We're seeing a very active sky today. The warmth of sunshine broke through for periods of time, but it's cooling now, in the late afternoon. The monks are quietly busy preparing for the Mass of the Lord's Supper tonight. It felt strange not to have Mass this morning. Morning mass is just how a monk begins his day. On Holy Thursday, we have Mass in the evening. It gives a curious quality to the whole day. The awareness that we're going to have company tonight—a lot of people arriving at just the time of day when our guests are usually heading home for the night. It's all a little topsy-turvey for a monk whose schedule almost never changes. At about 2:30 this afternoon, passing through church on my way to the music room, I was greeted by the friendly face of a priest from Chicago. He was sitting all by himself in choir, and looked up when I walked in. We don't speak in church and so the two of us smiled and exchanged a wordless greeting. I happen to know he just celebrated fifty years as a priest. My heart was moved seeing him sitting alone there at prayer in church on the day when the church traditionally celebrates the mystery and dignity of the priestly vocation. A quiet testimony to fidelity in times that need such a sign. Arriving downstairs, I found papers laid out in "ranks" on Kevins' table in the liturgy room. He is very systematic about preparations for these most solemn liturgies of the year. Paul Andrew and I will practice each piece before tonight's mass. Our guests need and expect the monastic liturgy to be done well. This has been an attitude guests have brought to monasteries for centuries. The great abbeys like Cluny were richly endowed by benefactors who asked nothing of the monks in return but that they perform the holy sacrifice of the mass and sing the psalmody with gravity, devotion, and care for its beauty. At New Melleray, we enter gladly into this ancient contract. It can be a little nerve-racking for a monk these days when we have so many guests. Feels a little like being in a fish-bowl. But, on a deeper level, there is a thrill. A great mystery is upon us. Brother James, twenty nine years old, is spending his first Paschal Triduum with us. I Surprised him earlier, coming through a door into the main stair well—as he was bounding up three stairs at a time. (I need to have a word with him about that). The youthful exhilaration he expresses with his legs is no less felt in the heart of Fr. Daniel, one hundred and three years old. It is good to be here.

Father Raphael