The Greater Love

By Father Antony Brennan

A NOVEL LOOSELY BASED ON THE DESERT FATHERS

The Abba, Father Joseph, is a strong, fervent, young man who has spent seven long years living as a solitary monk in his cave. He has battled all the urges known to man and had become settled in his austere life. When, without realising it, he had become so used to the life he had virtually forgotten any other, he is thrust into the confusing state of being forced to cope with a completely unexpected human being. This time, one who is also very demanding… as he is totally helpless.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 1, 1900
• ISBN: 9781922788818

Book preview

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Abba (Father) Joseph. Desert Father, living in a cave at Wet Mountain.

Rahild Khaled III: younger son of Rahild II

Master Kaya General Merchant of Antioch & Alexandria

Mistress Katherine, ward and niece of Master Kaya

Arda and Baris assistants to Master Kaya

Abba Georgio of the Fort

Altan & Asil, assistants/servants to Abba Georgio

Master Merchant Meyer, the wood specialist.

Rahild Khaled II Imperial Judge and immensely wealthy man.

Luke Khaled (‘Rahild III’: eldest son of the above; title removed from him)

Tobias, Managing Steward and General Manager of whole of extensive estate, including plantation, owned by the Judge.

Silas, cook at Judge’s great mansion. Upper Nile Valley.

Mistress Ann. Housekeeper at Judge’s mansion, in charge of a multitude of servants.

Philip, expert camel-racing rider and trustworthy servant in charge of all camels.

Felix, itinerant artist & sculptor.

BACKGROUND & INTRODUCTION FROM THE AUTHOR TO THIS LITTLE BOOK

This book does not pretend to be a definitive, or scholarly dissertation on the Desert Fathers. In researching this subject, I found such variance in the manner, or types, of lives, that I had to make a choice, so I chose a very simple anchorite; one who practised the kind of ascesis which, through the influence of the great trio, Antony, Pachomius and Athanasius, was the most common pattern of such a life.

There were Desert Mothers as well, but I decided to leave them separate; it was too large a topic to cope with in a simple little book.

The Desert Fathers are important as they predate the period when the later, huge, early monasteries, came into being.

They continued even after the big monasteries, for example, those of Makarios, were established. Even then, there were still monks who wanted to live the eremitical, or solitary, life. However, the problems the very early monks faced and the failure of many well-intentioned good men, made the creation of the huge early monasteries understandable, and, in many ways, a necessity.

It also helps explain the often very harsh nature of the early monastic life, when it first became organized. It was not until St Basil and St Benedict arrived on the scene, that the Rules they produced through their genius – especially their theological learning and their personal holiness - made the life more humane and far less of a type of ‘army-survival training course’ to just get through - where, the brutal suffering could, in some cases, often become an end in itself.

In this little book, I was anxious to stress that the Desert Monks, were, first of all, ordinary men. They were fervent, but not super-heroes, just ordinary men with all the needs, problems and temptations of ordinary men. There is a saying that he who has himself as a Spiritual Guide, has a fool – and that is true, but given the fact, that this was the only type – in the early days - of the total giving of the self, as a vocation, that was open to all – rich and poor - which, at least, suggested a path to follow, so it was taken.

A path which offered to the ordinary, decent, fervent man a way of doing three things:

1. To show an awareness of the overwhelming, all-encompassing love that the Saviour had lavished on us by his life, death and resurrection. By 360 AD, the major mass persecutions of Christians were, in the main, over. To die for Christ in the arena, with wild animals, as did Ignatius of Antioch, or by the sword - or the axe - as did Paul, and so many others, had been the perfect way of returning love for love. Now, another way was found, which didn’t involve dying quickly , but which offered, instead, a way of continual dying to the self , day by day.

2. This path expressed the awareness of the debt owed by creatures. It was achieved by giving up all legitimate pleasures and, instead, involved living a life that sought only to remove, or curb, those inordinate desires, urges, dissipation of mind and body, that every man – if he is honest - possesses through Original Sin.

3. To achieve the promise of reaching their goal, the men knew they had to remove themselves from other men and women. Hence isolation, solitude and segregation made great sense. That, in turn, explains the whole eremitical motivation, and indeed its vocation.

