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. This version of "The Rabbi's Gift" appeared in Peck MS. The Different Drum: Community Making and Peace. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster; 1987:13-15.