Mtanios and a Vocation

There is a little village north-east of Jounieh on a hill from where one can admire the wonderful bay. Here there lived a certain Hanna, a master carpenter, together with his wife and four children.

His children went every day to the nearby school and helped their father during the long summer holidays, for all work is to be thought of as sacred, whatever it may be. The youngest boy in the family was named Mtanios.

He was a well-built young fellow, always ready to lend a hand, affable, open, studious and obedient, in everything an example for all in the neighborhood. Further, despite his lack of experience he was his father’s right hand, being not only a good pupil but also a most scrupulous technician and craftsman. Every order he carried out correctly in the smallest detail. His father had no cause to worry about him, since he could rely on him as competent and persevering.

Between school and workshop Mtanios had other thoughts to fill his time. He had another self cradled in dreams, a searching soul, hearing echoes from afar, from other worlds under other skies. In the workshop, in school, at home or in church, or with friends, celestial voices made him dream. His parents, good people, were pious and the family prayed together, while Mtanios was a choirboy. He saw the holy face of God everywhere before him, in the depths of the clouds on dark nights, illuminating his universe, in the workshop, in the school or in the church. It was a part of himself and it shone in the gentle looks of his pious and faithful mother as it did in the rising sun.

At school his companions were proud to be at his side and to be his friends. Now in 1935 Mtanios was approaching his fifteenth birthday. He had a little neighbor, Manon, a girl of some eleven years of age. The two youngsters had spent their childhood together, shared their games, their food and their intimacy. Manon, gentle, calm, smiling and devoted, thought of Mtanios as a brother.

Another neighbor, Noha, a girl of twelve or thirteen, went to the same school. In contrast, she was jealous, crafty, selfish and spoilt. She always had her own way and was frivolous and impertinent.

School is a place where children of every sort mix together, where all kinds are to be found, where they get to know each other, help each other, and in a hamlet like the one we are talking about they form a family and feel at home.

So among these youngsters who knew one another, exchanged with each other, understood each other, helped each other, there was this one who seemed to live elsewhere, and he alone was aware of this situation, for it was a personal matter. It was like a sword going deep that spared nothing, that was brandished and was soon to take all away.

There is a kindly breeze that blows in the soul and that none can resist, entrancing lights that shine over us. There are silent voices whose music exalts certain souls, a gentle relaxation that takes hold of them, covering all emotion.

There is a call that takes one elsewhere, a symphonic poem that opens the way to immortality and eternal youth. It shows you a multicolored world, a rainbow of fairy tones, gardens of Eden, the dance of cherubim, the sources of nectar, of showers of roses, of perfumes of holiness, in other words a vocation to something higher, to another world.

Many are called but few are chosen, and Our Lord has said, “The harvest is great but the laborers are few.” All these things passed through the soul of Mtanios. What is more, a vision of Our Lord was always present to him in all that he did. This then was the universe in which Mtanios moved, advanced and grew up.

When he had finished secondary school and then University, new relationships and a new life took shape on his horizon. He had in his hands two books, one by Saint John of the Cross, the great Spanish mystic, poet and reformer of the sixteenth century. He had the Spiritual Canticle and also a book about the other great mystic, a stigmatic and founder of a great religious Order, Saint Francis of Assisi.

Mtanios however had no wish to become a monk enclosed in a religious order, but rather desired to be a priest fully engaged in the world, dealing with the daily difficulties of his social surroundings and finding solutions. He confided his aspirations to his mother and to his father. They were both happy even though his father was going to suffer, for running the workshop alone would be tiring for him as he grew older.

All this time Manon was growing up and Noha as well. Both girls had feelings of love and of ambition and were drawn towards Mtanios, their friend and constant companion. They met, sometimes the three together and sometimes only two. Mtanios had explained to his two neighbors that he had a mission and that he was obliged to listen to the divine voice that called him. “If you are true friends, I beg you to pray for me and in that way you can help me and prepare our future in the eternity of Paradise,” he told them.

These words touched the noble heart of Manon. She understood Mtanios and his mission perfectly and told him that she would always be close to his mother and his family. She hoped that by refuge in prayer she would earn Heaven and promised that even if they separated she would have the fondest memory of him.

But Noha on the other hand saw in the attitude of Mtanios a defiant refusal to return her love. She implored him to change his mind, saying that they could found a family together. Love was a human act and he could live a holy life even in marriage. Was he afraid to face up to life? Did he want to take refuge in a seminary or a monastery? He showed no reaction to her heated insistence. When she was close to him he put on airs of indifference. She was convinced that he was going through a certain crisis and might fall into the arms of some stranger who would simply make use of him, whereas she herself loved him sincerely, she said, and wished only to be at his side.

