"We're all so different—isn't that neat?" No. It's not neat. It's a mess. I didn't say that to him, (he was one of the monastery's' founders), but I was thinking it. The monk speaking to me was a very kind and warm-hearted man. He noticed I was a little distressed after the meeting and only wanted to reassure me. This was probably twenty five years ago or so when I was very new to the monastic life. We had just concluded a community discussion about a controversial subject. On Sundays, we have between fifty and seventy-five guests join us for mass and they can get a bit squeezed in the back of church. The choir, where the monks pray seven prayer services a day, takes up most of the church and so the "guest section" in the back only provides several long pews for guests to sit in. It had been proposed that, on Sunday, the monks gather for mass in the transept (the area just in the front of the altar), and have our guests occupy the choir stalls. Opinions on the question were "all over the map" and the discussion became tense. What was worse, for me, was that it became quite confusing. After the abbot introduced the topic of the meeting, the "floor was open" for monks to speak. The first monk, a man with some theological training, offered a little reflection on the spiritual significance of the rail that separates the guests from the monks. The elderly monk who spoke next, didn't speak about the rail, the monks, the guests or anything related to the topic of the discussion, but shared a few reminiscences of the long deceased abbot who, decades ago, had overseen the installation of the rail. The third monk to speak, shared at length the trials of a neighboring family whose child had recently been diagnosed with Leukemia and who had told him the most precious moment of the week for their family was mass with the monks. "And are we going to tell our dear friends that they must stand in the back of the church where they can't hear or see what's going on!" he concluded vehemently . . . and then stopped abruptly as his eyes welled with tears. The next monk to speak (his eyes were dry) suggested the real issue was the need for better lighting in the church. This comment prompted something of a rebuke from another monk who suggested it cost us enough to heat the church—we didn't need to be spending more money on lights. And so on. It was clear to me the monks were all very different. It wasn't clear to me that it was "neat".

I speak for myself, but there is only one remedy for the slightly sick feeling I have after a meeting like that. It's the liturgy. This morning I realized that again as we were beginning the Sunday mass as we always do with a solemn procession. The monks assemble in the North cloister forming two lines. When the presiding priest has announced to the concelebrants the eucharistic prayer for the day, a bell is rung. The cantor (lead singer) gives a nod to the organist. Then, as if the melody were a string passing through the heart of every monk in the community, you see all the figures of the monks straighten and begin to move slowly and gracefully in unison, their robes lightly swaying from side to side with each step. The procession enters the South rear door of the church and moves up the center of the church to the high altar. Monks, guests, the angels and all the saints, seem to unite in one song offered up to God. In seconds, the world feels right again. Life is good. Of course it is! Life is good because it is so simple really. It's all so very simple! To live, to live and be grateful to be alive, is for all of us to praise the glory of the one God who created and redeemed us in Jesus Christ. Alleluia! Why do we make it so complicated?

Father Raphael