Lenten Desert: Myths Monsters Logosmoi/Geordie the Monk/Not more bells!?

The Bells

Geordie made the visit to the old church part of the regular rhythm of his life.
Saturday night now involved a one hour walk to church; spending at least one hour in quiet waiting for that moment when it was his turn to sit and chat with the priest; a one hour walk back to the Tavern; then one hour drinking Ale and flirting with Betty the Beautiful Barmaid.
Once again he was happy with his life, that is, until he heard bells.
It was in the old Church at about 8.15pm when he first heard bells. He looked around to see if anybody else had been distracted by the sound of bells. Nobody seemed to have fidgeted, flinched or flickered. Involuntary shaking began in his hands, and although it wasn’t cold in the church he began to shiver. He remembered the bell that had interrupted his Tavern time, and now it was a number of bells he was hearing; where would it lead this time? His turn came to sit and chat with the Priest but he was afraid to speak, to ask a question when he might regret the answer.
‘Did you hear them’ asked the old priest. ‘Did you hear them’ he asked again, in a firm but gentle tone. ‘It’s you they are calling too, Geordie, it’s time to leave and begin the next part of your journey.’
He was angry all the way home. He liked order in his life, to know what he was doing and at what time. He had made space in his life for the regular trip to the old church, for speaking with the old priest, he had adjusted his life accordingly, made the commitment. His life had a rhythm, a cycle, isn’t that the true nature of the religious life? He spent the last hour of Saturday night in the Tavern, but his thoughts were so distracted he just sipped his Ale and barely noticed Betty the Beautiful Barmaid.
He thought about what it would mean to leave his farm, his friends, his life. He loved his life, as it was, untroubled, without unwelcome interruptions, decidedly familiar,
full of carefully selected possibilities. Now, the sound of bells were ringing in his ears, calling him to leave his life behind and journey towards an uncertain future, once again he was afraid, disturbed, but strangely calm. He knew that the bells were leading him to the One that his heart was seeking.
Next day, he put his farm into the hands of his brothers, said goodbye to his friends, kissed Betty on her beautiful cheeks, and set off on the journey to his new life. It was several days walk and though exhausted he felt excited and elated when he finally arrived at the monastery gate. He banged confidently on the big oak door with his fist, and shouted confidently for someone to come and open the door. No answer.
He tried again, then again, then again. Finally, he could hear footsteps, and then he heard a voice from behind the oak door;
“What do you want, come along, speak up, what’s the meaning of knocking on our door at this time of night?”
Geordie began to tell the voice behind the oak door his story, and the events that had led him to knock on this particular door.
“No, No, No,” said the voice behind the oak door. “Stop that nonsense now, there is nothing here for you lad, get yourself away home, go on then, clear off, don’t come back again us .”
This was not the welcome Geordie had anticipated. It was getting dark, the nearest village was a good walk away, and it was obvious he was not welcome here. He sat down under an arched tree not far from the monastery gate. This would provide shelter for the night ahead and give him time to gather his thoughts and decide what to do next. Then the rain came; cold, wet, persistent rain.

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