Ought a Hermit Attend a Parish Dinner?

This one did. The confessor thought it would be good for someone like the nothing to go, to interact, to mingle. Two other priests thought so, also. They didn't see why a hermit would not. After all, people don't know the nothing is a hermit.

The hermit's motive, in part, was to have a full meal. The hermit does not cook full meals but rather makes sure the food groups are included in the day, such as a bowl of rice with broccoli for supper, some oatmeal with peanut butter for breakfast--hmm, no lunch today. Might have a glass of juice later, perhaps heated as it is chilly this evening.

Regardless, the nothing did go to the parish volunteer dinner. One priest suggested going with a motive set in advance, and another said it could be a penance. The nothing Catholic hermit was increasingly not keen on attending. Of course, a full meal was not a spiritual motive, and the nothing is not used to eating so much at once, anyway. A motive of listening seemed good, and of waiting to see what God would bring as far as sitting with whoever God desired and would possibly want to sit with the nothing, and general intermingling.

So the nothing ceased gardening in time to put on the blend-in, unhermit "look." Arriving at the facility hosting the dinner, the nothing noticed first-off that the seats had slight padding--just the type that makes the pained back shoot up the agony scale. So the nothing stood for as long as possible, and hovered in an area of the hors d'oevres table. Then, a glass of beer was purchased, as it would be needed to assuage the pain that would come when sitting became necessary.

A couple of people waved and said "hello." One person whisked by, intent on a mission of gathering her group of friends and three priests, commandeered to two tables she had cordoned off. As she passed the nothing, she by-the-way said hello and called the nothing by a wrong name--close, but not close. That fit in well with practice in what Dorotheos of Gaza says on checking the passions as well as not being upset when maligned. Of course, this person knows the nothing's name. Yet, it was a suitable touch. Later, there would be another encounter, and the nothing would be summarily dismissed without eye contact. But, that only served for some inner humor, especially considering that the nothing had just read how to handle such treatment.

There were three or four brief "hellos" with others, and then a woman approached, one who comes to Mass alone, and she asked where "we" would sit. The nothing explained that due to the pain level which would not do well with the chairs, the nothing would need to stand as long as possible; but the woman could find a table, and if it did not fill, the nothing would join in an empty spot. The woman and the nothing had dinner together, and a man and his friend joined, also. When the nothing considered who God chose to sit at that table, the four of us, it was a reality check of four who otherwise would not have a pre-set group. Perhaps, in a way, we were the anawim. We even sat on the edge of the sea of tables, by a window through which the nothing could gaze with desire of being outside, in the quiet, even pulling up dandelions which were growing in the facility's landscaping.

The noise, the people, the huge room, 250 or so chatting, eating, happy people--it was too much for the nothing Catholic hermit. The food itself was not difficult to pass up--a dressing-drenched iceberg lettuce salad, rolls, then a buffet line of mashed potatoes, beef, chicken and green beans. The nothing has not eaten meat in a long, long time--and while not opposed if someone serves it to the nothing as a guest--to eat meat at night means little sleep due to the system not being used to it. Fish, yes--but no fish at this dinner. The deserts went toward the sacrificial offering: a religious sister has been ill with cancer. Offer it for her.

So the nothing ate the salad and a lump of mashed potatoes and some green beans. It was more than enough. The pain battled for attention, and listening to the chatting fought the pain's demands. One comment made by one person at the table made the evening worth the effort: he has a prison ministry of writing to inmates. The nothing Catholic hermit is praying for the success of his letters to these men, and for their conversions.

The nothing spoke little to nothing--and perhaps seemed rude! But the confessor had said to listen, and listen it did. But the physical pain of sitting on the padded seat made speaking nearly impossible, and the yearning to leave rose like the moon coming up in the dusk. So thankful for that window through which to peer into the opposing scene: nature versus human nature. So the nothing left quickly when one at the table got up to go to the restroom. Better to exit under cover, as if going along. But just not returning. No one would notice, and no one did. A parish council president was speaking at length, after the rector had spoken.

So that was the dinner, and the nothing Catholic hermit did attend. And it was upsetting in many ways, for the nothing had to accept, once more, that it truly is a hermit in ways one would not consider. The silence and solitude and some of the other nine s' of the rule of life have had their effect: the nothing Catholic hermit is unused to crowds, noise, chat, and buffet lines. This contrast and the conflict resulting, rather surprised the nothing. Also, it was a stark reminder that it simply does not fit in, does not intermingle well in such a setting, and is, well, a hermit.

Yes, today the spiritual da said what was sensed he would have advised: the dinner was not really for the nothing hermit. So we discussed it some, and while the other priests felt it would be the thing to do--they might not quite understand. And, in a way, it was the thing to do, this one time, for it certainly gave even more affirmations of the vocation, of progress being made in the nine s', and of not really being in that world (perhaps somewhere in between worlds).

There will be no more parish dinners for this hermit--except, of course, if directed to go. But the nothing had asked the question, and next year, if still alive, will not ask! Yet, much was gained, albeit with good suffering all day today, as if someone had kicked the nothing in the spine. There was much suffering at the dinner, too, in so many details not shared here. Yes, it was very good indeed, for all that.