Thanksgiving Day today — I had a feeling it was going to be intense. On a day when the monks don't work, a day so quiet and still; given over entirely to interior prayer, well . . . you just know Jesus is going to turn up. You know, before darkness falls, you're going to meet him. Jesus becomes very real in a monastery on Thanksgiving Day. I began the day at 3:00 a.m. as usual; stepped through the door, out on to the landing of the outdoor stairwell on my way to the common washroom, spun around and walked right back in the door again. Winter had arrived over night and I cringed as the icy air stung my face. I was awake. Thanksgiving Day at New Melleray Abbey had begun. The mass was unusually beautiful with six monks in a stately Offertory procession carrying baskets heaped with corn, kale, carrots, turnips, garlic, apples and squash and placing them before the altar. Strolling out behind the monastery after mass, I quietly marveled at how the landscape glistened in the new sun dancing on the frost. Twice, I thought someone was approaching behind me but turned only to see the wind making a commotion among the leaves. I was alone. Later, I would call home and talk with mom, Julie and Linda, my sisters and Julies boys. Cully and I would reminisce about his visits to the monastery as a little boy; how the first time I brought him into the chapel I thought I would need to introduce him to God, amazed that his behavior, demeanor and obvious sense of awe made it clear, he and God were already intimate friends. I lost myself a bit in those memories and the feelings I have for these boys, now fine young men, but we weren't on the phone long. I told them I loved them hung up the phone, was struck by the silence of the Juniorate Classroom where I was sitting, and found myself gazing at a pattern of light on the wall next to the venetian blinds. Someone was there. I relished His presence, but neither of us spoke. Then the bell for prayer rang. Vespers is where you taste the deep true flavor of a feast day, after you've marinated for hours in the mystery being celebrated and so can pray without effort or any self-consciousness. After Vespers I really wanted to be alone and found myself in the basement of the monastery, in the corridor that leads to the music room. I made a side-trip to the gift shop to check to see how the Prarie du Sac sisters' hand made cards were selling and this took me through the monastery guest house. Descending the stair to the doors opening into the guest house dining room I anticipated the customary warm light, the hum of voices and clinking of silver ware, and so was a startled to find myself a moment later standing in a darkened room, perfectly silent, with only a night light casting a soft glow on a piece of carpet in the corner. The guest house is empty tonight. People don't go to monasteries on Thanksgiving Day and so I am alone in the dining room. I feel a thrill, and I know in my heart, I am right where I want to be; where I was born to stand. How I relish this stillness and solitude; this inexplicable fullness that no words can describe! It is Him. He has been stalking me all day; bringing me to this place and this moment, our moment; He and I alone. I knew this was coming, and I know just what I want to say: "Thank you Lord Jesus because you are God and you are here and you have made me yours. One person in history speaks and acts in the very person of Almighty God and I know Him and have given to him my life and all I possess. But every gift I ever gave you was your gift to me. Thank you for this moment of time outside of time, and for this joy that has no beginning or end, and whose fullness is the life breath of the eternal God breathed into my soul!"

Father Raphael