"If I lived ten lives, nine and one half of them would be spent in a monastery! That is how much I love to be a monk!" Brother Jacob spoke these words soberly, and then at the conclusion, broke into a broad smile, his white teeth contrasting strikingly with his ebony complexion. Jacob is a native Nigerian, an Ebo; an African man derived from a people who carry themselves with a certain dignity and poise. He is in the United States to study theology in order to return to his monastery in Nigeria and teach classes to monks in formation. He is living at Gethsemani Abbey in Kentucky and was invited to join us at the Junior Seminar here at Holy Spirit Abbey so that he could experience another monastery and meet Junior monks and nuns from all over the U.S. No doubt he finds some aspects of our American monastic culture difficult to understand. When he told me that, if he lived ten lives, he would spend nine and one half of them in a monastery, a naughty impulse moved me to immediately inquire of him: "Where would you spend the last half of that tenth life?" I was being playful, ironic, and maybe a little sarcastic, though I don't think I was fully conscious of it at the moment. He studied my face a moment, evidently trying to discern my motive for speaking as I had, and then, good-naturedly, chuckled and said: "No—I only mean, I don't want to claim too much for myself . . . " He meant that, for a man to say, "I would spend the entirety of all ten lives in a monastery", would be presumptuous. It was a bit of an awkward moment for both of us—for him, as he struggled to make sense of the irony and obliqueness of American humor, for me, as I realized I could have spoken to him in a manner more thoughtful and respectful. At a meeting like this where participants come from half a dozen countries from all over the world, there are many moments like this—moments in the dance when, without ill-will, maybe just a certain clumsiness, we step on each others' toes. There is something deeply moving and reassuring in the sight of all of us gathered together and lined up in our choir stalls at the beginning of Vespers, bowing, sitting, standing, and singing in unison—a vision of eternal life where every tear will be wiped away and all misunderstanding and hurt banished forever.

Father Raphael