Safety Harbor. Chuck Cooper

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      “We could ask Father to say Mass,” said Rocky.

      “What’s that got to do with anything?”

      “That would take away the stereotype that we are “just a bunch of hippies,” as the mayor of Safety Harbor has called us. If the Church blesses this project, it puts its critics in a difficult position. We could spread the word that there’s a free meal offered, invite people to Mass if they want, and then ask Joe’s to provide sandwiches. It would get people here. They wouldn’t have to do Mass. Just come and eat. It would give people an idea of who we are. A free meal always softens people’s hearts.”

      “You mean, like public relations?”

      “Yes, you might say so. Religion and hospitality. Really, they ought to be the same thing, no?”

      “Well, it’s an original idea, I’ll tell you that. A lot of people around here aren’t religious, and some don’t like Catholics if they are religious. I am not sure how it will work or if it will work at all. But I don’t have a better idea.When approached, Father Callaghan surprised them and said of course he would.

      “Do you worry that some are not Catholics that might participate in the Eucharist, Father?” Magdalena had asked.

      He winked. “Not if you don’t. Of course, don’t go running to the Archdiocese, telling tales!”

      The Saturday evening of the Mass, Father appeared with his traveling salvation show. As arranged, Joe’s Fine Dine-ing delivery truck followed Father’s car. Rocky, Magdalena, and Daniel were amazed at the crowd. People had come from everywhere, it seemed. There were far more than they were expecting. They sat on the ground. They brought chairs. Some brought blankets. The happy voices of children could be heard. A few dogs had come along for the ride.

      The Mass took two and one half hours with the crowd that had gathered. Father chose Johnny Watson and Sally Hankins to assist in serving.

      “They aren’t even Catholics, Father!” Rocky whispered in the priest’s ears.

      “What is that to you if it’s okay with the good Lord?” asked Father.

      “I would have been happy to help!” said the Rock.

      “I have other work for you to do!” Rocky heard a voice say.

      Father’s lips weren’t moving, so who said it? No one else was close at hand. Still, the voice didn’t seem to come from any one direction. It seemed inside. It seemed outside. It came from everywhere. It came from nowhere. It quieted him. He felt a strange kind of peace.

      After the Mass, people were asked to sit down.

      Picnic sandwiches and chips began to appear in front of people wrapped in paper that read “Joe’s Fine Dine-ing.” Joe’s staff was now passing out meals for everyone.

      Father Callaghan’s voice called out over the din of voices, “Dear friends, let us bless this food before we eat!”

      He repeated himself several times. Finally, Father had quieted the voices so that he could be heard. He raised a sandwich up to the sky. When it seemed that he could raise it no further he stretched and lifted it up a little higher. Then, he said the blessing.

      From under the canopy of trees and wafting out over the valley as far as the crashing surf of the sea from all of the people present, there arose a surprising and resounding “Amen!”

      It was at the “Amen!” that Rocky had his revelation, his epiphany. He remembered Magdalena remarking one morning, as one of the inhabitants of a tent had emerged in a long cape and cowl, that, whoever it was, looked just like a monk walking out there in the mystery of the early morning fog.

      “This is a kind of monastery of the unsettled,” she said.

      “There can’t be such a thing,” said Rocky. “That’s a contradiction in terms. Monks are by nature settled people.”

      “Not all of them. Ask the next monk or sister you see how settled they really are!” She smiled wryly.

      “You act as if you know something about that!” he remarked with a grin.

      “I haven’t told you everything!” she said, with a sparkle in her eyes.

      He had not seen it before, but he could see now, as he looked over the teeming mass of people assembled there on the grounds, how it is that we are all unsettled. It came to him in that moment that there is no permanent dwelling place, even if we have a so-called permanent address. We are all wanderers. He saw how it is that life moves on, with or without us. We meet the self of yesterday on the road of today and there is a qualitative difference. He saw how it could be that here, in this place, on these grounds, there could be a living space for those who had nowhere else to go, a place of work and prayer, adventure and meaning, as well as purpose and direction.

      He looked over the crowd now and saw that there seemed to be no more sandwiches and chips and still there were at least a hundred souls to feed. He made his way to Joe.

      “They don’t have enough to eat!” he said.

      Joe just smiled and went back to the truck. He emerged with more large boxes marked “Monastery of the Unsettled.” From these boxes, he brought forth more than enough.

      “You give these to those who are still waiting for something to eat,” he said to Rocky.

      Rocky did just that. He walked over to the crowd, sat the rough-edged crowd down in groups, and passed out as many sandwiches and chips that were needed.

      That night, as Rocky made his way back to Magdalena’s and his humble abode, it suddenly hit him that Joe had written the name they had just coined the community, on the boxes of sandwiches and chips.

      He stood still in the darkness for a moment, stunned. How could Joe have known anything about a casual conversation Magdalena and he had about what someone was wearing when they emerged from their tent? Nonetheless, there it had been, right in front of his eyes.

      Later, no one could say for sure that they had seen the Unsettlement written on the sandwich wrappers. But then, Rocky was the only one who had been close to the containers containing the sandwiches. He had given the boxes to Joe immediately after serving the people. Joe had put them back in the truck. Come to think of it, that night, he didn’t see anybody but Joe inside that truck. No one could have seen anyone but Joe bringing out those sandwiches and chips.

      Back then, Rocky knew what he had to do. Now, eighteen months later, over a hundred and fifty souls lived at the Unsettlement.

      Chapter 7

      “That’s outrageous!”

      Lou was in shock. His cheeks were flushed and the pink tint worked its way up to his forehead and his receding hairline.

      He was just hearing a report of last night’s meeting.

      Rocky and Magdalena will replace the mayor as Grand Marshals. The Monastery of the Unsettled will be given the lead place in the parade right behind the Elementary School marching band. Children from the Village of Hope Disability Center, the Pacific School for the Blind, and all current residents of the homeless СКАЧАТЬ