Friday, March 22, 2002

In the summer of 1992, I was making a retreat at the Trappist Abbey of Gethsemane in Kentucky. On the fourth day of the retreat, in the evening, I received frantic news from a friend, a priest, who managed to get ahold of me in my seclusion. "I'm leaving," he said.
The news caught me totally by surprise.
Walking out of the guest house, I walked up the hill to where a statue of St. Joseph overlooked the monastery and the surrounding valley. Somewhat stunned, I looked up at the statue and realizing that it was St. Joseph spoke to him--the guardian and protector of the Church, "You are not doing a very good job of taking care of your church, St. Joseph," I said.
A voice, very discernible answered my snide statement, "I am, I am calling my son out of Egypt."
That night, I accepted those words for my friend, but over the next couple of years I came to realize that the words I heard that night in the summer breeze were intended not for my friend but for me.