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The Account of the Transitus of the Relics of Symeon the Anchorite
In the Year of our Lord 2025, on the 19 th day of the month of November,
following the Office of Lauds, I knelt and received a blessing From Abbot Gregory, as is
the custom for monks going on journeys. Then, I loaded my precious cargo into my car,
a blue 2011 Chevy Cruze with a provocative and countercultural bumper sticker on the
back, and set off for Kansas City.
My assignment was to transport 3 oxygen concentrators and a nebulizer to
Kansas City. They were used by Brother Symeon, of happy memory, a monk who
established the artist’s guild at the Abbey’s school, and lived as a contemplative hermit.
The equipment would be received by a group who would ship it overseas to the
missions run by the Franciscan order.
Now, my journey to Kansas City was uneventful. But when I approached the
location which I was given, I saw signs that bore the words:
Subtropolis
The world’s largest underground business complex
I thought this was a joke, or an exaggeration. But sure enough, my map led me
into tunnel 8800 of Subtropolis. I saw 18 wheelers issuing forth from the cave. After
some brief hesitation, I drove my humble steed into the tunnel.
And behold! A vast network of caves, built by the limestone miners of old, now
converted into millions of square feet of warehouses. I drove forward, my map failing
me. Eventually, I saw signs for my destination. Still, I struggled to find it. I got out of my
car, and entered into a cavern that I thought was the warehouse I needed. But inside, it
was the cafeteria for the warehouse workers. Eventually, I found my way to the
missionary warehouse.
They gratefully accepted the relics, and sent me on my way. But now that my
mission had been complete, I had a new problem to contend with. For some kind of
vapor had begun to issue forth from the hood of my car. I drove out of the cave, and
pulled into a parking lot belonging to a guild of couriers bearing the name “UPS”.
As I searched for a solution to my problem, behold, a man approached me. He
was black, about 6’2, and he had a tattoo on his neck. “Is something wrong with your
car?” he asked.
“Yeah, there’s some vapor coming from under the hood, but I don’t know what’s
causing it.”
“Open the hood up.”
I opened the hood. He looked around for about 30 seconds, then pointed to a
tube.
“There it is,” he said. “The tube for the antifreeze came loose. Do you have a pair
of pliers?”
I didn’t have any pliers.
“I’ll see if Maintenance has any”.
About three minutes later, he came out, bearing pliers and antifreeze. He fixed
the tube, and poured new antifreeze into the tank.
“You’re good to go”, he said.
“Thank you!”, I said, rejoicing over my good fortune. I took out some of the trip
money which the monastic bursar had given me. But he refused it, giving me a fist
bump and saying, “you good”. I asked for his name, and he told me “Jack”.
After this, I drove to Columbia, to visit that great center of wise and learned men
where I had earned my letters. I stopped at the church to visit the chaplains and my
friends who were still in their studies. I spoke briefly with my friend Trent, who was
studying to become a physician. Then I went out to my car. But alas, when I turned the
key, it didn’t start. I sent the prior the following message; “Car isn’t starting. I will try and
find a jump start. One day I’ll look back on this and laugh.”
I went back into the church to ask Trent for a jump start. There I met Father
Andrew, one of the chaplains. I explained to him that I had been transferring the relics of
Symeon the Anchorite to a group of cave-dwelling Franciscans, when my car broke
down. He and Trent jump started the car, but it didn’t work.
I called AAA, and they towed my car to the local artificer to have a look at it. In
the meantime, I was stuck in Columbia. I prayed vespers, then had dinner at Panda
Express. I had the opportunity to visit more of my friends. I heard great news of
vocations and conversions taking place. The Church at the university has a ministry that
meets on Wednesdays, so I had the opportunity to go to adoration that night. There
were about a hundred people there. Then Father Andrew drove me back to the rectory,
where I spent the night.
The next day, I arose for vigils and lauds. Afterwards, I got to meet Father Peter
Paul, an African missionary studying journalism. I spent the day at the rectory. Since I
didn’t prepare for a journey of more than 8 hours, I didn’t have that much to do.
Fortunately, I was able to rake some leaves, as it is written in the Holy Rule, “Idleness is
the enemy of the Soul”. Then I got a call from the repair shop, saying that my car would
cost a vast sum to repair. At this point in my life and the car’s life, such repairs would not
be worth it. So, I let the mechanic take the car off of my hands, for he had a friend who
fixed old cars and sold them to students in need at a discounted price.
Fortunately, Father Andrew was making a journey to the St Louis area, so he was
able to bring me most of the way to the Abbey. During the ride, we spoke of many good
things. Father Athanasius of St Louis Abbey drove me the rest of the way.
We arrived at the Abbey halfway through vespers. After vespers, several monks
individually came up to me and welcomed me back. Then, I put on an apron, for I was
the semi-abbot that week. Now a semi-abbot is a dishwasher. After washing the dishes
from dinner, I sat at table with the Prior, who had been the waiter, and two other monks.
One of the brethren asked Father Prior about the missing Advent candles. He
responded, “let me eat dinner first, and then we can figure it out.” Then he breathed
some air out of his nose in amusement. I did too, only, I was not laughing about the
missing Advent candles interrupting the Prior’s meal. Behold, I was looking back at my
voyage and laughing.