We'd discussed it and decided that it was really a “two-person job.” I would be the driver. It would be his job to enter the bank, to actually be the one to speak to the teller, to hold the packet of monies. The bank was located on a busy intersection in downtown Chicago. Parking was at a premium, if... if you could even find an open parking spot. Our plan was for me to drop him off and then drive around the block, repeatedly if necessary, until I saw him emerge...
***
As we started out he turned to me and said, "Ranell, do you mind if I say a prayer for our safe travel?"
"Not at all. In fact, that would be nice, Brother B."
"Holy Mother, I beseech you to intercede on our behalf and to ask the Lord to bless this journey, which Ranell and I undertake… " The rest of the prayer is vague, it might have included a mention of the current weather, or a need for the two of us to be "returned safe and unharmed." I do remember it ended with "through Christ, our Lord. Amen."
***
I once worked for a religious order of men within a major Roman Catholic university. As part of their formation, they took a vow of poverty. Thus, all of their salaries were dutifully delivered, to be used for the “greater good.” Once a week Brother B and I took these monies downtown to deposit in the bank.
***
Did you ever meet a person you knew to be such a morally sound person that they actually possessed a palpable aura about them? When you are physically near them you know that you are in the presence of a special human being, because it emanates from their pores..., or something. Sometimes these people are religious, sometimes not, sometimes these people are famous, sometimes not. They are, however, people who are comfortable in their own skin, possessing no facades, having no pretenses, always aware of their own failings, yet ever humble about their nobility or their many accomplishments.
Brother B was such a person. He gave selflessly and humbly and he commanded an uncommon grace. No job was below his dignity. Besides assisting me with bank deposits, he would daily set up an ironing board and proceed to meticulously press the altar cloths he had carefully hand-laundered. Each year he gathered and burned the palms, so there would be sufficient ash for his brethren to dispense at the beginning of Lent. Pretty much any job his religious fellowship didn’t take a “shine to” Brother B would do happily, kind of like the "cheerful giver" mentioned in Corinthians.
Yet, it was difficult for Brother B to accept accolades.
I’m not saying he was perfect. He had a flaw, or two. Some people said he talked too much. “He rambles on.” Father R used to say, “Never ask Brother B the time, because he’ll give you the history of the watch.”
At this moment Irene’s blood pressure would have risen to the point that she could no longer be responsible for her bubbling reaction. “I told you hours ago, that I am happy to be within nine cents of a balance! What do you not get?” She would then whip out her handbag and scrabble for a dime, which she would throw at him, shrieking, “Here's your nine cents! Keep the change, Brother B!”
***
You get to know a person when you spend time weekly chatting during an hour-and-a-half round trip commute.
Brother B had come from an aristocratic family of considerable southern wealth. He’d been schooled at an academy and a university that were considered among the nation’s finest. From a financial standpoint, he’d wanted for nothing in his youth. As an adult he had jointly owned a Kentucky thoroughbred horse farm and was “financially sound.” Yet, he'd felt “unfulfilled.” He decided he’d rather do something to promote social justice and to combat poverty. So he walked away from his money. He took vows of poverty, obedience, and chastity. His community interpreted this as a call to serve in Africa. He spent years there before his order missioned his return to the U.S.
***
Once, he showed me his high school yearbook. He had played football. He had attended his prom. I asked him what were some of the favorite experiences of his days before his awareness of his “true” vocation.
“I used to enjoy dancing.”
He told me that he’d tried his hand at dating.
“So, the dating thing didn’t work out for you?”
“Wailll, Ranell,” he began in his lovely southern drawl, “The ones I fancied just didn’t seem to fancy me. And the ones that fancied me? Well, I guess I just didn’t fancy them.”
I laughed aloud, “Well, Brother B, that pretty much covers most of the world’s love story.”
When it was determined that he was becoming too frail, sometime near his 80th birthday, his superior announced that Brother B would be moving to the retirement home for priests that the order had built in Michigan. The magnificent facility was designed to be a panacea for the multitude of aging religious, but instead it stood like an inanimate pariah. Nearly every priest or brother I knew went there only with great protest, virtually kicking and screaming each and every step of the way. Sometimes wheedled or coaxed with promises of a return, upon their rehab or convalesce, they acquiesced. I’d only known one man who made it back.
But, not Brother B, he accepted his new assignment with graceful obedience.
There was always a farewell party for departing community members. It was the day after Brother B’s party that sticks in my mind. Word of the hour that the car taking Brother B to Michigan had passed among the community and staff. A co-worker and I walked to the lower-level door we knew that he’d take on his way out. To our amazement there were already twenty or so people waiting in the hall, more were on their way.
"What’s going on?" Brother B asked as he stepped off the elevator and took sight of throng of people lining both sides of the hall.
"We're here to wish you well," said one of the beaming scholastics.
"Because..., because, we love you and..., and..., and will miss you," blubbered Jen, a dining hall waitress, between sobs.
He paused to say a few words to each person, addressing them by name and shaking their hands.
When he came to me, he said, "Ranell, thank you for taking time from your busy work schedule to come and say goodbye to me. Please, give Fred my regards. And blessings upon your children,…" and then he named each of them. Then finally, with a squeeze of my hand, "Please, keep me in your prayer," he moved on to the next person.
A tear rolled down my cheek. I knew that it would be a long time, if ever, before I’d have the fortune to meet such a holy man again.
***
The passing of Nelson Mandela reminds me that the world is occasionally blessed with inspiring beings, like Brother B. It would “behoove” (a word Brother B oft used) us to use them them as guideposts, like moral compasses.
***
One was an obedient follower, and one was a leader. Both were servants, nonetheless. How fortunate I was to know one of these two.
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