Story No. 121
Encounter on 5th Avenue
I was just leaving St Patrick's Church in New York when a young Brazilian came over to me. 'It's great to see you,' he said, smiling. 'There's something I wanted to tell you.' I was equally pleased at this encounter with a stranger. I invited him for a coffee, told him about my awful trip to Denver, and suggested that he go to Harlem on Sunday to attend a religious service there. The young man, who was in his twenties,listened to me without saying a word. I talked on. I said that I had just read a novel about a terrorist group that launches an attack on St Patrick's Church, and that the author had described the scene in such detail that I had noticed many things I had never seen on previous visits. That was why I had decided to go to the church that morning. We spent nearly an hour together, drank two coffees, and I dominated the entire conversation. Afterwards, we said goodbye, and I wished him a good trip. 'Thanks,' he said, moving off. That was when I noticed the sad look in his eyes; something was wrong and I didn't know what. Only after walking a few blocks did I realise what it was: the young man had come over to me saying that there was something he needed to talk to me about. During the whole time we spent together, I had been in control of the situation. At no point had I asked him what he wanted to tell me; in my desire to be friendly, I had filled up all the spaces, I hadn't allowed one moment of silence when the young man could have transformed a monologue into a dialogue. He may have had something really important to share with me. Perhaps if I had been truly open to life at that moment, I too would have had something to give to him. Perhaps both my life and his would have changed radically after that encounter. I will never know and I am not going to torture myself with the fact that I failed to take advantage of a potentially magical moment: mistakes happen. But ever since then, I have tried to keep alive in my memory that farewell scene and the sad look in the boy's eyes. I was incapable of receiving what was destined for me and so was equally incapable of giving what I wanted to give, however hard I tried.
Story No. 122
Encounter in Posto Seis
Father José Roberto from the Church of the Resurrection in Rio de Janeiro, was setting off early one morning when his car was stopped by three adolescents. 'We've been up all night, Father,' said one of them defiantly. 'Guess where we've been.' Like any other normal human being, José Roberto chose to say nothing. He could imagine what being up all night at their age was likely to involve and he shuddered at the risks the boys must have taken and thought how worried their parents would be. The boy who had initiated the conversation finally answered his own question. 'We were at the Church of Our Lady in Copacabana, praying to the Virgin. We left there on such a high that we walked all the way here [about 3 kilometers], singing, laughing and talking to everyone we met. At least one person said to us: "Aren't you ashamed, boys of your age being drunk at this hour in the morning?"' Father José Roberto started his car and set off for his appointment. On the way, he said to himself over and over: 'I let myself be taken in by appearances and I committed an injustice in my heart. When will we ever fully understand Jesus' words: "Judge not, that you be not judged. For with what judgment you judge, you shall be judged, and with what measure you mete, it shall be measured unto you"?'
Story No. 123
The right stone
A man once heard tell that, in a nearby desert, a certain alchemist had lost the result of years of work: the famous philosopher's stone, which could transform into gold any metal that it touched. Driven by the desire to find it and to become rich, the man went to that desert. Since he did not know quite what the philosopher's stone looked like, he began picking up every stone he came across; he would then hold it to his belt buckle to see what happened. A year passed, and then another, and still nothing. The man, however, clung obstinately to his desire to find the magical stone. Mechanically, he walked every valley and mountain in the desert, rubbing one pebble after another against his belt buckle. One night, just before going to sleep, he noticed that his buckle had been changed into gold! But which stone had it been? Had the miracle occurred during the morning or the evening? How long had it been, in fact, since he had bothered to check the results of all his efforts? What had started out as a search with a clear objective had become a mechanical, joyless exercise with no real goal. What had started out as an adventure had become dull duty. Now he had no way of finding the right stone, because his belt buckle was already gold and no other transformation could possibly take place. He had followed the right road, but had failed to notice the miracle awaiting him.
Story No. 124
The largest stones
The teacher placed a large glass jar on the table. Then out of a bag he took ten stones, each the size of an orange, and began placing them, one by one, in the jar. When the jar was filled to the brim with stones, he asked his students: 'Is it full?' They all agreed that it was. The teacher, however, took some gravel from another bag and by jiggling the large stones around inside the jar, managed to fit in quite a lot of gravel. 'Is it full now?' The students said, yes, this time it was definitely full. At that point, the teacher opened a third bag, this time full of fine sand, and he began to pour it into the jar. The sand filled up any empty spaces between the large stones and the gravel, right up to the top. 'Right,' said the teacher. 'Now the jar is full. What do you think I've been trying to demonstrate to you?' 'That it doesn't matter how busy you are,there's always room to fit in something else,' said one student. 'Not at all. What this little demonstration shows us is that we have to put the large stones in first because, afterwards, they won't fit. Now what are the important things in our lives? What are the plans we postpone, the adventures we never have, the loves we fail to fight for? Ask which are the large, solid stones that keep God's flame alive in you and put them into your jar of decisions now, because very soon there will be no room for them.'
Story No. 125
The problem tree
The carpenter finished another day's work. As it was the weekend, he decided to invite a friend to come back home with him for a drink. When he got to his house and before they went in, the carpenter stood for a few moments in silence before a tree growing in his garden. Then he touched its branches with both hands. The expression on his face changed completely. He went into the house, smiling; he was greeted by his wife and children; he told them stories; and then he went out onto the verandah with his friend for a drink. They could see the tree from there. Curiosity got the better of his friend and he asked the carpenter to explain his earlier behaviour.'Oh, that's my problem tree,' said the carpenter. 'I know that I'm bound to have problems at work, but those problems are mine, not my wife's or my children's. So, when I get home, I hang all my problems on that tree. The next day, before leaving for work, I pick them up again. The oddest thing is, though, that when I come out in the morning to get them, some of them have gone, while others seem much heavier than they were the previous night.'
Continued...