The Saint
Page 30
“My lawyer said I’ve got to be here about twenty hours a week. This is my life now.”
“I want more of your time than twenty hours a week. Those hours are for community service. You also need to keep your grades up. When school starts again in the fall, I want you to do your homework here at church so I can help you if necessary.”
“I’m good at school, it’s okay. I’m smarter than I look.”
“There’s nothing unintelligent in your appearance,” he said as they started walking again. Mothers pushing strollers walked past them. They barely noticed her, but every last one of them smiled at Søren. “One failed test, one missed assignment and your grades could drop. If you can’t do the work and keep your grades up, the judge will send you to juvenile detention.”
“I know. I promise I’ll do my homework. These park women are totally checking you out.”
“Eleanor.”
“Sorry.”
“In addition to your community service work, you’ll receive spiritual counseling.”
“Spiritual counseling? Do I even want to know what that is?”
“As a Jesuit, I went through years of spiritual counseling with mentors. All of it was enlightening and edifying. Priests and laypeople alike can benefit from the teachings of Saint Ignatius. I’m certain you will, too.”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened at the prospect of spending so much time with Søren.
“Saint Ignatius? Okay. I can handle that. Anything else?”
“As for your community service, most of it will be performed here at Sacred Heart. As much as I respect Father Gregory, his ministry seemed to focus far more on the spiritual needs of the community rather than the material needs. The church has no food bank, no outreach missions.”
“Is that bad?” As they passed a small tree, Eleanor grabbed the end of a branch and shook it like a hand.
“Prayer is all well and good, but Christ made it abundantly clear we’d be judged by our works far more than our prayers.”
“You’re about to quote a Bible verse at me, aren’t you?”
“I am. Matthew 25: 31–46.”
“The sheep and the goats.” She almost yelled the words. Søren looked at her with his right eyebrow raised. “Sorry. I remembered that one. I got excited.”
“Wonderful to hear such enthusiasm about the Bible. You remember the verses?” As they passed a bush bursting with roses, Søren reached out and stroked the pale pink petals.
“Yeah. Jesus says when he comes back he’ll divide people into two groups—the sheep and the goats.”
“Correct. The sheep, Jesus says, will inherit the kingdom of God because they clothed him when he was naked, fed him when he was hungry, gave him water when he was thirsty and visited him in prison. The sheep will say they do not remember ever doing such things for Jesus. And Jesus answers, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ The goats were the ones who never fed the hungry, gave water to the thirsty.”
“I always liked those verses. We acted them out in Sunday school. We had little sheep ears and goat horns.” She put her hands on her head and mimed horns with her fingers. Søren seemed to be biting back a smile.
“I want you to be counted among the sheep. As part of your community service, you’ll start a food bank at the church. We have a massive kitchen that only seems to get used for wedding receptions or baptisms. You’ll also work at church camp and visit the homeless at the shelter on Sixth Street.”
“Visit the homeless shelter?” She couldn’t quite keep the fear out of her voice. She’d heard bad stories from that shelter. Most of them involving drug addicts or alcoholics. Fights would break out. People would end up in the hospital.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Do you babysit?”
“Sometimes. Kids like me.”
“I can’t imagine anyone not liking you.”
She tried not to smile. She failed.
“I’ve spoken several times with your mother. She’ll keep you on your schedule and monitor your grades.”
“You talked to my mom?”
“She loves you. We’re going to work together to keep you out of trouble.”
Eleanor grimaced.
“What was that expression for?” Søren demanded.
“Sorry.” She sighed. “I like trouble.”
They had made one complete loop around the park, a quarter mile according to the sign. Søren led her away from the path and back toward the church. He paused in a clearing about fifteen yards from the back of the church and picked a stick up off the ground. The stick was about two feet tall and two inches thick. Søren shoved it deep into the soft moist soil.
“Your first act of service is this …” Søren said as he stood back up. “Every day for the next six months come rain, shine, snow, sleet, hail or hurricane, you will water this stick.”
Eleanor stared at the dead stick jutting up from the ground.
“It’s a stick.”
“I know it is.”
“It’s dead.”
“I realize that.”
“Watering it isn’t going to bring it back to life.”
