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Brother Lee Stone opens the door and we are greeted by the sweet smell and the vibrant colors of the cherry blossoms. He looks off dreamily as the song, “Like a Rock,” by Bob Seger through his mind. We are transplanted back to Nebraska and the beginning of Brother Delvery. Brother Lee Stone relates the story:
I do ask that when you write, remember me, and remember Simon Peter. If you want a Bible quote to bring both of us to mind let it be from this liturgical reading. Let it be from the Gospel of St. Luke 5:1-11. Let it be, “When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at the knees of Jesus and said, ‘Depart from me, Master Jesus, for I am a man filled with error.” Remember, to be around real greatness is to realize just how insignificant we really are. We go to the door of the mausoleum. As we arrive, we notice a sign. It reads,
“This is the beginning of the sweet message of Brother Delvery.”
I want you to visualize as we come upon a winter cabin near Leigh Nebraska. There I am, a young man, sitting on the front porch. They called me Charles Liston then. The main light in the living-room glows with the warmth of the fire in the fireplace. I walk into the living-room and sits down on the recliner. My wife, Virginia, is in her back room meditating on her rosary. I meditate on my favorite song: I am a Rock by Paul Simon:
When Virginia finishes her rosary she comes out and there is an angry discussion. Virginia says,“You need to stop feeling so sorry for yourself and meditate on the rosary with me. After all, you are a successful hotshot with the Nebraska fish and game. I start with the words of Billy Joel, Only the Good Die Young:
With this Virginia Liston said:
There is a priest down in Lincoln you have to meet. He is not like the others. He spends most of his time out of doors, goes fishing and hangs out with the working class folk. Go talk with him and see what he says.
To this I said, “Done!” I was talking with Father Curtis E. John by Christmas.
By Easter I was a regular at the outdoor meetings of Father Curtis. Half a dozen moons come and go, and fall arrives. With it came the High Holy Days that start with the feast of Christ the King. As for me, I was walking down a long lonely highway, still more into myself than what was coming out of the mouth of Father Curtis. Things were about to start changing. I think about another image of my youth, only slightly latter, as it comes into my mind’s eye.
It was a bright and beautiful fall day. That’s me again, a young vibrant man, walking down a long lonely road in the late afternoon on Highway 6. It is lovely near Emerald City, Nebraska. Just ahead of me is my dog, Sam, running up and down the road, trying to get me to throw sticks for him to chase and taking time once in a while to smell the purple flowers. I tell myself, “This is communion, being in communion with God and nature.”
In my hand is a large piece of paper, a seemingly unused target, except for where it had been stapled to a board. There is the singing of the birds and the frogs in the pond. They seem to be keeping time with the Tommy James song, “Draggin’ the Line” playing on the radio that I carry.
There is a cross in the road. Coming from the direction that intersects the main road, is a very charitable and kind man, the cousin of Brother Delvery. As we walk down the road, one of us has hair, old and gray. The other comes with blazing red hair resembling the fire of the late afternoon sun. One has cool green eyes that remind one of a Nebraska meadow. They give warmth that never seems to burn. The other man, me, has warm eyes, those of a cat who has just found and lost its mouse, his dinner for the day. The personality of the older man, charitable and kind, comes out in the way he walks and holds himself erect, as well as in the quiet smile upon his face. He looks at me and the troubled look on my face and says:
We are the wheat of the field. We are here today and gone tomorrow. We are the breath of the wind in the clear blue sky. There is a greater breath, one that lasts forever, and a mighty one who is in control. We are like the grass, here, but for a very short time. We are like the frogs and the birds, the ants and the worms, and we are loved.
