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There was an old monastery that had fallen upon hard times. It was once a great order, but as a result of waves of persecution in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and the rise of secularism in the nineteenth century, all its branch houses were lost and it had become decimated to the extent that there were only five monks left in the decaying house: the abbot and four others. All were over seventy years old. Clearly it was a dying order ant things looked grim.

In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little hut that a fellow priest from a nearby town occasionally used for prayer. As the abbot agonized over the imminent death of his order, it occurred to the abbot on one of those occasions to visit the priest and ask him if by some possible chance he could offer any advice that might save the monastery.

The priest welcomed the abbot at his hut. But when the abbot explained the purpose of his visit, the priest could only commiserate with him. “I know how it is,” he exclaimed. “The spirit has gone out of the people. It’s the same in my town. Almost no-one comes to the church anymore.” So the old abbot and the old priest wept together. They talked for a short while and then the time came when the abbot had to leave. They embraced each other. “It has been a wonderful thing that we should meet after all these years,” the abbot said, “but I have still failed in my purpose for coming here. Is there nothing you can tell me, no piece of advice you can give me that would help me save my dying order?”

“No, I am sorry,” the priest responded. I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Savior is one of you.”

When the abbot returned to the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him to ask, “Well, what did the priest say?”

He couldn’t help,” the abbot answered. “We just wept and read the Bible together. The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving – It was something cryptic – was that the Savior 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 priest’s words. The Savior 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 Father Abbot? He has been our leader for more that 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 Eldred! Eldred gets so grumpy at times. But, come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people’s sides, when you look back on it Eldred is virtually always right. Often very right. Maybe the priest did mean Brother Eldred. 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 Savior. Of course the priest didn’t mean me. He couldn’t possibly have meant me. I’m just so ordinary. 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 each contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to treat one another with extraordinary love and respect on the off chance that one among them might be Savior. And on the chance that each monk himself might be the Savior, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary love and 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 among some of its paths, or even now and then to go into the dilapidated buildings to meditate. As they did so, without even being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary love and respect that now began to surround the five 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 to picnic, to play, to pray. Its beauty drew them in. 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 and, thanks to the priest’s gift, a vibrant centre of light and spirituality in the realm.

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