Quest of Hope(169)
Heinrich would not be so fortunate, but he felt awed and humbled in the cold night’s air as he bent his knee to the first step. Pausing to recite his words, he then climbed upward, one at time, slowly and carefully. He was told the blood of Jesus still stained the gray marble, but in the torchlight the man could not see to kiss the marks. Upon reaching the top, he laid the silver chain on the last step and recited both an Ave and a Pater. A grumbling guard snatched the necklace and put it promptly into his pocket. He muttered something in his own tongue and motioned for Heinrich to descend.
The pilgrim paused, certain the old sailor would have been disappointed, then obeyed by backing slowly downward on his aching knees. He reached the bottom and stood quietly, then turned and walked the long slope up to his little cell in Santa Maria in Domnica.
The weeks that followed proved to be difficult for the baker of Weyer. His skin was badly broken by the hair garments. Rashes became oozing sores, especially over his shoulders and thighs. But he reasoned that such agony was fitting for a season of penance and refused the pleas of Sister Anoush for treatment. Finally, however, on Holy Saturday, the twenty-fourth of March, the miserable man relented. He reached into his hidden rucksack and sprinkled salt upon his miseries and did so for the fortnight to follow.
By May Day his sores had healed and his skin had roughened in a way that it no longer suffered the abrasions of the clothes. Though the man was relieved for it, he felt ashamed as well. He had come to pay for his past, to immerse himself in a baptism of misery that might wash away his failings. It was the way of his order and he clung with desperate resolve to the notions it had planted so deeply within his soul.
But Heinrich could scarcely bear the frustration he felt and the growing contempt in which he held himself. “I come to pay a penance, yet I yearn for comfort and healing. I do duties that become easier each day. Woe to me … woe to me!”
On a rainy day near May’s end he handed old Anoush his remaining salt. “For the children. I have been greedy and selfish … I should have given it before.” He then reached into his satchel and retrieved his gold coins and what silver pennies he still had. “And take these idols from me. I’ve no right to them. Feed the poor, clothe the naked.” He set the pouch into the astonished nun’s palms and turned away.
On the first of June he announced an added penance. To Anoush’s horror and the priests’ affirmation, he would begin to crawl on his belly to St. John’s each night; it seemed a way to suffer more. So for weeks on end the man did just that. In the dark hours past each midnight he dragged himself through the rough rubble and fouled gutters of Rome to the Holy Stairs where he muttered his repetitions. He then crawled home to lie alone in his cell until prime when a new day of hard labor would began.
Heinrich lived this way through the months of June and July, but after ringing the bells of prime on a glorious August dawn, the man collapsed in tears. He moaned like a wounded bull as he railed against himself with yet more failings. “Methinks me mad! I hate this penance and in m’hatred I sin again!” He lay trembling and confused until the gentle hand of Sister Anoush startled him.
Sister Anoush had spent hours in her gardens reflecting on her friend’s misery and in earnest prayer on his behalf. “Dear, dear Heinrich. How can I help you?”
The haggard, gaunt penitent sat up, hollow-eyed and drawn. His beard was long, his hair unkempt. He had lost his bulk, his clothing smelled, and his breath was hard. “I … I fear I am beyond hope.”
“Nay, never.” Anoush took him firmly by the hand. “Poor wretch, you are bound to something other than wisdom’s way. You must find the courage to change … the courage to turn outside of yourself.”
Heinrich looked away.
The old woman embraced the man. “I pray this caterpillar bursts from his bondage … I pray you become a butterfly and fly away from the gutters of Rome!” Her words chilled the man.
By St. Michael’s Day, Anoush’s prayer was not yet answered. Heinrich stubbornly held to his vow and sank ever further into an abyss of melancholy and despair. He sought new ways to purge whatever undeserved respite tempted him from his path, and to Anoush’s great sadness, he finally refused to look upon the mosaic, once cursing it for the gladness it had given him.
His obsession became entangled with depression which, in turn, gave way to indolence. His sluggish ways did not go unnoticed, and on a cold Advent evening Father Vincenzo lost all patience with the man. “Sloth is a vice!” he shouted. “And sins require penance!” Heinrich groaned.