a reason!”
Rocky always smiled when she said that. He smiled when she said most anything.
They had often taken trips to the Oregon Coast together and the Safety Harbor area had become their favorite place. They often found themselves just south of town in an old campground called Embers. It was down a little lane off the main road that led to a group of shacks under a virtual cascade of trees that provided shade except for a few intense rays of sunlight that pierced the limbs and the leaves.
They had been delighted to find that a glassblower worked there. They became friends with Daniel over the next two years. Trust built between them and, one day, Daniel invited them to come and be a part of the little vagabond community of misfits that was starting to form under the trees. He had allowed a couple of people to pitch tents there. He also had a vacant house that he could rent to Rocky and Magdalena.
“Rocky, I think we can do this!” said Magdalena. When she said those seven words, Rock knew that it was true. So, they moved.
After they had been there a few weeks, a few more tents started appearing and three lean-to huts were being constructed.
Rocky went to see Daniel.
“How many people are we going to allow?” he asked, calling over the noise of the bellows.
Only after it came out of his mouth did he realize that he had said, “we” instead of “you.” Daniel smiled. He noticed this too. He placed his most recent work in the lehr and came over to talk. His face always looked a bit gritty and carried a semi-permanent indentation from the facemask he had to use while working the furnace.
“I’ve been thinking, too, that this situation needs immediate attention. Word is spreading and people are coming here every day asking for shelter, just a place to be. I find it hard to turn away people, but I admit there’s going to be a problem from the county pretty soon.”
“Unless we have some reason for them to be here,” said Rocky.
“What are you thinking?” asked Daniel.
“What if you expanded your glass blowing work and offered people jobs? I could see that we could have a whole community of glass blowers and related shops here. I could quit my job at the lumber yard and Magdalena could quit working at the library and come out here and organize things.”
“That takes a good deal of money,” Daniel said. “I can’t take too many risks. I’m not twenty-one and flush with money, you know!”
“We have some savings,” Rocky offered.
“Have you talked to Magdalena about that?”
“Truth be told this was her idea,” he grinned. “All my good ideas come from her!”
“Since when have my good ideas become yours?”
Magdalena’s distinct voice came from behind him. She was home from work early. It always gave him a thrill and made him blush. She came up behind him and put her arms around his waist and kissed his ear.
“There will be hurdles. Your savings won’t last forever.”
“What if there are some facts-on-the-ground before we go to the powers-that-be?” Rocky asked.
“Oh, Rock, I think that would just irritate people.” Magdalena’s voice was firm. “And we are on the edge of being illegal.”
“We need to create a positive impression of this place,” said Daniel.
“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