I suppose it will not be too long before we have a computer screen at each desk in choir, with some central station that will program an Odd week, an Even week, complete with hymns, psalms, readings and prayers. Then all, guests too, will have the right page and correct text, all without benefit of overhead light. And so a soft blue will suffuse the choir, rather than, say, high noon for Vigils.

There is really nothing particularly remarkable in this, at least as an adaptation to choir stalls -- though in itself a marvelous achievement -- no more remarkable than a printed page replacing a hand-lettered one. Or even books at all, as compared with monks who knew the psalter by heart. What is remarkable is that the thing should be there at all. We by familiarity may be much unaware of the wonder we are witness to.

We are accustomed to the fact that here is a group of men talking to God. Talking to God is prayer. And the talk involves praise, adoration, thanks, petition, sorrow. And it is prayer of a very particular sort, prayer that is a matter of total involvement. Here is no mere quiet, interior, personal prayer -- necessary to be sure -- but prayer in common, in public. Brothers praying together to God. Aloud. In a special setting: not merely a church, but a monks' choir in a monks' church. They are vowed life-long to God. They are in costume. The music is special. The form a hallowed tradition some 1500 years old, laid out in great detail by the Father of Western Monasticism, St. Benedict. He began all this and it has never ceased. What else in the world is like it? Surely, only the sacraments of Holy Church surpass it. Granted styles in the sacraments have changed some over the years, they have not changed that much. There is a basic reality here that perseveres, and it is rooted in a Psalter that pre-dates Christ, as we post-date Him.

If we were to witness a choir of the deaf at the worship of God in the Prayer of the Church, the Liturgy of the Hours, we would perhaps capture the impact we once sustained when we first encountered this scene. For the deaf could also line up in choir, take their places and exchange the dialog of prayer by way of the psalms, through sign. Sign language. Now this side, now that, bowing at the Gloria, sitting for the reading. It would be the silence that would strike us, the intensity of the communication from one choir to another. Brother praises God with brother. Humankind at prayer. As humankind, as brotherhood, as community, as Church. We would be struck by the beauty of the silent scene.

And thus aware that as humans we pray. And that while we can commune with God as with another in heart and mind and will, and surely reach the depths of the human heart, the heart of God, our usual manner of commerce is through sign and symbol: through word spoken and gesture made, through vesture and rite, stance and posture, holy place and holy setting. We know and love the God of rain and of the starry night, of mountain and valley in bloom. But we need also to talk to God in words, make love to Him through body, and find exceeding joy in doing so with others. We are family, community. And a family gathers before the fireplace, around the table, at the altar.

Saint Benedict left to the West, to the world, a tradition of prayer, prayer of great beauty -- prayer rooted in the mysteries of Christ's birth, His life and work, His death and rising, His sending of the Spirit and the founding of Church to continue until His coming again at the end. And it is total prayer in its sense of community and its being involved with every dimension: sound, sight, speech, song, ritual, vestment, setting. All that to awaken in us this truth: that the life of faith is the same: God permeates, penetrates, is all we do -- work, reading, service, leisure. God is part of all, in all. And in all we love and serve Him.

It would no doubt take us by surprise if we should open the door of a church and once inside note a double line of men deep in prayer, expressed in sign exchanged back and forth across a choir. In silence. Its beauty would overwhelm us. Men talking to God with one another.

No less awesome the sound of music, of chant, of psaltery, of men at prayer together for the joy of it, the glory of it, for one another, for the world. Because there is a God. God be praised for this great gift so unmerited. That this fragile beauty should perdure is a marvel of God's providence, and we are grateful. A gratitude more profound for our being called to be part of it, however unworthy; to be called to help make it possible, for it is a community enterprise. Gathered by grace from here and there, for some long years ago, for some not long ago at all, and gifted for this splendid enterprise for the good of all humankind in Christ Jesus our Lord. Praised be God for St. Benedict and for all who follow him. Amen.