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"Is there Holy Mass here tonight?"
I was amazed to hear this shot across my bows, as it were, as I sat praying the Divine Office in my parish church of St Joseph the night before New Year's Eve: as Father himself had declared the day before, "No one comes here during the week!"
Picture, if you will, a German leprechaun. Because that's what materialized beside me, and that was his question. I had to say no - Father had gone on holiday for two weeks, depriving us of the 6 Masses a week that we didn't deserve, because hardly a soul attended.
The deeply tanned, skinny, silver-haired foreigner introduced himself as Leo, and his next line hit me directly amidships. Feeling somewhat hurt at Father's declaration re nil visits to the Blessed Sacrament - and very hurt, on behalf of Jesus, that it was almost true - that very day I'd decided to forgo Mass at the abbey twenty minutes away, which I usually attend when Father's out of town, and pray the Divine Office etc at St Joseph's instead.
But Leo said to me, "The Mass is the most important thing."
I think he'd been sent to tell me to revert to attending the Mass. Read on, if you have the time, to see why. Otherwise, just skip to the last two sentences.
Leo is from Lake Constanze, on the German/Swiss border. He grows raspberries and redcurrants in summer and since his mother died 17 years ago, he's spent the European winters on his bike. Leo has ridden his bike across every continent in the world, including Australia (Perth-Alice Springs Kalgoorlie) at the height of summer. 110,000 ks all up.
Leo attends daily Mass wherever he can and prays the Rosary at least once a day. And, he told me,"I never had any accident".
To cut a long story shorter, Leo, who'd been offered a shed on a local orchard as shelter for the night, said he'd bike out to the abbey instead, for Mass the next morning. "Nah," I said, and brought him home to Clairvaux.
"Hello, Leo," said 'im indoors (I'd called him with a heads-up), "have a shower," and he cooked him a very good dinner and poured him a glass of wine.
Next morning Leo looked rather poorly. But he seemed to think poached eggs were a good idea, so that's what I gave him. He dropped an egg (a very lightly poached egg) on the floor. I scooped it up, sort of, put it back on his plate and cut everything up, and he ate it. He looked a bit wibbly-wobbly, so I somehow shoved his bike and saddlebags into 'im indoors' car (I'd had to tie the hatch of my little one to his bike wheel to get him home the night before), and drove him to the abbey.
As we turned into the abbey road, Leo put his window down and started throwing up. I slowed; he opened the door and carried on spewing. I accelerated up the abbey avenue (speed limit 30k) and with 3 minutes to go till Mass started, dashed into the day-centre to wet Leo's terrible old towel in the kitchen sink and wipe him down, almost from head to foot (scraping egg off his trousers) and propelled him into the church just as the community sang the opening antiphon.
I took him up to Holy Communion; Father looked taken aback at Leo's somewhat unconventional appearance and started to give a blessing. I shook my head, Leo put his out tongue, and Father gave him the Sacrament.
After Mass he recovered the power of speech but I doubted his legs, and took him home again, and cleaned the car, pretty well I thought. 'Im indoors left to go to the supermarket, then returned.
"Was Leo sick in the car?" he inquired. My heart sank. "I'll just clean the window," said 'im indoors. I hadn't put the window right up to clean it properly; the evidence was incriminating.
That afternoon I took Leo and 'im indoors' car down to the Mobil to finish the job. It took 3 $2 coins ('im indoors has better things to do than clean cars) and while going in to get the second $2 I asked Leo to take out the mats. $4 later, followed by 'the works' car wash, the job was done.
Our New Year's Eve guest ate a very good dinner, washed down with the glass of wine he asked to be served at the table. "How civilised," I said, finishing off mine which I'd poured half an hour earlier.
In the morning we set Leo on his way, on his bike, I hoped in time for Mass at the abbey. (I'd decided that for the Solemnity of the Mother of God I'd go to the Latin Mass at Ashhurst later in the day.)
The next morning, after Mass at the abbey again, I spoke to the community's German resident, Andreas, who'd kindly offered Leo cash which Leo had refused - he wanted 'vork'. (Leo had been eating bread dated Dec 7, and rotten bananas.)
I asked Andreas if he'd made it in time for Mass. "Ja, but only because someone picked him up," he said.
Someone on that deserted country road, early on New Year's Day, had offered Leo, his bike and his saddlebags a ride, and had dropped him off at the abbey in time for Mass.
That afternoon, 'im indoors said to me, "Thank you very much for cleaning my car, but next time make sure you undo the floor mats instead of ripping them out." It took him quite some time to undo those ripped-out buttons and replace them.
Because Leo was safely out of the way, I decided to shop him. "It was Leo who took the mats out," I said, virtuously.
"You'd wonder how he makes it around the world," said 'im indoors. I saw my opportunity.
"By grace," I said smugly. "By the Rosary and 'Holy Mass'."
A coda:
Today I spoke to yet another German, a well-educated, well-off German, who when told of Leo riding around the world on his bike attending Mass daily and saying the Rosary, opined that he was what was known formally as 'a nutter'.
This German, unlike the others in my story, would not call himself a Christian, much less a Catholic.
I came away thinking it was actually he who was the nutter.
Paul du Fresne says:
'Beware of entertaining strangers' etc.
I say:
I think the quotation is "And hospitality do not forget; for by this some, being not aware of it, have entertained angels" (Heb 13:2). Leo made an unlikely angel, but an angel nonetheless, I believe.
Bob Gill says:
Fun and games in your part of the woods, it seems!
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