Leaving North Haven - Michael L. Lindvall

Leaving North Haven - Michael L. Lindvall

"Hey Dave, you heard the one 'bout the old Swedish farmer up south of Sleepy Eye?" He let silence sit between us for a moment. "Ya, he loved his wife so much he almost told her."
p. 30

"I read Newman's timeless prayer to close:
'O Lord, support us all the day long, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed and the fever of life is over and our work is done. Then in Thy mercy, grant us a safe lodging and a holy rest and peace at the last.'
The most perfect sentence in the English language, some critic had once judged it, though actually it is two."
p. 97
(from Sermon 20, 1834, John Henry Cardinal Newman)

"Hunting and fishing were also, I came to understand, the door into something like male camaraderie. I knew that men sometimes allowed a shadow of intimacy with other men over beer, perhaps even coffee. But it was hunting and fishing that created a distinct male space where words that would otherwise be unspoken might comfortably be uttered. My wife told me I needed that, and I knew she was right."
P. 125

"The ancients, she learned, believed in a place named 'ultima Thule.' They believed it existed and wrote of it, though they were not of one mind about precisely where ultima Thule might be. They were in agreement on only one point, that ultima Thule was the northernmost land of human habitation. Some historians have guessed it to be Norway, others the Shetland Islands or perhaps even Iceland. Wherever it lay, a spiritual mist enshrouded the very words. Ultima Thule was the end of the earth, the last place one could go, the ultimate destination.
p. 195

What Luther said was this: 'This life, therefore, is ... not being, but becoming, not rest but exercise. We are not yet what we shall be, but we are growing toward it; the process is not yet finished, but is going on; this is not the end, but it is the road.' Just so, Martin. There is no arriving in this life, no ultima Thule, only the blessed road."
p. 208

p.243-246 - Lindvall tells a version of the story below:

version from
www.wesley.co.nz/_mgxroot/page_10893.html

MESSIAH
Based on the story told by Scott Peck in his book, The Different Drum.

Once upon a time, there was a monastery that had fallen upon hard times. Once a great order, as a result of waves of persecution, and the rise of secularism, all the branch houses were lost. It had become decimated to the point that there were only five elders, all nuns and monks, left in the decaying hermitage. The abbot and four others were all over seventy in age. Clearly it was a dying order.

In the deep woods surrounding the hermitage there was a little hut that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a retreat. Through their many years of prayer and contemplation the elders had become a bit psychic, so they could always sense when the rabbi was in his hut. "The rabbi is in the woods, the rabbi is in the woods again," they would whisper to each other.

As he agonized over the imminent death of the order, it occurred to the abbot to visit the hut and ask the rabbi if by some possible chance he could offer any advice that might save the order. The rabbi welcomed the abbot at his hut. But when the abbot explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with him. "I know how it is," he exclaimed. "The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore."

So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read parts of the Torah and quietly spoke of deep things. The time came when the abbot had to leave. They embraced each other. "It has been a wonderful thing that we should meet after all these years," the abbot said, "but I have still failed in my purpose for coming here. Is there nothing you can tell me, no piece of advice you can give me that would help me serve my dying order?"

"No, I’m sorry, "the rabbi responded. "I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that you will find the Messiah among you."

When the abbot returned to the hermitage the others gathered around him to ask, "Well, what did the rabbi say?" "He couldn't help," the abbot answered. "We just wept and read the Torah together. The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving, it was something cryptic, was we would find the Messiah among us. I don't know what he meant."

In the following days and weeks and months, the elders pondered this and wondered whether there was any possible significance to the rabbi's words. We will find the Messiah among us. Could he possibly have meant one of us here at the hermitage? If that's the case, who is it? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone, he probably meant Father Abbot. He’s been our leader for more than a generation.

On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Certainly Brother Thomas is holy. Everyone knows Thomas is a man of light.

Certainly he could not have meant Sister Ellen! Ellen gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though she’s a thorn in people's sides, when you look back on it, Ellen is virtually always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Sister Ellen.

But surely not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him and saying the right thing. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah.

Could the Rabbi have meant that we’d find the Messiah in one of those who come to us for aid? But they are all so poor and often quite dirty! Surely the messiah would not be found like that! Yet the scripture does tell us what we do to the least of these is done to our Lord.

Of course the rabbi didn't mean me. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I'm the Messiah. O God, not me. I couldn't be that much for you, could I?

As they contemplated in this manner, the elders began to treat each other, and everyone they met with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one among them might actually be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance that each elder might himself or herself be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.

Because the forest in which it was situated was beautiful, it so happened people still occasionally came to visit the hermitage to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, even now and then to go into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. As they did so, without even being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five elders. It seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely attractive, even compelling, about it. Hardly knowing why, they began to come back to the hermitage more frequently to picnic, to play, to pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends.

Then it happened that some of the younger persons who came to visit the hermitage started to talk more and more with the elders. After a while one asked if she could join them. Then another. And another. So within a few years the hermitage had once again become a thriving order. And, thanks to the rabbi's gift, a vibrant centre of light and spirituality in the realm.