The Simpleton: A Short Story

He was born with what seemed a perpetual smile on his face.  His mother, in the throes of a deep depression and premature labor pains brought on by the execution of her husband by the Germans, had cursed God.  And God in his wisdom had given her a son who the midwife had immediately understood would be a simpleton, a child that would never be like other children. Some of the villagers whispered it was the sins of the parents being visited on their offspring or was it simply God's way of laying his hand on all those who the life of the infant would touch. Nothing happens without a reason.

In her madness and despair she named him Gelasios. Already weakened by hunger and the loss of blood in childbirth, she died two days later.  He was given into the hands of a childless widow who loved him and raised him as her own.  She had a solitary goat and it was that goat that helped them survive the stone years during and after the Occupation of Greece. Gelasios was the object of many village jokes and in spite of his innocent cheerfulness and genuine attempts to play with the other children, he was never fully accepted.  It was just too easy to take advantage of him, naive to a fault, generous without exception. The village schoolteacher tried without success to teach him but gave up after two days, banishing him from school forever. The other children envied him. "He is hopeless!"  said the bespectacled scholar with soft hands eyeing the widow up and down as he sipped his demitasse of thick coffee. "I'm not even sure he can manage the job of sheepherder."  The widow dressed in black, who up until then had been looking down, raised her head and stared defiantly at him, turned and walked away without saying a word.

She had a gift for embroidery, handed down from her grandmother, and it was this gift that she was able to put to use in the years after the troubles when people had some money to spend. The widow realized that after she was gone, Gelasios would have no one to take care of him and he would be cast adrift without any means of support. And so after repeated pleas to her husband's old friend and a exquisitely embriodered tablecloth for his daughter's dowry,  he had reluctantly agreed to allow Gelasios to accompany one of his sheepherders into the surrounding mountains in search of better pastures for his growing flocks. 

Gelasios was apprenticed to the sheepherder Manolis who introduced him to the serenity and beauty of the mountains. A man not known for suffering fools, he nevertheless, tried hard to teach Gelasios enough to survive. "You are like a lost lamb, my boy,"  he mused, scratching his white beard and throwing some more dry wood onto the small fire he had built to ward off the night chill.   "I seem to remember that our Lord had a soft spot for lost lambs and he must be looking out for you as well," he crossed himself, laid down in a bed of dried leaves, wrapping his heavy wool cape around him as the night embraced him. Gelasios stared at the stars above for a long time. 

The next morning, they took the flock up toward the monastery of Petra.  It was there that Manolis introduced Gelasios to one of the monks, Father Athanasios. A tall imposing figure with deep cut lines in his face.  He was soft spoken and exuded kindliness and Christian love like a myrrh scented incense. He invited them in and took them to the trapeza where he gave them both cool water and spoonfuls of jam made from orange rinds.  It was almost time for vespers and Manolis decided to attend the service. Gelasios had entered a dream world, bombarded by the sights and smells of a busy monastery. In Church he could not take his eyes off the huge icon of the Pantocrater on the dome looking down on him. Gelasios smiled and Christ smiled back at him. As the monks began coming into church and the chanting started, Gelasios was once again reminded of his inability to pray.  No matter how hard he tried he could never memorize the words to a prayer, any prayer.  And oh how the village children made fun of him.  "Hey Gelasios, I bet my donkey will learn how to pray before you do, " said one and the rest doubled over with laughter. Even that was not enough to wipe the smile from his face.

The two people who Gelasios loved most in this world, died within 10 months of each other. The widow stepped on a land mine, a remnant of the war, while collecting firewood in the hills. It took off her right leg at the knee and she bled to death before anyone found her. Manoli's heart gave out after an arduous journey through the mountains and he died in the arm's of Gelasios. Deprived of his two anchors, Gelasios traveled back to Petra to see Father Athanasios. "Father I have nowhere to go and no one to take me in, may I stay here with you and the other monks?" he said pleadingly. "I will eat very little, even the crumbs from your table and I can sleep anywhere and I can help the monks with their work."  Father Athanasios looked at him for a moment. He could see the fear in his eyes and the rising desperation in his heart, deciding right there to ask the Abbott of the monastery if he could stay.  

