Although I never experienced it, I have heard from several of a phenomenon in earthquake country, such as along the major fault that runs through the South Pacific. One day, Australian volunteer John Hickey was working with the cattle in the plantation: thousands of tall, majestic palms like cathedral pillars in rows miles long, and beneath in high grass, cows munching, mooing moodily to one another. The air is noisy with the cries of birds whose voices are as wretched as their plumage is gorgeous. And of a sudden: perfect stillness: no cow moves, no bird calls. The change is startling. It is a silent church. And then, ten, twenty seconds later, the terrifying shake of the earth beneath you, a pan of jello held by a nervous cook. I think of that in these mysterious days of silence after Ascension, before the coming of the Spirit in power. So too, before a tropical storm, the mad mix of orange and green and mauve clouds swirling dangerously, the suspicious lightness of the air, the hush, the hesitancy. And then before you know what has happened, the sky black, a roaring gale and torrents of driving rain. A wild scene up out of nowhere. And all over in ten minutes. We are now in that hesitant edge, the moment when nothing happens and everything is about to. The great breakers rolling to shore, lips pursed, tons of water about to spill.

They are three: the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit. And there is a modality that goes with each, a quality. Maybe we can muse a moment on mystery which no words can speak, no symbol signify.

Because we seem to be a patriarchal society, we tend to think of our religion as patriarchal. I am not so sure it is, though I assume we are. We do call him Holy Father, after all, Pope John Paul. Papa Nostra. It would be just as significant to call him Brother John Paul, Frater Noster. We have taken to calling the priest Father, though Brother is nice, maybe nicer.

The first way of seating is as in a hall, in a theater, or a classroom, or a church. All in neat rows facing toward the action, the source, at the elevated front. It goes well with God the Father, asserts the male principle, the idea of authority, control, truth, order, law and grace. For many, this is the Catholic Church, impregnable champion of orthodoxy, the greatest and oldest organization on the face of the earth. And the way most of our churches are arranged says all that: "You tell us. We listen. We learn. We obey." And so we love and be loved.

Monks favor another way. They love God, but they know that love of God is one with love of neighbor. The truth is not in us unless we embrace both God and brother. And so we face one another in God, in choir, in chapter, in refectory. This is no trifle. And we take care to emphasize it. We are in constant living communion with our brother and so we know that we are face to face with God. And because love of God and of brother means both toughness and tenderness, courage and tolerance, suffering and dedication, we are one with a Jesus who is not male principle, not female principle, but both; integrated, total human, perfect human. No artist ever sculpted a tough Jesus, painted a macho Lord: He is always tough tenderness, vulnerable strength. Model priest, prophet, poet, Christian: for all -- young and old, male and female, single and married. The universal One. To monks religion is not patriarchal: it is fraternal, communal, brotherhood. Communism, not capitalism.

When we come to the Eucharist it is something else again. Here we gather in a great circle around the altar, the center of the universe, heart of all that is. In a great ring around the stone of sacrifice, priests and people are one with the angelic choirs who round the throne of the Eternal God sing undying praise. This is the work of the Holy spirit. This is feminine fruition. The fulfillment of the dream. The gifts of the Spirit complete: Understanding, Knowledge, Wisdom, Counsel, Piety, Fortitude, Fear. And the Fruits of the Spirit: Charity, Joy, Peace, Patience, Benignity, Goodness, Longanimity, Mildness, Faith, Modesty, Continence, Chastity. These follow the following of Jesus, prove its genuineness: Christianity lived, the Church vibrant with holiness. Rich in the Spirit. In this earthly prelude we are joined in perfect love and so face God in total joy. Foretaste of the Kingdom.

Massive spectacles in great bowls and superdomes and stadiums are a gathering around a contest, highly stylized, often a kind of ballet. We ought not miss the reason for the great pull these events have: they represent far more than is evident, reveal unspoken hungers and thirsts and longings. They are a sort of lay liturgy of the struggle of good and evil, some subtle hint of the cosmic engagement in which we are all engaged, with the stakes: eternal life.

When we gather round the altar to ponder and share the conflict of good and evil in the Passion and Death and Rising of Jesus, we wait the Spirit He promised, the Spirit that calls us beyond docility to the Master, beyond engagement in loving dialog with brother and sister, to the final wholeness which is all creation ringed in a dance of love before Almighty God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.   Amen.