This morning I leave for Holy Spirit Abbey in Conyers Georgia where I am responsible for coordinating a two week long intensive formation program for Junior monks and nuns. We do this every year. Monks and nuns from our different houses in the U.S. meet at a monastery and take classes on Scripture, the Rule of St. Benedict, the History of Monasticism, or the Vows. Juniors are monks and nuns in "temporary vows" who are preparing for "solemn vows", their final lifetime commitment to a monastic community. Since my mother and two sisters live only about an hour from Holy Spirit Abbey, this trip will also involve a family visit. I will take special care to spend some quality time with Mom who is now 75. I am happy for mom who is now reaping some of the intangible benefits of having a son who is a monk and a priest. There are consolations, deep spiritual consolations given by God to the mother of a monk, and these are "dividends" paid on an initial investment that is not easy to make. Twenty five years ago, when I announced to the family I was going to enter a Trappist monastery, those spiritual consolations were nowhere in sight. I had not even been a practicing Catholic for several years. I had an experience of cancer, which was hard enough for mom, and then a conversion experience which in some ways was harder for her since it was hard for me to talk to her about what was happening. Her love for me was never in question, but there were some tense conversations. I will never forget the matter-of-fact way in which she asked me, shortly before I entered the cloister, "I didn't make a choice for this sacrifice, but your choice to make this sacrifice means I have to make a sacrifice, whether I chose it or not . . . ." What does one say? Mom was hugely reassured about the whole business of my being a monk when she met my brothers and I think I can correctly say that my vocation has been more an more a source of happiness and gratitude for her. At my ordination to the priesthood in 2002, she told the monk who was accompanying her to a seat in the front row: "This is the happiest day of my life." Now, twenty five years later we have both settled into this unusual mother-son relationship, given a very distinctive shape by my life in the cloister. I will arrive at Brookhaven train station in North Atlanta and give her a phone call. She'll show up fifteen minutes later, right on time, as she's been doing for years. During the short ride to her house we will share animated conversation and then she will insist on preparing me lunch which she will devote some time to since this is one of the rituals by which she organizes her day since my dad died. She eats very healthy and enjoys introducing me to new recipes. There is so much that is still not said, because it is hard for either of us to find words to adequately describe the mystery that our relationship has become. In the beginning of my monastic career, she asked "Why me?" like one suffering a set-back in life. Now, I can see it in her face and hear it in her voice at moments—she is asking herself and God: "Why me? What did I do to earn this peace and interior assurance that comes with having a devoted son who is devoted to God and service of God in the church?" My choice was not her choice, but choosing to live the life I did has revealed to mom the hidden fruitfulness of her own vocation as mother. Now, as both of us meet as mature adults, the "fruit" seems to become more flavorful and nourishing with time.

Father Raphael