It’s Sunday, the “day of rest” as Pryor John would say. The “day of fest” as Brother Geoffrey would say. After morning Mass and our mid-morning mediation in the chapel, we were “given time to ourselves and our God.” None of us really bought into it though, besides Pryor John that is. You see, most of us didn’t chose to join the order. We are here because our families, being blessed with older sons and plenty of wealth, exiled us to a life of charity and prayer. We were gifts to the Church: servants sent to reclusive abbeys to spend the rest of our days living a chaste and charitable life.
Some say we labor and pray for the purity of all mankind. We were really sent to wash away the sins of our family, as if our lack of sin would compensate for their excess. If not, at least the Church had more “humble servants” that came with not-so-humble indulgences.
Anyhow, most of us brothers, myself included, would spend the Sunday evening “meditations” in the form of our own indulgences at our favorite pub, The Pilgrim (later named “Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem” as of 1618).