I certainly was aware of all I have written above, but I was more interested in the men themselves as human beings. They were not orphans; they had parents, brothers and sisters; they had the ordinary needs of human beings, such as eating well… so, what did they eat in the desert? If they bought their food, well , how then did they pay for it? If they were ill, how did they cope? How did they protect themselves? Where exactly did they live – the deserts are huge places. What did they wear? Were they barefoot on the burning desert sands? Did they use the caves in the rock formations of the desert? Did they have to cope with wild animals, reptiles and rodents? Did they have fires? If so, where did they get the wood? Did they long for companionship – for someone to whom they could talk? Those, and a thousand other questions arose in my mind as I began to ponder:

The Greater Love.

The desert was still… cold… silent. Darkness surrounded him… the total silence frightened him…he tried to walk on his toes to quieten the scrunching of the sand in his sandals. He drew back in fear, and tried to hide as the moon sent a fragile beam of light for a moment only… he missed his footing in the dark, and stumbled; the ground was rough and the… sand …the sand, the never-ending sand; his father had warned him of the dangerous sand… treacherous; did it ever end? You could fall and be choked to death in the suffocating, endlessly shifting, sand, or fall into a sinkhole. His sandals, filled with sand, scrunched as he took each step…he’d made a promise to his father he would never go out into the sand on his own, and now he had… he was…in the dark…on the sand…alone!

A deeper, blackened shape loomed up in front of him; he threw himself backward in fear - terrified. Then, kneeling, he reached out his trembling hands to protect himself and flinched as he touched the shape; then let out his breath - unaware he’d been holding it… it was rock! …Only rock! He rested his head against the rock.

He was lost, truly lost, wandering in the silent, dangerous, endless, desert.

He knew he was nearly finished. Totally fatigued, so hungry, so desperate for water; he fell down on the sand, tears wetting his hands. He opened his hand and laid them flat against the sand… it was not cold; it was warm.

He leapt to his feet; hands raised in fear by the distant roar of a lion. It sounded close…it could eat him alive… he must keep going…he must find a place to hide…

He stumbled again…he couldn’t see…the ground was so rocky… but if there were rocks, there could be caves…could this big black hole be a cave? It was blacker than the night. He stood up and, as he moved slowly forward, he tripped on the rubble of stones leading into the total blackness. He was trembling, afraid, hands outstretched. So dark…he could see nothing… so terribly cold… he whimpered slightly. Cold… everything he touched was cold… It was a dark, hard, cold… a strange cold. He must sit down… he’d fall, soon, he knew that. He stretched out his hand, feeling for a place to sit down inside the cave - a flat piece of rock would do - anything would do.

He’d never felt so… so alone: he wanted his father. Why did his father stay on the ground in that awful place? – with all those awful, wicked men, screaming that terrible noise? – his father had fallen down. But he didn’t get up… he cried out silently to the darkness...why didn’t he get up?

And then the most terrible fearful, thing of all: his father had cried; he’d actually cried…he’d never seen him cry before…that was horrible… only little children cried… grown-ups never cried; his father was not a child…he was a grown up…but he DID cry! He was sure of that; HIS FATHER HAD CRIED.

That frightened him more than anything else… even the sand.

He bumped his head as he moved sideways and putting out his hand to keep his balance, he started to tremble in excitement: his father! … he’d found him at last! What on earth was he doing here? Perhaps he came here after he fell down; he must have missed him. His father certainly didn’t live here! But he was sleeping here…The child wanted to cry out in his relief, but he remembered it was night-time…you kept quiet at night; his father had told him that. His father was here, and safe …and…he was… NOT CRYING!

His small, outstretched hands touched what seemed like soft cloth. He could now hear someone breathing as they slept – yes, he had found his daddy, at last! He’d heard his father make that funny noise, through his nose before, as he slept…he fingered the bed cloth. It felt warm.

Gently, without disturbing his father, the child moved slowly, closer to the warm body and then was able to lift the covering and then slide in by the side of the sleeping man without waking him. Pulling the warm cloth up over his head, the child sank into the warmth, his body closely pressed against the warm, strangely rough clothes of the sleeping man. His eyes closed; his tightly tensed body - the fragile, exhausted body - gradually relaxed its muscles… and the child knew no more...

* * *

As the first streak of light began to illumine the tops of the sand mountains, the monk woke and cried out: ‘Benedicamus Domino. Blessed be the new day! Praised be to you Lord Jesus Christ. Thank you for this day.’

