BishopAccountability.org
	A Small Piece of Good "And Ye Shall Know the Truth, and the Truth Shall Make You Free." - John 8:32 By Larry Simoneaux WEBC [Covington LA] December 12, 2004 Recently, the Archdiocese of Seattle was in the news because of a report criticizing it for - as the article put it - "poor record keeping and a habit of ignoring troubling behavior by clerics" that continued into the early 1990’s. The Archdiocese of Portland has declared bankruptcy. The Diocese of Spokane faces claims that total $77 million and filed for bankruptcy protection last week. The whole thing is an unmitigated mess. Men of God did abominable things and then others seemingly ignored or, worse, tried to bury the problem. I can’t defend that. What I can do, however, is tell you a story. It’s about a place I know near Covington, Louisiana. "St. Ben’s" is a small Benedictine monastery. I spent a year there studying to be a priest. Recently, I received a letter from the rector. The gist of it was: "Man, there’s a lot that needs to be done here and our budget’s pretty thin. Think you could help?" Along with the request, he included some news regarding the monks still living there. One of the monks mentioned was the individual who had the misfortune of being my spiritual advisor. Father Hugh is now well past eighty. I saw him several years ago and he looked all of fifty-five. "St. Ben’s" has that effect on those who live there. The place is off in the woods, has a river running through it and a number of small ponds scattered about. While I was there, the monks made their own bread, raised vegetables, had a small dairy herd, kept bees, and generally made do on the premises. We rose at 5:30 a.m. and were asleep by 10:00 p.m. Such a pace doesn’t engender high blood pressure or premature aging. Other things I remember: Father Hugh was also a tennis fiend who gave me my first look at a 100-mph serve. After letting up on me, I made the mistake of rushing the net against him. He proceeded to fire one directly at my head. I can still hear him chuckling as I was getting up from behind the net. Father Dominic had a voice that made the hairs on your neck stand. When he sang - especially at Christmas and Easter - people came from as far away as Baton Rouge and New Orleans to listen. Tears were not uncommon. Father Augustine, our Latin teacher, used to get our attention by bending 16-penny nails with his bare hands. At the end of class, he’d straighten them. None of us ever gave Father Augustine any trouble. Father Anselm was built like the proverbial brick outhouse. In one of the "touch" football games between the monks and the seminarians, I watched someone try to block him. The results resembled the aftermath of a meeting between a Yugo and a Kenworth. Father Anselm played the part of the Kenworth. Father Paul was in charge of the annual Thanksgiving bonfire. I think he was a pyromaniac who’d missed his calling. About two weeks before Thanksgiving, he’d augur a hole into the middle of one of the fields. Then he’d get the tallest knocked-down pine tree he could find. Once he had that in place, he’d pile logs around it. After Thanksgiving dinner, we’d all go out to enjoy Father Paul’s bonfire. Rumor has it that the first of these had the local fire department thinking the entire woods had gone up. They showed up ready for war. Some other highlights: The abbey church has some remarkable murals. Father Gregory DeWit painted them over a period of ten years. One day, while Father DeWit was working, a young boy came in to watch. The boy stayed for a while and, just before he left, said, "Nice pictures." Father DeWit considered it one of the finest compliments he’d ever received. While I was at "St. Ben’s," one of the older monks died. He was buried – as he wished to be - on the grounds. I don’t think he could’ve found a better place to spend eternity. I could go on about a place where I spent one of the best years of my life, but space here is limited. I’m not trying to gloss over the ugliness of what’s happened. It’s a wound that will take generations to heal. But I am going to tell you that there’s still good out there. "St. Ben’s" is a small piece of good. It’d be easy to miss if you didn’t know where to look. Just thought I’d mention it. Larry Simoneaux -------------------------------------------------- Biography - Larry Simoneaux Larry Simoneaux is a freelance columnist and author who writes a regular column for the Edmonds Beacon and Mukilteo Beacon in Washington state. He is a retired ship driver for the US Navy, and NOAA. His first book, "Call Me Backward, and I'll Thank You For It," is pending publication.
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