A Motley Crew

From the Archives. I wrote this piece for Monsignor Knox, who makes me wish there was such a thing as a time machine - so I could go back in time to sit with him as he warmed himself by the fireplace fender (his favorite seat in the house!) His wit, his unstuffy culture, and his wisdom all laced with British loveliness. He gives humanity a good name! This was one of the more charming episodes in his life.

The Catholic Church is home to a delightfully motley crew. I need only go to morning Mass on a regular basis to see that this is so.

In a former and beloved parish of mine this fact was given living proof each morning at Mass. There was the tall, smiling fellow who sat on the right, three rows back from the altar, who sported long white hair and a Patriotic dew rag. I called him “Harley Man.” Harley Man could sing the Gospel Alleluia like there was no tomorrow. He made me look forward to Tuesdays.

Then there were the long time “couples” who came in every morning like clockwork, kissed each other lovingly at the sign of peace and made you glad for the joy that is a strong and fruitful marriage.

Then entered Helen, bustling about, making sure everything was ready for Mass and replacing all the votive candles in front of St. Joseph. She walked by and waved a little wave and smiled some warmth right down to the very cockles of your heart on a cold day.

There was the “Professor,” tall and straight, who did not smile, but was very devout. I liked the way he read the readings on Thursday – just like a teacher would. I knelt for Communion right next to him most days, and I could almost feel his conviction in the Real Presence. It helped my own.

There was “Amen Man.” He was my favorite. Every time Father said, “Through Christ our Lord,” anywhere in the Mass, I heard a firm, though quiet, “Amen” coming from behind me.

There were moms with babies hanging off them like pretty ornaments on a patient tree. There were students stopping in before going off to University. There were tall people, small people, people dressed to the nines and some in their workmen clothes. Some wore veils, some did not. And here is the odd but beautiful thing; not one of them would ever think to ask why any of the others were there. It was accepted and assumed. This is the Catholic Church, loving home to the motley crew.

As human nature goes, however, we can easily lose sight of that fact as we exit to the rest of our lives when Mass is over. We can, not through malice, but by force of long habit drift back into our own tidy little worlds where we can predict how things will go. We have our “people.” We know our surroundings. We get used to having things just so. It’s the way of the world. God has to chide us gently and remind us often: “It must not be that way with you.” We see these rather discomfiting reminders in the Gospel everywhere: Jesus talking to a woman at the well, the marveling Jewish man accepting help from a good Samaritan, Wealthy Dives confronted with the fact of poor Lazarus, the Pharisees called out severely for not lifting a finger to help their people find God, and for that matter the twelve men who were chosen to lead the Church together – the original Motley Crew; oddly chosen companions in the world’s eyes, but a thing of beauty in God’s. It is His constant challenge for us to mix it up with our brothers and sisters no matter who they are. It is the way of Heaven that out of this mix there shall become one body.

In my reading recently, I came across a most charming lesson of this sort in the life of an old friend I have never met in this life but hope to in the next. Monsignor Ronald Knox, the accomplished and witty scholar, writer, and chaplain to the Catholic Students of Oxford University from 1926 – 1939. He had decided to retire from this prestigious position when asked to take on the great work of translating the Vulgate Bible into a new English version. He was graciously invited to begin this monumental task at the quiet, secluded estate of some good friends deep in the English countryside. Here he spread out his books, smoked his pipe, drank his tea and began translating in earnest ensconced in this blessed, tomblike atmosphere. A bachelor heaven.

However, no sooner had he settled into this blissful habitat, when he was beset by a gaggle of school girls - refugees from one Assumption Convent in Kensington Square at the outbreak of World War II. The generous owners of the estate, no doubt inspired by God, had invited the sisters and their school girls to come and continue their studies in peace and security far from London’s fear of impending war. They were to share the Estate with Monsignor Knox for the next several years. The owners did not think to consult the good Monsignor but assumed it would be perfectly fine with him.

It charms me no end to imagine him watching the first wave descending upon the place to the exuberant chatter of happy little girls and finding himself sighing in consternation behind an upstairs window as he gathers up his sprawling research and retreats post haste to his designated room locking the door behind him. Girls. What experience did he have with girls? Oxford had been full of young men who were intellectually astute and sophisticated. Nothing motley about that crew. All cut from the same cloth so to speak, or at least striving to be so. What would he possibly say to girls? But his heart was golden with kindness and he could not begrudge these poor young people a place of safety and predictability in a war infested world. He would carry on with a stiff upper lip as is the proper English way.

He was prepared for a long haul discomfort at best. but he was pleasantly surprised as the days turned into weeks and years. The girls’ youthfulness, “allowed their affection to overcome their awe of him as a Monsignor,” an affection I think every priest appreciates and could certainly use now and again. They also gave him a different orientation to the Church he loved. He now had the new and unnerving duty of presenting the Faith to the future mothers of the Church. He could not dwell comfortably in the familiar antiquities of the past as he had been used to doing with his Oxford scholars. He needed to explain the faith to these practical children who would one day have to live it in the world and not in the pristine atmosphere of Academia. I am sure their first encounter was an awkward affair, but slowly he came to love and appreciate their questions and their artless affection for him, surprised as they were by his cheeky and lovely ways in turn.

Some of his best works were written for these little girls, and it is them we need to thank most heartily. At Oxford, he had written a three year supply of sermons ready at hand that he rotated each year. The usual tenure of the underclassman at Oxford was three years, so ideally no one sermon would be heard twice by the same students. Now, suddenly he was to be with these children for many years and he knew children well enough to know that one of them would inevitably discover that he was recycling old material and would have no qualms about saying it out loud. In the end, he chucked the Oxford homilies and decided to explain the most important truths of the faith to these young hearts in ways they could understand and never forget. And he discovered he was good at it. Thus were born his lovely works: The Mass in Slow Motion, and The Creed in Slow Motion. The students learned to love these sermons so much that one parent confessed his daughter turned down a trip into town as this would cut into the “talks” with Monsignor Knox.

Knox made lasting friendships among these girls and kept in touch with them long after they graduated from the school. They became in very truth his daughters. A daughter is a wonderful thing for any father to have. A daughter is so different than a son - there is a different kind of affection and a natural desire to ease their father’s burdens with gentle, whimsical touches all their own. Monsignor Knox experienced this, I am sure. He became the spiritual father of girls and it probably did his soul much good. He as their father did much good in return. We who have never known war, do not realize its ways. To be uprooted and worried about what would happen to their parents or to them was probably an ever anxious specter in their lives. Knox’s Sunday sermons were probably doubly comforting to them as I think Monsignor’s friendly face would have been one that brought them stability and peace. Through these unlikely companions thrown together by need and necessity: this bachelor, this scholarly priest and a group of chattering girls as common as sparrows, much was learned, love grew, and hearts expanded into One.

The Church is a delightfully motley crew. We may find ourselves thrown together with the most unlikely souls at times and we might need to figure out how that will work. We may feel awkward, uncomfortable, and wish to exit the situation quietly at first. But if we stay and try to understand what God might be up to, we may begin to realize with a growing wonder that we, as ill equipped as we feel, have been entrusted by this loving Father to build His Church on earth with only this, our Motley Crew. And He assures us, with Him we are indeed enough.

I do not feel inclined at this time to have a paid substack. But if we were together in a cafe discussing all these thoughts, I would not be opposed to you buying me a cup of coffee - with cream, of course. In that spirit, if any of my posts resonate with you and you feel so inclined, you can donate here: buymeacoffee.com/denise_trull