He put his hand to the side of his body to push himself up from the rock floor; he drew back his hand alarmed… very alarmed...there was someone there. His hand gently moved over the body – he realised it was a very small body, so… very quietly, leaving the body covered by the blanket, he quietly stood up, gaining the necessary leverage by turning to his left side. When he was on his feet, he quickly lit a wax candle stump and held it near the sleeping body to see what God has sent him in the night from outside.

He gazed in amazement at a small child. It looked about six or seven years of age, was very thin, but was comfortably dressed in good, but inexpensive, clothes. His hair was a familiar, ‘home-cut’… by a father, most probably, and his sandals were of good quality but very badly scuffed, while his feet were dirty – there was dried blood on them. He had obviously not washed them for several days – the monk looked more closely at the blood on the feet… perhaps the child had walked for a very long, way, and it looked as if, possibly, he had fallen several times? It was extremely likely…no one lived within leagues of him; the ground could be rough – it was not totally sand; there was plenty of rock as well.

* * *

He looked at the head – it was a boy child; it had to be with that face. The child had big eyes, they were red, probably through crying, he thought. There were dried patches of clean skin in the dirty face. They would be made by the tears. The nose was good, the skin indicating good food and his teeth, in the partly open mouth, were sparkling clean. Again, this also indicated he had come from a good family; a family that looked after their children well. The monk’s eyes were drawn to the small hands. They were clenched tight on the blanket as though they would never let it go.

The hermit monk left the child to attend to his own ablutions, going to a small opening on one side at the back of the cave. It led by a rocky tunnel into the mountain itself, of which the cave was a tiny part. He had perpetual water there, which made it precious, and two small pools of water in natural rock basins which flowed from somewhere up inside the mountain that towered over the cave, then continued its course down further into the mountain itself. The monk used one of these pools to defecate: the water carried the faeces away down a mysterious drain. He then used a tersorium to clean himself and then washed the home-made brush to clean it, so it would be ready for the child. With the great heat, his body would soon dry. He then washed his hands thoroughly and when that was done, washed his face and neck thoroughly. He also ran his wet hands over his shorn head and his long beard. He knew he must do everything to prevent the child from taking fright when he first laid eyes on him. He took off his tunic in which he slept and lived, shaking it well to get the dust out of it, then undid his belt and changed his drawers. He put these drawers into the pool of water; they would cleanse themselves by the automatic action of the little pool. He pulled on his clean drawers, then quickly replaced the belt.

Coming back into the main cave, the monk checked on the small number of bread rolls that he still had, in his one and only little safe, worried to see there were only a few dates there as well as some little hard bread rolls.

That would do for something to eat when the boy child woke. But it’s not enough for more than two or three meals. What would he do? He had intended to leave this night to begin the quite dreadful walk to the Markets. The merchants came at the end of each month, and he was almost out of food. He now would have two mouths to feed. He couldn’t wait another month; they would both be dead.

His mind roamed over the terrible walk to get the food; would the child ever be able to do that? The monk, himself, was not sure exactly how many leagues it was, but it took two nights, so it must be more than thirty leagues. Could a child walk that distance? But what was the alternative? Could he leave him alone in the cave? No, never that! It was too dangerous; the cave was wide open; any bad, wandering, evil men could come in: the boy was helpless. He could be so easily taken away.

A terrifying thought crossed his mind: the child could be sold in the slave markets! God forbid such a dreadful fate!

Well, if it was too dangerous to leave him here alone for days alone, he must take the young boy with him. There was no alternative.

Joseph pondered whether he could carry him? He didn’t think it was possible. He would already be carrying all the baskets and the water canisters: both essential to survive here in the desert. Could he, perhaps leave the baskets? But that would mean he might not have enough money to buy the food they so desperately needed. The Merchants were good people, but they had to live: their stalls were not charity ; they were in business to make money. They had families to support; it would not be right to presume on them to give him credit. And, if they wouldn’t, then the whole fearful walk would have been for nothing; he would still have no food.

The monk knelt on the rock floor and closed his eyes. God would have to advise him what to do. He had never been faced with this problem before. God had sent the child to him, then there must be a way to care for him. The child has to eat, and he has practically no food left…he bowed low, his head almost touching the floor, beseeching God to help him.

He stood up and walked softly, in his sandals, down some steps to the doorway of the cave, taking an old, well-worn codex with him. He would start praying his usual morning Psalms and only stop when the child awoke, praying that Christ, his Lord, would help him.