From Mtanios the only response was silence, for he thought of the temptation of Jesus and of the trials of Saint John of the Cross, and of all the old saints of Lebanon of whom he was so proud. He felt sorry for Noha and simply smiled without raising his eyes, refusing to talk about such a personal and intimate question. The face of Our Lord was always before his eyes and he no longer heard merely human voices for he lived and moved in that other world, the celestial one.

One day his mother called him to dinner, saying, “Invite Noha to dine with us.” He had no ears for their conversation, being in that state of inner ecstasy that I cannot describe. Noha left them depressed and with considerable bitterness in her heart, even a deep-seated feeling of anger towards Mtanios.

For her part Manon spent much time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament, begging Jesus to help Mtanios, adding that if the All-Highest wanted her to serve Him and love Him she would do so courageously.

The one who had most to lose was the father of Mtanios, for his son had taken on much of the responsibility in running the workshop. However, it was up to him to help his son in his vocation; he would do all he could for him, for he considered that to devote oneself to Christ was something sublime. Everybody around would be saying, “That is Father Mtanios, the son of Hanna!” What distinction that would be for himself!

The young man was firmly resolved to give up everything, even his own name. He had to choose between Saint John and Saint Francis, but his father was already Hanna, that is to say John. He therefore would be Father Francis, after him who from Assisi had changed Christian civilization. Now, even as secular priest, he had to go to the seminary for studies in philosophy and theology.

There he spent five years, living a hermit life of contemplation, and during all this time he visited his parents only on five occasions. He met Manon only when he was close to his mother. He never raised his eyes; for him the only face was the Holy Face of Jesus.

Noha, selfish as she was, had found a husband, older than herself but very rich, whom she dominated as if he were her slave.

She had a daughter and two boys. There was no place for love in her heart. Came the day of the ordination of the young priest, in the village church and all the village was present, for Father Francis was much esteemed, all except Noha who still bore a grudge against him. A celebration was arranged for the day of his first Mass in an annex furnished to serve as his residence. He also made it publicly clear that he would never receive anybody except in the confessional, the church, or the church hall. It was his intention to be close to all his parishioners. He drew up a timetable setting out times for going on his rounds in the village, for visiting the sick and the elderly and for following up the young in their relationships, their formation and their religious duties. He had to confer with others, to counsel and to help, and above all to live his life in the company of Christ.

At night he slept little or not at all, since for him prayer was not a duty but a vital need like food and the air he breathed, as it was a need for him to be at the side of the sick and the dying and to settle problems in a way leaving all concerned happy.

He refused to have a car. Everywhere he went on foot and the Holy Face went with him; he ate only once a day, abstaining from meat and from anything sweet. On Sundays and holy days he preached and large congregations would come to hear him. Meanwhile, Manon had married and she would come to church with all her family to hear him and to pray. Noha would also come but only to show off, for she had not forgiven Father Francis, considering that as Mtanios he had wounded her pride.

Indeed, she was awaiting the right moment to get her own back on this former neighbor who in her eyes was proud and pitiless. Despite the abundant resources now at her disposal, Noha wished to take no part in his installation in the presbytery. Pardon, the saints, Christ, Heaven, all that meant nothing to her. Justice was something she would impose in the way that pleased her, despite the many years that had passed since she last met Mtanios. Her husband had died, leaving her a large fortune, so she was able to impose her will and her ambitions on all around her. I myself was intimate with the family of the priest and with all the people of the village. I had supposed that Noha had forgotten all bout Mtanios; openly this appeared to be the case but in Noha’s heart the embers of anger still burned.

Mtanios had refused her his love and obliged her to marry somebody she had never had any liking for. She was jealous of Manon and of all their friends in the locality.

It came about that Manon had a daughter studying in the école normale, the official teachers’ training college. “Greece” was beautiful like her mother and simple and understanding, and often I would say to her, “Greece, you bear the name of a historic country; give my greetings to your mother!”

Noha for her part had a son called Pierre at the School of Fine Arts, studying to be an architect. He was one of my own pupils, young lively, dynamic and unaffected, with none of his mother’s snobbery. To him also I would say, “Pierre, give my regards to your dear mother Noha.”

