Dear Friends,
One of the greatest stories I have ever read is the "Rabbi's
Gift." It comes from an unknown source, and while apocryphal it contains a
universal truth of utmost value. I first recall reading it in one of Scott
Peck's book, I think The Road Less Traveled. I made a copy of it and
stored it away knowing I would someday find a use for it. For
me it is a wonderful reminder of what could happen if we treated everyone with
the same love and respect that Jesus showed to people.
I have included questions below that would be appropriate for
small group discussion.
The story concerns a monastery that had fallen upon hard times.
Once a great order, as a result of waves of persecution in the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries and the rise of secularism in the nineteenth, all its
branch houses were lost and it had become decimated to the extent that there
were only five monks left in the decaying mother house: the abbot and four
others, all over seventy in 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. Through
their many years of prayer and contemplation the old monks had become a bit
psychic, so they could always sense when the rabbi was in his hermitage.
"The rabbi is in the woods; the rabbi is in the woods again" they
would whisper to each other. As he agonized over the imminent death of his
order, it occurred to the abbot at one such time to visit the hermitage and ask
the rabbi if by some possible chance he could offer any advice that might 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 exclaimed. "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 abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read
parts of the Torah and quietly spoke of deep things. 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 rabbi responded. "I
have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is
one of you." 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 the Torah
together. The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving --it was something
cryptic-- was that the Messiah 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
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. He
has been our leader for more than 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
Elred! Elred gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he
is a thorn in people's sides, when you look back on it, Elred is virtually
always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Elred. 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 Messiah. Of
course, the rabbi didn't mean me. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just
an ordinary person. 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 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 chance that each monk himself might be the
Messiah, they each began to treat themselves with extraordinary 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 along some of its paths, even now and then to go
into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. As they did so, without even being
conscious of it, they sensed the 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. There was something strangely attractive, even
compelling, about it. 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 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
rabbi's gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the realm.
Yours in faith and friendship,
Tom
Below is a series of questions designed for small group
discussion produced by Disciplewalk.com
1. Was the Rabbi the church growth expert the Abbot thought
he was?
2. What did the Rabbi do to help the Abbot?
3. What was the change that led to the community growing in
numbers?
4. What does all this say about what must happen before
churches grow?
5. How did the expert build community with the seeker?
6. What characterizes the community the monks built among
themselves?
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