An hour later the monk heard a small whimper as the child started to wake. Then, as awareness began to develop, there was a sharp, excited cry of, ‘Father’. The child struggled out of the make-shift bed and rushed down to the monk and threw himself into the arms of the man, encircling his neck with his small arms and crying loudly in his joy. A moment later, he looked up at the strange face above him, and screamed in terror!

His mind was in turmoil: they were back! Where was daddy? They will kill me with their long swords! … They killed the others!

He tried to run twisting his body trying to get free, but this man had strong arms and they now held him fast.

"Sssh! Sssh! Child. You are safe with me. Don’t struggle…you are safe…you are now safe. Whatever has happened, it’s over! You are now with the Abba, Father Joseph… who won’t let anyone hurt you… or take you away, or do anything, at all to you…My child, God has sent you to me, to save you, and…I promise I will do that, no matter what happens, I will save you."

The monk clambered to his feet keeping his hand strongly on the child’s arm. The light was now strong in the cave and the monk made sure he stood where the light shone on his face and body. The child could then see him clearly. And stare, the child did.

The child saw a man’s face – it looked like an old man with the beard, but it was not grey; an old man’s beard would be grey; this one was black... this man was not even as old as his own father...he looked about Luke’s age…yes, he’s just like his big brother, Luke. The Abba -that’s what he’d said he was… had hair that was mainly black but clipped very short; he noticed the bushy eyebrows and the kind eyes, which seem to smile, as did the lips.

He could see that the monk had broken a tooth in the front which made him look funny, but normal. He had funny clothes as well. They were not very clean, either, but they were, in a way, quite nice and comfortable looking – the clothes you would wear at home when there were no visitors.

He felt the hands holding him and noticed the bumps and lumps of the palms; he knew that meant this man did hard work. That was the most comforting thing of all about this stranger; he was a hard worker. The boy knew that hard workers were not the ones who stole children, or killed people – they worked in the field, or with the animals, to produce the food they ate.

Joseph smiled at his little companion. Will you tell me your name, my boy? We can’t be friends until we know each other’s name. I’ve told you my name, it is Father Joseph – I am an Abba - and now I want to know your name.

The child took a moment to think about that, and then decided to obey. My name is Rahild Khaled the Third, the son of Rahild Khaled the Second.

Joseph smiled. And your grandfather must have been Rahild Khaled the First, is that right? The boy nodded. I can tell that your father, Rahild, is a good and faithful man; he has to be, you love him so much. We’ll will have to find him, if we can.

The boy hung his head, tears starting again. He made me lie down and hide, when all the noise started… it was near the Wadi ben Nier…there was a lot of noise… screaming… then the rush with the gleaming swords; my daddy shouted in pain as the sword went right through his leg , and he fell down. I ran to him, to help him, but he didn’t get up…he didn’t get up; I don’t know why, but he then went to sleep…and he didn’t get up. The child’s lips quivered. Then they came for me, but I ran away into the desert into the darkness.

Rahild began to cry again, big, loud noisy sobs that tore the man’s heart. He picked the boy up in his arms again and held him close. The child buried his head in the big man’s shoulder.

The monk quietly spoke to the boy, calmly and with great seriousness. I promise you we will search for him and see if we can find him, Rahild… it will be a big job, but we will try very hard to do that… he held the child away from him so he could see the monk’s face and his smiling lips. However, first, I have to act as your father and get you cleaned up a bit as well as we can. I want you to be clean and well cared for so your father will see I have taken good care of you. So, saying, the monk put the child down and, taking his hand, led him into the tunnel leading from the cave.

The child was overcome with wonder at the natural beauty of the water cave as the monk called it. He put his hands in the little pool and then washed his face vigorously with his hands. He then, holding onto the hand of the monk dunked his head into the water to wash his hair. He did this several times, even remembering to wash his ears.

There was natural light in the water tunnel which was a wondrous thing and the monk looked at his little charge, speaking carefully.

"Now, see this little pool here. It is not very deep only about the length of your legs. The exit hole in the bottom is quite small so you won’t slip away; you can regard it as your own little swimming oasis. I shall go and wait in the cave for you while you get undressed and get into the water and try to get all that dirt off your body. I’ll search for some clothing of mine you could wear for a couple of hours while we wash your clothes; then we’ll dry them by spreading them out on the rocks in front of the cave. It’s always very hot outside, so your clothes will dry quickly. Understand?’ the child nodded, already undoing his clothing.

Joseph turned back again. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you where to relieve your bowels. He took the boy’s hand and led him to the other small pool and told him to