Greece and Pierre were friends and took part in al the village activities under the auspices of Father Francis. A tenderness grew up between them which was not all to the taste of Madame Noha. She wanted her son to marry a girl who was very rich, which was not the case of Greece. She was unable to interfere or to discourage Pierre, but then she thought how to kill two birds with one stone, the two birds being Greece and Father Francis. She set about her plot; would it succeed?

What was the business of this woman who suffered from no want and who had no need to work? I met her once in Paris and leant from those near to her that she was engaged in smuggling jewelry and signed garments. She would pass through Beirut Airport wearing clothes, necklaces, bracelets and watches that she sold the same day to her agents. A couple of days later she would be off to London, Rome, Switzerland or elsewhere, engaged in contraband wherever she went. In Paris I had said to her, “But, Noha, how do you accept and how do you dare to engage yourself in such a traffic, dishonest and illegal?” But for her all that mattered was to gain more and more and to put together a fantastic fortune.

She often invited me to go and visit her in at Hazmieh, a suburb of Beirut, but I never went. One day she came to my house with her daughter and chose four of my watercolors. She paid for two of them and said for the two others, “Drop in on me. In case I am away when you come, I’ll leave a check for you in the house.” In this way she used her ill-gotten gains acquired by continual trafficking.

One day Greece was visiting Pierre in her house. Noha took off her ring and placed it on the edge of the table, allowing Greece to notice it as if she were thinking, “There is your bait and soon I shall see it no more.”

That evening she picked up the ring and hid it. Then two or three days later she asked, “Has anyone seen my ring?” Pierre answered, “I saw you place it on the edge of the table a couple of days ago.”

“Yes, that’s right, you were with Greece in the sitting room. But the ring has disappeared.” Noha said this in a tone of voice implying that the two were responsible, Pierre and Greece. “Was there anybody else in the room?” So she sowed suspicion in the mind of Pierre. Greece went nearly mad on learning the details of the affair.

The police made an inspection and questioned Greece, first arresting her and then freeing her on bail. Noha said to her son Pierre, “She’s a thief, your friend, how can you accept such a thing? I don’t want to see her any more!” So the relationship was broken off and all the village gossiped about the affair, some people believing there was theft involved and others denying it. Now that the first bird had been dealt with, how to deal with the second?

Noha had a Syrian gardener who often wore an abaya cloak, black, dirty and frayed, that resembled at a distance an eastern priest’s loose robe. She asked the Syrian to step into her car for a little service she needed. He obeyed and took a rear seat. In a nearby street she handed the workman a parcel and told him to hand it to the person in the jeweler’s shop just opposite and to take the envelope he would be given. This was soon done and so far everything had gone off as planned. The jeweler was an accomplice hand in hand with Noha.

Four months later the ring was put on display in the jeweler’s window, well in evidence so as to be seen on sale by every passer by. It was arranged in advance who would purchase it, none other than Noha buying back her own ring. The jeweler declared that he had bought the ring from a certain priest, rather thin, wearing an old cassock, and so on. This was enough for Noha to denounce Manon’s friend, Father Pierre. She declared herself happy to get her ring back and would not pursue Father Francis in justice. Spreading any number of lies, Noha said she wished to be generous, broadminded, understanding, and so on. She asked nothing but was ready to pardon as God would pardon.

She believed that she had achieved her aim of slandering the family of Manon and Father Pierre, ex-Mtanios, her friend in childhood and at school. She believed she had shown herself to be noble-hearted and magnanimous. In fact she had by her calumny wounded the honor and reputation of a holy priest. The scandal she had fostered soon spread throughout the region. She had satisfied her hate, rancour and desire for revenge, according to her greedy and spiteful character.

But in the village and the parish few believed in this cooked-up story, and the parishioners became only more attached to their parish priest and more devoted to him than ever.

The same sun shone every morning bringing light to every heart, shining on Father Francis and supporting him in his profound suffering. He no more slept at night but on his knees prayed Our Lord and the Virgin Mary, asking them to pardon Noha and her accomplices as the Lord upon his Cross had pardoned his executioners. He felt that even if he was humiliated and dishonored and calumniated, all that suffering was as nothing compared to what had been borne by his Creator, the Almighty. Job had suffered far more in his person and in his possessions than he, Father Francis, had, he who possessed nothing beyond the love and the trust of his parishioners.

“You chose me to serve you and this I shall do, remaining faithful to my vocation to the end.”

As for Master Hanna, this fine father of a family and honest carpenter, he had passed away and his wife now advanced in age was hardly aware of the course of events. Manon was intrigued, for she was convinced that there had been subterfuge, everything being contrived and arranged by Noha. She passed hours in the church at prayer and wished to be at the side of Father Francis.

