In Pakistan, where I did secondary school, a cup of tea can sell a carpet or bring two families together to agree on their children’s marriage.  Sometimes that can take many cups of tea!  I’m accustomed to what a cup of tea can say, what it means.  It is no different at L’Arche.

This year I have been fortunate enough to spend my pastoral year at L’Arche Toronto after finishing at Regis College and as I prepare for ordination to the diaconate.  I’m attached to one house, though I get to participate in the wider life of the community.

I was a member of L’Arche Ottawa more then ten years ago, it was where I where I discerned my vocation to the Society of Jesus.  This time being in L’Arche is much different though, there is a qualitative difference to it and it is characterized by a cup of tea.

I remember my first day in October when I entered L’Arche again.  “I’m back!” I thought, as I observed a young assistant from Britain cover the kitchen floor with flour.  “To clean up grease,” he remarked casually.  On the stove a large pot boiled full of dish soap, the fresh smelling bubbles boiling upwards.  The extraordinary is ordinary at L’Arche, even in the simplest ways.

I instantly felt at home once again!  “I can fit in here”, I thought, and sure enough a few days later I was washing the kitchen floor, having overflowed the dish washing machine by accidently adding an inordinate amount of liquid hand soap instead of dishwasher soap!  I have always been a multi-tasker!

My time at L’Arche these past few months has continued to be marked by extraordinary moments, though not all accidents, thank God.  I was invited to preach the community Christmas Eve service and jingled a tambourine at the earlier Carol Service.  My favorite times – however – are the times at the house to which I’m attached.

Cooking with Carol on Wednesdays – spaghetti and meatballs – and watching CP 24 with Patrick until my eyes start spinning.

Saturday mornings constitute what I call “Spa Day”, Patrick and I head to a public swimming pool and sit in the hot tub until our bodies wrinkle.  In my more religious moments, I feel like I’m sitting at the Pool of Bethesda but the leper is me.

Now back to tea.  I know that the house is in commotion when as soon as I arrive Doris offers me a cup of tea.  In her wisdom, she knows that a cup of tea can diffuse a fraught situation or facilitate reconciliation.  She would do well in the bazaars of Lahore selling carpets or brokering marriages between suspicious families!

I don’t really drink tea ordinarily, yet sitting around the kitchen table in our L’Arche house sharing a cup of tea with core members and assistants is one of my favourite activities.  I feel so at home when we sip our cups and make conversation, usually tending towards the comedic.

I take my tea with sugar and milk, a vestige of my time in Pakistan where tea was sweeter than a grandmother and made with the milk of water buffalos.  Usually somebody boils the kettle, and we take turns preparing the tea.

Now the next bit of this story demands a little explanation.  Patrick is a vibrant but non-verbally communicative core-member in my house. 

Like many people with a similar condition, the sensation of drinking liquid brings great comfort and so Patrick is known for absconding with any cup or glass left unattended.  It doesn’t matter whose

cup it is!  And this includes the sugar pot.

Well one day, earlier on at my time at L’Arche Toronto, Doris made me a cup of tea and I wanted to put my fixings into it.  Patrick showed up without a word and took my cup.  In my surprise I didn’t act.

He took the sugar pot and proceeded to pour it into my cup. But he only put in a moderate amount.  Then he took the milk and put in a similarly moderate amount.  Content that a small crisis had been averted, I resigned myself to the fact that he would take the cup and drink it.  I was wrong.

Then with a big smile and a small hum, he passed me back the cup.  He looked at me with a look that proclaimed a welcome warmer than any words could muster, and then he marched back to watching CP 24 in the other room.  I was overjoyed, I felt so welcome.

Now most times I take a cup of tea Patrick shows up to prepare it for me, and I’m certain to quietly offer him a small glass of milk.  It is our little routine, a tangible recognition of our friendship.  He has blessed me with his friendship, and taught me a new language without words.

Like Martin Heidegger’s insight, “Language obscures meaning”, yet he has taught me the language of gift and service.  And sometimes he shares a chocolate bar with me, holding it up while I take a small bite.

I don’t eat sweets ordinarily, but at L’Arche the most ordinary is extraordinary.

[Names have been changed in order to respect confidentiality.]