There is nothing quite like the horror of a tsunami to focus and intensify a monk's observance of Lent. The news from Japan reached us at New Melleray in the way that most major "breaking stories" do. I am standing in choir—three weeks ago. I've spent a peaceful day praying, reading, doing manual labor, relishing the gentle rhythm of a monastic day. My heart is grateful, maybe a little in awe of a certain serenity I feel performing my chores. The bell rings for Vespers, the evening prayer service, and my brothers and I sing a hymn followed by three psalms. Standing there in my choir stall, near the end of the office, I hear the hebdomadary, who is the prayer leader for the week, get up to offer intercessory prayers for the needs of the world. With eyes shut, I drink in the peaceful ambiance of the chapel, and hear the monk say: "For the victims of the tsunami in Japan and for those ministering to them. Let us pray to the Lord." And there it is—just like that, unforeseen, tragic, and unadorned—the terrible fact. A tsunami has hit Japan. I will learn later that thousands of people are dead. There is chaos in cities. A nuclear power plant has been damaged and may be about to explode, polluting thousands and thousands of square miles with radiation. Vespers ends, and I sit there in the chapel with only the sound the birds echoing faintly in the empty chapel. I'm very still. For the moment, I am thinking nothing in particular. The strangeness of the report is just sinking in. After a little while, I begin to pray. With so many people all over the world generously responding to the agony of the people of Japan with material aid and active assistance—people might wonder what contribution is made to a crisis like this by cloistered monks. How is the very real suffering of the victims of this tragedy addressed by men and women confined to the cloister—apparently so protected from and untouched by this ordeal? But we are all victims of this tsunami, and I wonder if a cloistered monk is in a better position to appreciate this than most. Japan is in agony. What would Jesus do? What DID Jesus do? Jesus preached, he fed the hungry, he taught, he healed, he ministered, he "spoke truth to power". Jesus did a lot. He did a lot of particular things for a lot of particular individuals, and it kept him busy . . . but, what was Jesus doing at the moment he accomplished the redemption of the world? We believe our redemption was effected on the cross. Jesus, on the cross, was not preaching or teaching, healing or feeding anyone. He wasn't talking. The moment our redemption was won, Jesus wasn't busy. It all got very quiet. That is the moment I am present to as I sit in the empty chapel after Vespers. I do believe my presence to this mystery and the prayer it awakens in my heart is redemptive for the people of Japan and for the world. As I pray, I imagine an elderly Japanese woman, alone in her room, confined to a wheelchair, unable even to stand up. A fifteen foot high wave is thundering down the street toward her house. What "active apostolate" of the church do you mobilize at this moment to meet the needs of this woman? As I surrender to the mystery filling the chapel after Vespers, I embrace her. I don't know her name. She doesn't know mine. We meet one another in Him whose love is the Heart of this hallowed silence.

Father Raphael