Father Boniface

Wednesday was the monastic funeral of Father Boniface the former 90 year old librarian of the Westminster /Christ the King Seminary in Mission. Father Boniface was a librarian , teacher and deep listener of souls. His spirit was always too large for his body and although he seemed to be a fairly frail older man the light of his spirit filled his twinkly blue eyes and any room he was sitting in. I used to think he floated a few inches from the floor around the library. When I first started to be allowed to use his library , a grace I believe I was allowed because I was a seeker and a trusted someone referred me. The library is not a public use facility. In an all male monastery an extra special gift of trust. I borrowed books from there for almost ten years. Although I have taken other courses in religion and spend my days working in an educational setting as a support staff few other places have educated me as well as my time in the monastic library. I was like a child left alone in a candy shop. I could eat up all the mystics I liked. Which were many and abundant. It was here I got to know the desert fathers, female mystics, patrons of religious orders like St. Benedict , Bernard and Bruno. Here I found others like me , although often veiled in archaic language, ancient customs and often cloistered behind the walls of a convent their hearts were in love with Christ and they dared to try to express in words that for many sounded like the words of Lovers. This a reoccurring theme of female mystics in a kind of courtly love language as Christ was indeed their Lover.

Standing around the grave of a very old monk one is again reminded of how much Love kept him there. How promises of stability to a monastery he had served were kept , even when his heart longed often for the soil on the other side of Mt Angel. Father Boniface told me a little story once( he is famous for his little stories) of how when he was a very small boy his father held him on his shoulders so they could watch together the sad occurrence of the burning of the Mt Angel Monastery library. I believe this little vignette was a driving force in Father Boniface's compiling role of the wonderful Abbey library. Towards the last few years of Father Boniface's life I slowed down on my book borrowing and spend a bit more time just visiting as I sensed Father felt uncomfortable about letting his book children out the door in case perhaps he might pass and the books might never make it home to their right stall. He taught me that a misplaced book is a lost book and how to be very careful in my returning of them to their home on the shelves. One a couple of hot summer days I received access to the rare book room and thought perhaps I had died and gone to heaven. My early days in the library I was trying to tackle the big spiritual hitters like St. John of the Cross and St. Theresa of Avila's Interior Castles. He would give me a picture book of St. John of the Cross and a commentary to go along with Interior Castles. He knew what I needed when I didn't . After awhile of returning whatever I borrowed I could select something which he was happier with when it had double copies or more so the students would not be without a book. I found books in the women topics that were less read and not key seminary reading and it was garden of delights. It was like some long ago relative of mine had a thing for scriptoriums. I was born to be in one. When there I was perfectly content. By some coincidence a relative send us a well researched family genealogy and eons of relatives had lived within a stones throw of Glendough an ancient monastic village in the old country. So that might explain my love of monastic libraries. Except for one thing. Now that Fr. Boniface has gone and I know I will no longer see his smiling face and twinkly eyes among the books the library seems a much dustier and less pressing in interest place to visit. I have found my books in other ways and the doors of access seemed to have closed under the new monitor. While closing those doors other windows have opened and I am actually aware that my time of Grace there was something special and beautiful. As we stood around the grave side of Father Boniface each person tossed a bit of dirt on to his simple wood casket. Hesitant, I held back and composed myself for the final goodbye. There was something providing deep closure about tossing that clot of dirt on a box. I knew with all certainty that Father Boniface was not there. His frail little body might be in the box but that was all. A saint had gone home. An awareness that this was not a goodbye , but a Hello again in heaven swept over me and I look forward , one day in the words of St. Benedict "keeping death ever before my eyes , " standing with that great cloud of witnesses around the throne of God Fr. Boniface being fully restored among them . I am sure glad I took back all my books. Because , I am sure they will have Boniface on the gates. Checking out to see if your name is on the cards...." I think you have some fines here"....Awe. NO stamped Paid In Full. Enter In . I know that will be what was said to Boniface." Well done good and faithful servant. Enter into your rest. "Father Boniface has gone home and the world is an emptier place without him.