “Don’t be snarky, Alfred.”

“Snarky,” asked Alfred, “Is that a word?”

            “It means ‘crotchety’ Alfred,” said Mother. “We have to be open to trying new things.”

            “Well, there you have me,” said Alfred. “You are quite right.” He paused, took a spoonful of the rice pudding, and added, “Hmmm!”

            “I take it, that ‘Hmmm’ means you like it?” asked Mother.

            “What is it, Mother,” asked Alfred, putting the second spoonful in his mouth and savouring it.”

            Mother retreated to the kitchen and returned with a tin of Ambrosia Creamy Rice Pudding. “Our Scottish housekeeper Agnes Findlay swears by it. I think that she picked it up at the British Emporium in Grapevine.”

            “Quite good, Mother, quite good,” said Alfred scraping out the last of the rice pudding from his bowl.” 

            “As we get older Alfred,” said Mother, “I don’t want us to get stuck in our ways. Nothing could be worse than degenerating into two stuffy old people who won’t try new things.”

            “You mean ‘Grumpa’ and ‘Grumpma,’” said Alfred.

            “Exactly,” said Mother, “Grumpy, rocking on our rocking chairs and vegetating in the sun. By the way Alfred, I decided to accept Father Goodfellow’s invitation to host Abbot Wigbert next week. That ought to be interesting; I’ve never met a monk before.”

            “Wigbert,” that’s an odd name,” said Alfred.

            “That’s what I thought,” answered Mother, so I asked Father Goodfellow about it. He said it means something like Fighter, Warrior and Bright.”

            “Bright Warrior?” said Alfred. “If he lives up to his name he ought to be a spark to have around. Hosting an Abbot is like having something old and something new at the same time. Centuries old in tradition, but new to us.”

            “You and I, Alfred,” said Mother, “have always enjoyed having an adventure, and this ought to be an adventure. After all, if I understand Father Goodfellow correctly, Christian life is an adventure, a journey to new places we’ve never been before.”

            “It’s kind of like Ambrosia Creamy Rice Pudding,” said Alfred. “God values the old things, yet He is always doing new things.”

 “Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare; before they spring forth I tell you of them” [Isaiah 42:9].

Horse Latitudes

            “Alfred,” said Mother, “I am in the dumps, in the doldrums, and I just can’t shake off this feeling of lethargy.”

            “Horse Latitudes,” Mother, “Horse Latitudes,” said Alfred. “I was feeling much the same thing.”

            “What are Horse Latitudes, Alfred,” asked Mother?

             “The old tales,” said Alfred, “tell us that when sailing ships got in the subtropical zone where winds were weak and sails would hang limp, the ships would just sit becalmed waiting for a breeze. As water and food began to be depleted they would throw their horses and cattle overboard to save on supplies.”

            “Oh, Alfred,” said Mother, “say it isn’t so.”

            “Well,” said Alfred, “In any event the word ‘doldrums’ is another nautical term for getting stuck in the subtropical zone.  I remember a poem by Coleridge that describes it pretty well:

Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, no breath no motion;

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean.”[i]

            “That,” said Mother, emphatically, “is exactly how I feel, stuck! What can we do, Alfred, what can we do?”

            “In a way Mother, it’s the Mid-Lent Blues, and it’s a long way to Easter.” said Alfred, “I’m in a bit a funk myself, and I surely wish I hadn’t given up smoking for Lent. It’s dashed hard.  I’ve been thinking about it, and I have an idea. I learned a long time ago in business that if I wanted to succeed I had to just keep putting one foot in front of the other no matter how I felt. It is sort of like Cricket, “Don’t worry about the ball hitting the wicket, just keep running between the wickets if you want to rack up a score.”

            “We need to do something, Alfred,” said Mother. How do you get out of the doldrums?”

            “First,” said Alfred, “I remind myself not to poke around at my feelings to take my temperature.  If I did that in business I wouldn’t get anywhere. Then in business I pay special attention to keeping a regular discipline about the things I needed to do. So I thought that if I did the same thing spiritually it would turn out just fine.”

            “Alfred,” said Mother, “Don’t beat around the bush. Get to it! What did you do?”

            “Well, Mother,” said Alfred it was actually very simple. I decided to do Morning Prayer from The Book of Common Prayer. When things got busy last month I slacked off, but I have a suggestion. Why don’t we do Morning Prayer together at the breakfast table every morning?”

            “Really, Alfred?” said Mother, “But I like to do the Sudoku in the paper every morning.”

            “That’s perfectly alright Mother,” said Alfred. “I like to do the Crossword. How about having a second cup of coffee, doing the crossword and Sudoku, and then doing Morning Prayer?”

            “Alfred,” said Mother, “that sounds just fine.  Let’s try it?”

“Morning by morning he awakens; he awakens my ear to hear as those who are taught. The Lord GOD has opened my ear, and I was not rebellious; I turned not backward” [Isaiah 50:4-5]. 

           

---

[i]Samuel Taylor Coleridge: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner Samuel 

Mother and Alfred's Lenten Discipline

“Mother,” said Alfred triumphantly, “I know what I have decided to give up for Lent! I have decided to give us spinach!”

“Alfred,” said Mother, “You don’t even like spinach!”

“Yes, I know Mother, but giving up spinach is a whole lot easier than giving up smoking, which is I what I really want to do.”

“Alfred, I noticed,” said Mother, you haven’t been smoking since Ash Wednesday. It looks like you’ve already given it up for Lent!”

“I know, Mother, I know,” said Alfred, “it’s just that if I admit it out loud, then I’m afraid I will really have to stick to it. I might be biting off more than I can chew. The very idea of giving up things for Lent is something we never did when I was growing up.”

“That is why, Alfred,” said Mother, “I always eat meat during Lent.  My family was Roman Catholic and every Lent we were condemned to eat fish. We weren’t all that devout.  It was sort of a Talliaferro family joke, ‘Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes, so get some rest and eat fish on Friday; ‘cause the priest says so.’”

            “What stirred up all this, Alfred,” asked Mother?

            “It was the Ash Wednesday service, Mother,” said Alfred, “That line about ‘prayer, fasting, and self-denial’ just stuck in my mind. I really felt I ought to do something.”

            “You know, you are right Alfred,” said Mother. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I suppose that just because my family treated it like some nonsense imposed by the priest, doesn’t mean that it’s not a right thing to do.”

            Mother wandered off into the kitchen while Alfred sat in his study looking at his marvelous collection of pipes; his Ashton Bent Billiard Briar, and his Old Church Bent Billiard, his marvelous hand carved Meerschaum, the Damiano Rovera Briar, and his other fine pipes.  He idly picked up his Rodgers Rosewood Chancet pipe knife and toyed with it for a minute; put it back down on his pipe stand along with the Lalique Jamaique ashtray, and with a sigh picked up the stand with all of his pipes and put it on a shelf in the antique oak credenza in the corner and closed the cabinet door.

“Well, that’s that,” said Alfred, “Hopefully out of sight, out of mind!”

            A few minutes later, Mother came back into the room looking a little somber and said, “I know what I have to give up for Lent.  It doesn’t do to pray about things like this.” Then she said declaratively, “I believe that I am supposed to give up complaining.”

            “That ought to be a challenge, Mother,” said Alfred.

            “Watch it, Alfred,” barked Mother. “On the edge! On the edge!”

“For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” [Hebrews 12:11].