Friday, June 29, 2001
Friday, June 29, 2001
For it is the God who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," who has shone in our
hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.
The rabbi responded that he had no advice to give. But he did leave the abbot with this strange
message: "The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you."
When the abbot returned to the monastery, his fellow monks gathered around him to ask, "Well,
what did the rabbi say?"
"He couldn't help," the abbot answered. "We just wept and read the Torah together. The only
thing he did say, just as I was leaving--it was something cryptic--was that the Messiah is one of
us. I don't know what he meant."
In the days and weeks and months that followed, the old monks pondered this and wondered
whether there was any possible significance to the rabbi's words. The Messiah is one of us?
Could
he possibly have meant one of us monks here at the monastery? If that's the case, which one? Do
you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone, he probably meant Father Abbot. He
has been our leader for more than a generation.
On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Certainly Brother Thomas is a holy
man. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly he could not have meant Brother
Elred! Elred gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in
people's sides, when you look back on it, Elred is virtually always right. Often very right. Maybe
the rabbi did mean brother Elred.
But surely not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously,
he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by
your side. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah.
Of course the rabbi didn't mean me. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just an ordinary
person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn't be that
much for You, could I?
As they contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary
respect on the off chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance
that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary
respect.
Because the forest in which it was situated was beautiful, it so happened that people still
occasionally came to visit the monastery to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its
paths, even now and then to go into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. As they did so, without
even being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary respect that now began to
surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere
of the place. There was something strangely attractive, even compelling, about it. Hardly
knowing why, they began to come back to the monastery more frequently to picnic, to play, to
pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought
their friends.
Then it happened that some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk
more and more with the old monks. After a while one asked if he could join them. Then another.
And another. So within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order.
(2 Corinthians 4:6
NRSV)
There is a wonderful example of the "one-ness" of Christian believers in Scott Peck's book, THE
DIFFERENT DRUM. The story concerns a monastery that had fallen on hard times. There were
only five old monks left--the abbot and four brothers, all over seventy in age. In the woods near
the monastery was a hut that was visited from time to time by a rabbi from a near-by town. One
day the abbot was led to come to the rabbi to ask his advice for their dying monastery.
Lord Jesus, let the Christ in me shine through. Amen.
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