Greece was very disappointed by the attitude of Pierre. He had gone to France, where Noha wished to inscribe him in a university, one well away from Paris. He was admitted at Lyon, where Noha rented a small studio for him.

Myself, I was a witness still alive and very close to Father Francis and to the two families of the parish. I was always very intimate with the good priest and with my pupils Manon and Greece, encouraging the last-named to devote herself to her studies for the future would surely smile on her. Manon would say to me, “It was all a put-up job.” I had not the least doubt that Father Francis was holy and most honest, one who lived a life of poverty, even depriving himself of food. It was the devil in the soul of Noha that was acting; she was a woman with no heart, selfish, wicked and overflowing with hate. Meeting Noha at an exhibition of paintings one evening and chatting with her, I asked her some questions. “Are you pleased with what has happened? Do you know that you are the most hated person in the parish? I know that it was all a plot of yours. You lack every trace of love and forgiveness.” “But I have pardoned, I asked no compensation.” “Yes, but you have sown suspicion and scattered poison on all sides.”

Finally, life returned to its normal rhythm in the parish, with the yearly Epiphany procession of Father Francis, the catechism classes, prayer vigils, activities, and pilgrimages and outings to Annaya, Harissa, Kfifane, the Cedars, Zahleh, and other places of interest. There were days of retreat and meditation in available monasteries or convents a little off the beaten track near Our Lady of the Fields, Ghosta, Tannourine and Reyfoun. There were bazaars and camp fires organized, in fact nothing could dampen the ardor of Father Francis. He was all fire, alive, friendly, active, and chaste, an example to all.

Pierre never sent any letters from Lyon and never dared to come back to Lebanon for want of his mother’s permission. For Manon, Greece, and all the family, life followed its usual routine. Father Francis devoted himself increasingly to prayer, meditation, fasting and self-sacrifice.

Noha still traveled to and fro, engaged in her smuggling of luxury items, until one day the Customs officials picked her up. Her name was posted at all the main airports, Paris, Rome, London and Madrid. She was closely watched and checked, with herself and her luggage and clothes thoroughly searched. She managed to escape actual arrest but found herself isolated and ignored, with no more friends around her. She had only her employees, attached to her merely out of self-interest. She no more drove her own car, but always went with her driver. She began to sense that one day the judgment of God would press hard on her. In this world she found ways of keeping up appearances, but she knew that before God all stood on the same footing. She was acutely aware that she had harmed the priest who had been her classmate.

Her childhood friend Manon never visited her and Pierre telephoned to her less and less, not wanting to return to the village because his cowardly attitude towards Greece was on his conscience. Greece married and Manon was always ready to give a hand in the parish or with the Children of Mary, whatever the priest wanted of her.

Noha was desperate to get back into the local community, but her pride and conceit stood in the way of her asking pardon of Father Francis for the harm she had done him. I did visit her occasionally when she gave me a ring on the ‘phone for me to drop in on her. Her daughter was married, her second son had gone off to France to study and she was now left completely alone and leading an empty existence.

Seeing the condition Noha was in, Father Francis decided to act as a true Christian faithful to his priestly vocation. He knocked at Noha’s door one Saturday morning without appointment. It was already between ten and eleven o’clock and Noha had only just woken up when the arrival of Father Francis was announced. Now she felt very small, empty, nothing, and tears came to her eyes and like a woman intoxicated she ran to the reception room. There she threw herself at the feet of Father Francis, weeping without saying a word.

The holy Reverend Father raised her up, still silent, the Holy Face of Jesus before his eyes, as if he had been deaf and dumb and were speaking for the first time. Then he said, “It is I who ask pardon of the Lord. Do not think I have forgotten you, for I pray every day for you and for those like you. May God extend his forgiveness to us all.”

Noha avowed her intrigues and her lies. She said she was ready to make full reparation and to put all she possessed at the disposition of the parish and of Father Francis. She was tired and sick of her past life.

Father Francis followed closely all the events surrounding the proclamations of the holiness of Lebanese saints to all the world, Saint Sharbel in the nineteen-fifties and then Saint Rafqa and Saint Naamtallah, with many others awaiting the signs of divine approval.. They are treasures, torches bringing light out of darkness, luminous beacons to give light to the whole planet.

One day I received notice that the holy priest had passed away. I saw the angels bearing his soul on high so that he finally had the perfect vision of the Holy Face that had always accompanied him.

Joseph Matar
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Translated from French: K. J. Mortimer