Monks are supposed to represent the "prophetic" dimension of Christ's church. I keep reading that. Am I a prophet? Are my brothers here at New Melleray prophets? Last night, after Compline, I was sitting in the sun room of the infirmary enjoying the lights of the especially nice Christmas tree Paul Andrew set up this year when Fr. Bede came in, stopped in the middle of the room, noticed me, and turning, started inching his way toward me, peering at me intently . . . "Raphael?" Bede just had cataract surgery and can't see very well, especially at night. "Yup." I answered. He motioned to me to come over to the door of the sun room. The end of Compline marks the beginning of what monks call "The Great Silence" when we're not supposed to talk . . . which means we whisper. Approaching the glass door, Bede stooped and drew his face very near the Christmas wreath hanging there. I watched him peer intently right through the center of the wreath into the night beyond which was pitch black except for the weird luminosity of the snow piled up on the deck. He motioned me to look through the center of the wreath, and after a moment whispered: "Do you see those lights?" I saw nothing. The night was as black as the day before creation. "No, Father. I don't see anything", I told him, a little disappointed I couldn't be more accommodating. "Huh!" Bede was looking at me and smiling, as if to say: "There I go again, crazy old man!" "What do you see, Father?" I asked him. He stepped up to the wreath again, squinted a little into the darkness and said, his voice hushed with admiration: "The tail-lights of hundreds of cars lined up on the highway!" His words had a haunting beauty and, involuntarily, I drew near the window again. There is a highway which, in daylight, can be seen winding over a hill in the distance beyond the infirmary deck, but I couldn't see the highway, the earth or the sky, only blackness. And yet, I saw the enchanting vision he was describing in my imagination. The tail-lights of hundreds of cars lined up on the highway — what if I had looked out and actually seen that? What might it have meant? I imagined a nuclear strike on Chicago creating panic in Northeast Iowa and residents choking the highways in an attempt to flee the city toward the interior of the continent. I thought that a plague, an approaching tornado, or extreme weather warning might also produce this effect. What if there was a vast conversion of heart of the American people and everybody at once realized Jesus is Lord and joyfully embraced their true destiny to all come together and worship him as God? Then, the night would be set aglow as a multitude of worshipers began making their way to the City of God, thousands of tail-lights winding through the night like the serpent of Eden appearing again only now as a vast festive procession of gladness lighting up the surrounding gloom as humanity streamed toward Him who is the Alpha and the Omega — all as Isaiah predicted! I stepped back from the window and there was a moment of silence. I didn't know what to say, and ventured: "You just had cataract surgery, Father — sometimes, you know . . . pressure on the eye ball can create a sensation of color . . . " He looked at me puzzled. "Huh!" I watched him turn and start off to bed, and found myself wondering: "If by chance, one of my brothers was a prophet and, at a moment, without any warning, true prophecy started pouring out of him, out of his eyes, his mouth, his ears, and out of his nostrils . . . might the event go entirely unnoticed?"

Father Raphael