The Rabbi''s Gift

The Rabbi's Gift

A monastery had fallen upon hard times.

Once a great order, cultural changes over the past few hundred
years had sapped its strength. All of its branch houses were
closed and there were only five monks left in the decaying
mother house: the abbot and four others, all over 70 years of
age. Clearly it was a dying order.

In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little
hut that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a
hermitage. The monks could always sense when the rabbi was in
the woods, and during one such visit it occurred to the abbot to
pay the rabbi a visit and to ask if he might have some advice
that could save the monastery.

The rabbi welcomed the abbot at his hut. But when the abbot
explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only
commiserate with him. "I know how it is," he said. "The spirit
has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost
no one comes to the synagogue anymore."

So the old men wept together. They read parts of sacred
scriptures and spoke quietly of deep things. When the abbot
finally rose to leave, they embraced, and he asked again:
"Is there nothing you can tell me to help me save my dying
order?" "No, I am sorry," the rabbi responded. "I have no advice
to give.

The only thing I can say is that one of you is the Messiah."

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
holy scriptures together. Although, just as I was leaving, he
did say something rather strange. He said that the Messiah is
one of us. I don't know what he meant."

In the days and weeks 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. On the other hand, he might have
meant Brother Thomas. Certainly Brother Thomas is a holy man.

He surely could not have meant Brother Eldred! Eldred is always
so crotchety. Though, come to think of it, Eldred is virtually
always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean
Brother Eldred.

But certainly not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a
real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for
somehow always being there for you when you need him. Maybe
Phillip is the Messiah.

Of course the rabbi didn't mean me, each of them thought in turn
about themselves. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just
an ordinary person. Yet suppose he did? Suppose I am the Messiah?
O, God, not me, each thought. I couldn't be that much for the
others,

Could I?

As they each 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.

It so happened that people still occasionally came to visit the
monastery, to picnic on its green lawn, to wander along its many
paths, even to sit in the old 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.

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 visitors started to
talk more and more with the old monks.

After awhile, one asked if he could join them.
Then another. And another.
Within a few years, the monastery had once again become a
thriving order and thanks to the rabbi's gift, a vibrant
community of spirituality and light.