Rest In Peace Father Labyrinth
Father Francis is a human labyrinth. He doesn’t move quickly, no, he moves at the slow, deliberate, measured pace of a monk.
Friends,
This is a very painful post to share today and definitely one I never wanted to write. A number of posts ago I wrote about a man I lovingly dubbed Father Labyrinth. Father Francis Benedict passed away suddenly last week and his funeral was this past Monday. My heart is still feeling the shock and pain of his departure. At some point I will write more about the influence Father Francis has made in my life but until then I am reposting the piece I had written after attending a retreat that Father Francis had led.
I had a strange thought while running through a very light misty rain this morning. It’s the type of rain that you can see whispering in front of you but barely feel when it lands. It’s cruising speed weather, which makes it perfect for letting my thoughts do the driving. In our microwave world, the twists and turns in life happen quickly. Our emotional highs and lows come at us at breakneck speed and we feel like we’re going to suffer whiplash. What would happen if the roller coaster we call life just stopped? It’s happened, I’ve seen YouTube videos of coaster trains stopped at the peak of an incline, suspended before the gut wrenching plunge. What would happen if we climbed out and walked the track instead of hurtling at G-force speed? Slow everything down, take shorter measured steps, curl our feet around the curved track underfoot, see the world with vertical perspective, gaze with sharp focus instead of a giddy blur. No scattered thoughts or a stream of consciousness on the loose; eyes focus on a narrowed center. Imagine looking at the track, your singular thought being one step at a time. I chuckled at my conjuring, “It’s like walking a labyrinth.”
Father Francis is going to be this weekend’s retreat guide at St. Andrew’s Abbey. Father has been in community at the abbey for decades. The man spends his day conversing with God, all day, everyday. When it comes to spiritual matters, Father Francis knows what he’s talking about. His way of speaking is measured, thoughtful, because every word, every phrase is born from years of silent reflection and contemplation. He’s taking us retreatants on a journey through the Ignatian spirituality world of consolation and desolation. Consolation brings one closer to the divine and desolation moves us away.
A homeless woman was helping her strung-out boyfriend retrieve his belongings from impound and Father Francis is the woman’s means of financial and moral support, as well as her ride. The boyfriend was not too happy with Father Francis’ presence, so for his efforts, Father Francis was the recipient of a profanity filled tongue lashing.
Desolation?
Her boyfriend spit out his disgust. “I don’t give a damn about your God! Just get the f*** out of here!”
Father Francis calmly responded, “If it wasn’t for my God, I wouldn’t give a damn about you.”
They proceed to collect the man’s belongings and Father Francis drives them to a homeless shelter, giving them a spiritual and financial blessing as his parting gift.
Consolation.
And so it went, story after story, twists and turns, ups and downs, consolation and desolation. Each story was unique in characters involved and events unfolding, but they all had a common theme; the motivation for action was always divine, unconditional love.
During that weekend of silence, I sat with all of Father Francis’ stories and reflected upon their meaning for my own life. I watched others scribbling notes, trying to keep up with the twists and turns. As for me, I felt no desire to dictate. When I go to a performance, I don’t even read the program notes. No, I sit, watching, listening, reflecting, being present with the emotions evoked from artistry. And so it is with Father Francis. I savor every word, every phrase, listening to the change in inflection, watching his facial expressions, noting changes in body language. For me, it’s not just about the message, it’s also how the message is being delivered. The nuance of bodily changes is the real language spoken.
Contemplative practice depends upon stillness, slowness, solitude, singleness of thought. All the practices I talk about are built upon the premise that the ever changing present can be slowed by mindfulness. Yes, I did my running and my own type of movement meditation that accompanies the discipline of running, but that’s a different type of contemplation. It’s the juxtaposition of moving my body faster than I normally do and at the same time slowing my thoughts, so the goal of the running mindfulness practice is the discipline of narrowing thoughts while moving quickly.
This is different from the trip Father Francis took us on.
Father Francis is a human labyrinth. He doesn’t move quickly, no, he moves at the slow, deliberate, measured pace of a monk. The pauses in speech give the listener time to reflect, but he doesn’t give time to sit and meditate. The story moves quick enough to discourage internal meandering. You must stay present with him or you’ll miss his point. As I walk a labyrinth, each turn, each curve, each change of direction is an opportunity to change from consolation to desolation or from desolation to consolation. And so it is, listening to Father Francis’ stories. The problem, the pain, the hurt, the loss are obvious points of desolation in the story, but when his voice brightens, when his cadence quickens from smiling or laughing, when that twinkle reappears, when the story turns from tragedy to grace, then he’s taken us through the turn into consolation.
Every prayer walk labyrinth has a center, and the paths of the labyrinth eventually lead to that center. The human labyrinth followed suit. All the stories were examples of consolation and desolation but yet there was a connecting theme with all of them. Consolation and desolation are less polar opposites, but more conjoined twins. In his explanation of the relationship between consolation and desolation, there are moments of consolation that can be derived from desolation and the opposite is true also. No consolation is absolutely perfect that it is devoid of desolation. The point of all his stories, like a labyrinth, was to lead us to a central point. To Father Francis, we are all connected by love, and the whole point of a contemplation of consolation and desolation is to find the center, find the love. For him, the resolution of conflict, the resolution of contemplative moral wrestling is always love.
Alone with my thoughts, immersed in solitude and quiet, I had time to think about my own consolations and desolations, looking for the love that held them together. Perhaps I saw a consolation/desolation connection between my mystical experience running in the desert last October and now discovering on the same stretch of road the memorial to Jesus Neftali Garcia Gutierrez. But there were more questions I had that I really wanted answers for.
There was more consolation and desolation to be found in the thinnest of all places.
My condolences for your loss Steve. Sending love and light your way...
Love and light to you. He sounds like an incredible man.