The priest grimaced as he spoke to me in the sacristy. He is a kind and gentle pastor, and it saddened me to see that the topic of our conversation pained him. He is on retreat for a few days, a parish priest from Chicago — comes about twice a year, and treasures his time at the monastery. We've become friends and were chatting after mass this morning when he made reference to an article he had just read promoting what he referred to as the "New Atheism". Conversations like this are how monks learn about important things happening in the world. It was clearly distasteful for my friend to talk about this article, written by an angry, aggressive, and very intelligent critic of the Catholic church. The moment was more painful because the two of us had just celebrated Eucharist together. The world breaks in to a monk's solitude like this. It is unavoidable, and I don't regret it when it happens. I know this is an integral part of what it means to be a monk in America in 2010. It reminded me of that evening last summer, when I was met by a stranger on the driveway whose demeanor made me uneasy even as he approached from twenty feet away. I was returning from my evening walk in North Church Field, where I walk and meditate on a spiritual text every night with the beauty of the natural world before me. I was completely unprepared to meet the tense and anxious man before me who evidently regarded me as his adversary. He asked me if I was a monk. Did I believe Jesus was divine? Was someone like me bound to obey the pope no matter what he said? As it turns out, he didn't want to talk about religion at all, but science. He was very interested to see if my faith and way of life could bear the scrutiny of scientific inquiry. I am not at all adept at this sort of thing. I have little attraction for debate, and no practice at it. We talked only a minute or two before I excused myself. I spent the evening quietly preparing a class I was to give the next day, retired at 8:00 p.m. and fell asleep. The next day, I gave myself to the daily round of prayer, spiritual reading, and manual work. Evening came again and I ventured out toward North Church Field where the Lord and I met, walked, and chatted together in the waning light. Returning up the driveway, it's stark emptiness awakened in me a surprising reaction. His ghost was there — the anxious stranger. This time I hurriedly made my way toward him. I actually felt a sense of relief as I imagined us meeting again. There was something I needed to ask him. "Brother . . ." I said to him, "Brother – it's me! Do you not know who I am? Yesterday, you spoke to me as if I was a stranger. But you know me. I am a monk! I have lived with you for two thousand years. Brother – I am 'monachos'. You know me. I am the image of that capacity in you and in every human being to be 'all-one' — not just in your head as the fruit of philosophy or a mental discipline — I mean all one where everything in heaven and earth comes together and is made one — even as humanity and divinity are made one in the person of Jesus Christ who is Lord of all. I am a sign that you and everything in creation is destined to be all one! But I have been around for centuries! Your behavior last night — it was a posture wasn't it? You know who I am . . . right?"

Father Raphael