“I realize that, as well.”
“But I’m supposed to water it?”
“I want more of your time than twenty hours a week. Those hours are for community service. You also need to keep your grades up. When school starts again in the fall, I want you to do your homework here at church so I can help you if necessary.”
“I’m good at school, it’s okay. I’m smarter than I look.”
“There’s nothing unintelligent in your appearance,” he said as they started walking again. Mothers pushing strollers walked past them. They barely noticed her, but every last one of them smiled at Søren. “One failed test, one missed assignment and your grades could drop. If you can’t do the work and keep your grades up, the judge will send you to juvenile detention.”
“I know. I promise I’ll do my homework. These park women are totally checking you out.”
“Eleanor.”
“Sorry.”
“In addition to your community service work, you’ll receive spiritual counseling.”
“Spiritual counseling? Do I even want to know what that is?”
“As a Jesuit, I went through years of spiritual counseling with mentors. All of it was enlightening and edifying. Priests and laypeople alike can benefit from the teachings of Saint Ignatius. I’m certain you will, too.”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened at the prospect of spending so much time with Søren.
“Saint Ignatius? Okay. I can handle that. Anything else?”
“As for your community service, most of it will be performed here at Sacred Heart. As much as I respect Father Gregory, his ministry seemed to focus far more on the spiritual needs of the community rather than the material needs. The church has no food bank, no outreach missions.”
“Is that bad?” As they passed a small tree, Eleanor grabbed the end of a branch and shook it like a hand.
“Prayer is all well and good, but Christ made it abundantly clear we’d be judged by our works far more than our prayers.”
“You’re about to quote a Bible verse at me, aren’t you?”
“I am. Matthew 25: 31–46.”
“The sheep and the goats.” She almost yelled the words. Søren looked at her with his right eyebrow raised. “Sorry. I remembered that one. I got excited.”
“Wonderful to hear such enthusiasm about the Bible. You remember the verses?” As they passed a bush bursting with roses, Søren reached out and stroked the pale pink petals.
“Yeah. Jesus says when he comes back he’ll divide people into two groups—the sheep and the goats.”
“Correct. The sheep, Jesus says, will inherit the kingdom of God because they clothed him when he was naked, fed him when he was hungry, gave him water when he was thirsty and visited him in prison. The sheep will say they do not remember ever doing such things for Jesus. And Jesus answers, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ The goats were the ones who never fed the hungry, gave water to the thirsty.”
“I always liked those verses. We acted them out in Sunday school. We had little sheep ears and goat horns.” She put her hands on her head and mimed horns with her fingers. Søren seemed to be biting back a smile.
“I want you to be counted among the sheep. As part of your community service, you’ll start a food bank at the church. We have a massive kitchen that only seems to get used for wedding receptions or baptisms. You’ll also work at church camp and visit the homeless at the shelter on Sixth Street.”
“Visit the homeless shelter?” She couldn’t quite keep the fear out of her voice. She’d heard bad stories from that shelter. Most of them involving drug addicts or alcoholics. Fights would break out. People would end up in the hospital.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Do you babysit?”
“Sometimes. Kids like me.”
“I can’t imagine anyone not liking you.”
She tried not to smile. She failed.
“I’ve spoken several times with your mother. She’ll keep you on your schedule and monitor your grades.”
“You talked to my mom?”
“She loves you. We’re going to work together to keep you out of trouble.”
Eleanor grimaced.
“What was that expression for?” Søren demanded.
“Sorry.” She sighed. “I like trouble.”
They had made one complete loop around the park, a quarter mile according to the sign. Søren led her away from the path and back toward the church. He paused in a clearing about fifteen yards from the back of the church and picked a stick up off the ground. The stick was about two feet tall and two inches thick. Søren shoved it deep into the soft moist soil.
“Your first act of service is this …” Søren said as he stood back up. “Every day for the next six months come rain, shine, snow, sleet, hail or hurricane, you will water this stick.”
Eleanor stared at the dead stick jutting up from the ground.
“It’s a stick.”
“I know it is.”
“It’s dead.”
“I realize that.”
“Watering it isn’t going to bring it back to life.”
“I realize that, as well.”
“But I’m supposed to water it?”
