Perhaps it is his long hair, the odd little shack he lives in, the young women that visit him, and the empty liquor bottles on his floor. You see he never throws anything away. His tiny little shack has a kitchen, a main room, and a bedroom. He doesn't use the bedroom. He just throws things in there when he doesn't want to see them anymore. Then he closes the door.

He doesn't get out much so if I drop by I know he will be there. If it is a Monday or a Saturday night we will share what he calls a "a drop of the creature," a stiff drink. Other days he does not drink. He knows his faith well and gets very excited when he talks about it. Never moralistic or judgmental but very excited, enthusiastic.

Yesterday I went to visit Magnus. The door to his bedroom was opened. The bottles were gone. He looked very tired. "What happened?" I asked. "You cleaned up!"

"Like heck I did. I pushed everything into the closet and tied it shut so it won't tumble out. Maggie called and asked if she could stay a few days. She'll likely be here for a month. It's Maggie's room now."

I walked into the room and saw a little bed with a white headboard. A wall hanging with the Lord's Prayer, with the 'For thine is the Kingdom...' part at the end of it. A Bible that looked like it had never been touched. A child's textbook, perhaps from the 1950's about our Faith, and a National Geographic magazine. Nothing else in the room.

I shook my head in disbelief, amazed at the uncharacteristic cleanliness of it all. "I know, I know," he said, "I've been fixin to cut off the bottom of the prayer."

He explained to me Maggie's predicament, which I already knew, but I played dumb because I like the way he tells stories. He makes simple stories larger than life with his histrionics. But this is about Magnus' predicament, not Maggie's.

"Why doesn't she stay with her boyfriend?" I asked.

He didn't answer right away. He sat in his usual chair. He opened the little cabinet where usually sits a liter of hard whisky. A tiny bottle sat there. "I have only a 'shorty' for us today," he said apologetically. Actually it was a half pint, not that I would argue with him.

At length he said; "Maggie's a good Catholic girl and her boyfriend is a good man."

So much for me asking stupid questions. His son called and would be in the neighborhood for a Knights of Columbus meeting and asked if he could bring him anything. Magnus asked him to bring a rosary.

When his son arrived he, too, was astonished by the cleanliness. But he didn't ask about that. He asked his dad what had happened to his rosary. It was in the closet, along with just about everything he owned.

That was yesterday. Today there are those who are already talking about Magnus "shacking up" with a woman half his age. Today we prayed. And when he mentioned Maggie's deceased parents in his prayers by name tears welled in his eyes as he lifted the rosary to his lips.

A new Bible, an old book, a familiar prayer, and the tears in a man's eyes. His poverty.

At length Maggie arrived from work and as she entered she exclaimed:  "Come, see the sunset!" 

We walked out onto the porch and the glory of God's work and of man's  were evident. Standing in the shadow of Woodstock Seminary, the now deserted but still magnificent granite structure stood with a background of glorious heaven. Magnus reminisced about the men who once lived there. "The Patapsco Valley was blessed by God, but as you can see He had more than just a little help from the Jesuits," said Magnus with a smile.

Magnus is offering charity but is involved in what might be called accidental scandal. How can he extricate himself from the scandal without withdrawing charity?