Geronta greeted Gelasios, who kissed his hand.  "Father Athanasios tells me you would like to stay here with us. That is impossible. The most important thing we do here is pray and Father tells me that you cannot pray."  Gelasios blurted out, "But Geronta I will learn if Father teaches me, please don't send me away. I want to stay here with Christ and the Panagia!"  Geronta and Father looked at each other.  "Alright," said Geronta, "You have my blessing, Father Athanasios will teach you. In one month you must learn a small prayer or you must leave." Gelasios dropped to his knees, repeating over and over, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."  Geronta made the sign of the cross over Gelasios head and said, "Thank Christ, not me."

Day in and day out, Father Athanasios would repeat one prayer after another. The Lord's prayer, then the Jesus prayer.  Father would say each prayer, a few words at a time, and Gelasios would repeat them in turn.  "Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me, a sinner."  No matter how often he repeated them, his mind would go suddenly blank when he had to recite the entire prayer. They tried another prayer, "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb Jesus." Again, Gelasios would stumble or simply forget the words. The days became weeks and the weeks, almost a month. Finally, Father Athanasios suggested Gelasios learn only the first two words of the prayer, Hail Mary.  "Try very hard my son to remember just those two words" he admonished, then kept repeatng them again and again and again with Gelasios.

A few days later, Gelasios was brought before the Abbott, who looked at him sternly. "Well?" Gelasios smiling with tears streaming down both cheeks blurted "Hail Mary, Hail Mary, Hail Mary."  There was a long silence.  Geronta smiled and said: "You have my blessing to stay here as long as you would like."  And so it came to pass that Gelasios the simpleton whose intellect was weak but whose faith was exceedingly strong, was eventually tonsured a monk years later, and reborn, living out the rest of his days as a member of that monastic community.  During his years as a monk he was never able to learn more than those two words, though he repeated them many times every day with his ever present smile. He was a tireless worker and a gentle soul who was respected for his piety and goodness.  Even as he laid on his deathbed he kept repeating the only prayer he ever knew: "Hail Mary, Hail Mary, Hail Mary" until his soul departed its mortal coil.  All the monks agreed it was a good death.  At his funeral, as he laid in his coffin, everyone marveled at the smile on his face. It was the same smile that he was wearing when he came into the world. The smile of a man who was not ashamed to stand in the presence of his Maker.

The next spring, one of the monks noticed flowers blooming from his grave. He inquired around the monastery, curious about who had planted the flowers. Everyone he questioned denied planting the flowers. "I've never seen anything like it, all those beautiful lilies suddenly sprouting there and nowhere else. A real mystery."  They continued blooming over his grave each spring until it was time to exhume his body, wash the bones with wine and place them in the reliquery where the remains of generations of the monastery's monks found their last resting place. As the monks began to push back the earth that covered Gelasios they found that the roots of the flowers emanated from the spot where his heart had once been and that there were two words inscribed on the petals of each flower, "Hail Mary."

Such is the power of prayer that comes from the heart.

Author's Note: The photo above is of Elder Joseph of Vatopedi, a monk of Mt Athos, and was taken at his funeral.

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Unless you become as a little child...

[Kevin McEvily]

Okay. Here's three short prayers from the heart for today. Happy birthday to Margaret; may she live a hundred years. Long live the United States and success to the Marines! God bless Stavros and all his family and readers of MGO.
10 November 2009
Kevin McEvily
Houston

[Stavros]

Happy Birthday Margaret, and to you Kevin and to all Marines, past, present and future.

[Margaret]

Having just found yet more to move me at yet another Remembrance Sunday service, I know that the Marines deserve your prayers far more than I ever will, Kevin, but I thank you for remembering my birthday, and I enjoyed it very much.

My daughter's school has its own war memorial to honour the hundreds of men, past pupils, who died serving their country. Each of the pupils laid their own poppy in turn at the foot of the memorial and, sad as it was, I was glad that they should be part of the remembering. So often it is only the old who remember.

[Ingemar]

At first I wondered, "Is this story for real?" But then I realized it doesn't matter so much that the story is real, but that it points to higher Biblical truths, that the wisdom of God is foolishness to men, and that all the wisdom and knowledge of the world is vain without love for God and people.

If the story IS for real, then...