The Jesuit training center where I attend a monthly course is normally filled with joy and peace. Not today. Today, there is a disturbance in The Force.
Some months back I came to the center to interview for a place on the course. I was anxious. My anxiety was put to rest the moment I met him. Well into his 80s, he looked like a leprechaun. Short, trim, prominent nose, gray hair parted to the side. He held the door open and welcomed me to the center in a sing-song Irish accent. He wore faded cotton trousers, slippers, and a cardigan knit long ago by a loved one. He asked me my name. He told me he would pray for me. Then he ambled off down the corridor, humming.
He reappeared throughout that first day, popping up in random places. He didn’t seem to be working, but rather drifting peacefully through the training center on some invisible current, as a fish might do in a huge aquarium. Each occasion when we passed he would stop, clasp my hand, say my name, and remind me of his prayers for me. His eyes twinkled. He hummed merrily to himself as he floated away.
I learned that he had once been a renowned expert in the practice of prayer. He had been a sought after retreat leader and author of several classic works. In recent years he has spent his days padding around in slippers, praying for people and radiating peace. He is perhaps the most peaceful human that I have ever encountered.
For 21 years he lived on the second floor of the training center in a small bedroom between the elevator shaft and the utility storage closet. The room has a tiny window with a distant view of the Irish Sea. Today he is being relocated to another Jesuit community. I suspect he is being eased out to pasture.
We met this morning in the stairwell. He did not recognize me. He held a box of paperclips in his hand. He told me he was cleaning out his small room and wanted to be sure the paper clips were put to good use at the reception desk. I spontaneously gave him a bar of chocolate that I had in my backpack. I told him how grateful I was for his peaceful presence. His eyes welled with tears.
This afternoon I watched from a distance as the small group of remaining Jesuits escorted him to the taxi. They held him lovingly by the elbow as they walked together. Everything he owns fit into a garment bag and a single suitcase.
Headlines of predatory priests and politicians get me down. Today, however, I was reminded of the legions of truly great people who never make the papers. These anonymous heroes make the world go round by quietly going about their life’s work. As this gentle man has done his whole life, sowing peace.