Dieter had finally fallen asleep sometime in the night. When he awoke the next morning, as he unclosed his eyes, he saw the figure of Brother Johann leaving the cell, which he knew was to water the plants outside. Dieter was about to rise from his bed when, instantly remembering his recent sufferings, as if they had dropped over unto him when he rose, shaken from their resting position, he sank once again, and buried his face in his pillow.
He heard Brother Johann returning to the cell a little while later, and, uncovering his face from the pillow, saw him open the window.
''You'd best rise now if you don't want to miss morning mass. I heard from Brother Pieter last night that the cook will make breakfast larger than usual today, as an Italian man will visit, and he'll bring his wife and children with him. Apparently he was a good friend of the abbot's, and the abbot himself invited him. Well, some company is always a pleasure! Besides i've never met anyone from Italy before.''
''I'm sure they'll be lovely.'' Dieter replied wearily.
He forced himself to rise, and, succeeding, he walked to the wash basin in the corner, and washed his face. Brother Johann, who was now walking to and fro in the cell, noticed his friend's sudden change.
''Have you not slept well?''
''Not in the least.''
''Well, I suppose you could ask the abbot, or Brother Pieter perhaps, if you could take to your bed again after mass, if you feel tired.''
Dieter left the corner after having dried his face, and blindly nodded in agreement. Once he had gotten himself ready for the day, he and Brother Johann made their way out of the cell. Dieter felt that his discomfort was increasing, and a latent desire to pour out his thoughts started to surge up in him. He felt a firm conviction that he could confide in Brother Johann, and as the two walked through the sunlit corridor, he spoke with a soft inhale:
''Brother Johann, I know the morning has just begun, but I must ask you a question.''
''Yes? I am glad to help newcomers, as the others have helped me when I was one.''
''Oh, it is not a matter of my being a newcomer... Rather, I must ask you something about faith, and I regret to tell you that it may sound quite absurd.''
They reached the door, and as they descended the dark staircase, Dieter began:
''Have you never thought of the possibility that, perhaps, God might not accept our retreat from the world?''
''What do you mean, dear?''
''I mean that, maybe, God has not accepted and indeed will not accept our efforts to worship Him.
''Dear me, is that what you think?''
''I'm afraid so.''
''Well, whyever would you think so? We are monks, after all.''
''I have a feeling that it might be so, and it has been bothering me of late.''
''Well, dear me, I've never thought of such a thing, but I think it's certainly not the case. However, I am not the spokesman for God.''
Having descended the stairs, Brother Johann opened the door into the courtyard, and the two walked out.
''Now, Brother Dieter, my dear, I think that you feel this way because you are yet new, and might have noticed imperfections in your time here. Believe me, my friend, this has happened to everyone before.''
''No, it is not so much imperfections in my performance, but rather an imperfection in me, residing in me.''
''What could you mean?'' Johann said playfully, in a sing-song tone.
''What I have truly noticed is my own imperfection, my past and present trespasses, if you will, and for that I wonder if God is angry with me.''
''Oh, friend, why would you think that? But by the look on your face which you give me now, I assume you do not desire to tell me. I thus recommend you to consult God yourself, for He knows best, and I am more than sure that He will give you your answer. Besides, it is a perfect time for prayer at the moment.''
They were approaching the main building, in which stood the chapel. Upon entering the building, they were met with the others, and the mass soon began. Dieter eagerly wished, during the mass, to have consulted God (as Brother Johann recommended), though he could not. It was not the manner of the mass that forbade him, as there was a lot of room for prayer, but rather a vague, unknown impulse, the same as that that had driven him away from the chapel itself the night before, had hindered his every attempt. The impulse, in its essence, was a group of pressing thoughts that invalidated his desire to pray, and instead filled the time afforded for prayer with doubt, fear, and shame. He felt unwell, and suddenly his spirits seemed to have become depressed, sensing that the door to repentance had abruptly shut itself before him...
''This seems impossible. How-'' he thought while he sang the hymn with the others, ''Could I possibly wish to execute my goal with success if this is who I am, and, indeed, who I always was and will always be? God could not possibly accept me like this... But fie, Dieter! Do not think these thoughts, do not plunge deeper into your brain! The door of repentance is always open and never closed, thus you are tricking yourself with your despair. Repent, you fool, and everything will be bettered.''
YOU ARE READING
The Perfectionist
EspiritualA German monk is faced with mental anguish as a result of his violent past, and his crippling obsessive compulsive disorder
