I walked down the long, tree-lined driveway towards the abbey. The weak, mid-afternoon sun was completely blocked by a canopy of leaves. Up ahead was a faded green door, bleakly lit by the sun. As I neared the door, the driveway turned into a gravel courtyard. The only audible sounds were the leaves rustling in the wind and the gravel crunching under my boots. With enflamed achilles, and still damp from that morning’s rainfall, I failed to appreciate the tranquil setting.
I stood in front of the green door, looking for a bell. There was no bell, nor any kind of door handle. Searching around the courtyard, I located another door off to the left that was locked, but had a bell. I rang and waited.
Nothing happened, so I rang again. I waited a few minutes, but still no answer. The abbey should have been open, but it seemed deserted.
I started looking for a third door, a main entrance that would be open. I cut across the courtyard and followed a path that snaked around the abbey.
There was a gate, but it was open. As I walked down this path for another minute, I saw a car coming the other way. The car was a compact, European-style minivan. It looked to be at least twenty years old.
The car stopped. In the driver’s seat sat a monk in full habit. He rolled down his window. He looked angry.
“Can I help you?” he asked in French.
“I rang the doorbell at the front, but no-one answered. So I was looking for another door.”
“You are not supposed to be back here. Didn’t you see the gate?”
“The gate was open,” I explained.
“Follow me,” he said, and started driving away slowly, expecting me to follow the van on foot.
We went back to the front of the abbey. On the way, the monk stopped, got out of his van, and closed the gate with a loud clang.
When we returned to the courtyard, another monk had appeared. The monks exchanged words, and monk number one drove away down the long driveway, out to the street.
The second monk looked at me. “I’m Father Jean-Claude. I’ll be able to help you after prayer.”
We walked down a path to the right of the green door. The chapel was in a separate, less prominent building. Standing outside the chapel were a few parishioners, all well past sixty.
“Will you also pray?” he asked me.
“No,” I replied. It might seem somewhat strange to arrive at an abbey seeking help but refusing to pray, but I am sure I wasn’t the first.
Father Jean-Claude looked towards the chapel, crossed himself, put his habit’s hood on, and walked to the waiting parishioners. He unlocked the chapel, and they all went inside to pray.
I waited for fifteen minutes until he returned.
We walked towards the locked door. Father Jean-Claude unlocked it and we went inside. We were in a gift store, which sold an assortment of religious texts and objects.
“Can I stay the night at the abbey?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I was hesitant. I had finished the last of the bread and cheese I carried with me, and wanted to replenish my supplies as soon as possible.
“Is there a bakery or grocery store near here?” I asked.
“No. If you are on foot, it will take two to three hours to get to the nearest grocery store. But you will have supper and breakfast with us.”
I stood facing Father Jean-Claude in the gift shop, deliberating.
“I guess I will continue on then.” I was not relishing walking for another three hours that day on my swollen Achilles tendons, but I was determined to purchase groceries. In hindsight, I was too intimidated to spend the night with monks.
“Can I use the toilet before I leave?” I asked. Father Jean-Claude told me where the toilet was. I went and filled up my water bottle in the sink as well. On my way out, as I stood in front of the door, arranging my pack, Father Jean-Claude spoke to me.
“Are you on a pilgrimage to Rome?”
“Yes, though I am doubting my decision. I’ve only been walking for three days, but I am thinking of stopping. All the reasons I had for doing this feel hollow. I don’t know why I am doing this anymore.”
“Do you not have faith?” Father Jean-Claude asked me.
“No.” In that moment I had decided that playing the atheist would be easier than having a conversation about faith that would reveal I was Jewish.
“But the universe is so complex and operates in such harmony. Does that not prove the existence of the divine?”
I smiled. “They taught that to me in school, amongst other arguments. That’s the God the watchmaker argument.” Father Jean-Claude looked at me blankly.
“Father, thank you for the water and your help.”
“You are welcome. May you find God on your journey.”