So) At St. John’s Abbey, the cantor, while reading the psalm, does so with no inflection, as speak the monks in responding. That is because it is important that the monastery prays but it is unimportant that the monks pray. Indeed, it is an insult to tell a monk that his voice was heard in choir for the fervor of his individual prayer may have broken the peace of the whole. So the cantor, sixty and balding, with a heavy German accent, leads all the monks, most in black robes, by intoning, "Praise the Lord, I will extol the Lord with all my heart," in a tone of ultimate boredom. And with similar boredom seventy monks and I respond, "Great are the works of the Lord."

Fa) I said something brilliant in a meeting the other day. When a friend complimented me on my wisdom I reminded her that it was her idea. She had said it the meeting before. Now she had forgotten but I remembered so her voice carries on.

Mi) I asked my son, the one with the tattoo, earring and orange hair, how life was coming with his roommates, and he said that it would be good if he could but get them to rinse their dishes before they put them into the sink. As I would say to him, "Goddamnittohell! Will you learn to rinse your dishes before you put them in the sink." As my father, back to the table, face to the darkening window, weary from the day testing meters, scrubbing with the worn steel wool would say to me, "Goddamnittohell! Will you learn to rinse your dishes before you put them in the sink."

Re) One day with a ten knot breeze from the south, the sails set for a beam reach and the auto helm doing the driving, I stood back against the mast at ten degrees heel basking in the hills and sun of Lake Pepin. I sang to the universe, "Eloi, Eloi, lamma sabachthani?" which means, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" for even in this moment when I had joined the eternal chorus I was aware and bitterly sad that it is not always like this.

Do) As I drove the blue Toyota across the I-94 bridge with the commercial towers of the city rising to my right, I said to myself, "Great are the works of the Lord," and realized that with my blue suit, white shirt and red tie I was robed this morning to join the business choir. Sometimes I am tempted by my own insignificance not to come. And sometimes I am tempted by my own pride to claim an undeserved pre-eminence over other voices.

Re) The cantor in a bored tone spoke dully the words, "Praise the Lord, I will extol the Lord with all my heart." My own heart opened and for a few moments I was not there but the spirit sang its praise of the creator through what used to be me. But of course, it was only a moment, and then I noticed the resonance of my own voice and I was impressed by me so I had to come back. So perhaps the psalm should read, "My God, why have I forsaken you?" And the answer is that I find me so entrancing that I do not want to join the choir.

Mi) My wife had put on an audio tape made at a family Christmas party years before, and cutting under the sounds of my two boys rejoicing at their presents was my father’s voice chanting out a constant hymn of comment, advice, and praise. "Now I would set that down if I were you, what could be in there, such a big boy to open it by himself, look what your brother has...." On and on as was his wont with children irrespective of who was or was not listening or responding. Except since David was talking in full sentences my father was at least three years dead, so the voice I heard as my father’s must have been mine. However, I am positive: Whoever was speaking, it was he.

Fa) In a business magazine the author of an essay referred to a friend of his who has a magnificent analogy for living out a career. That it is like tacking a sailboat up a channel, responding to the rise and fall, and the shifts in the wind. Since that is precisely one of the chapters in my second book I thought first that I should drop a nasty note requesting that he cease and desist. But then I thought what a compliment it was that another member of the choir had picked up my melody. And then I thought perhaps he just had the same idea. It is not all that deep after all. And then I thought that maybe I read his book years ago and it was this, now forgotten, that gave me the idea for my chapter.

So) It is told that one spring morning, Father John, the Abbot of the monastery at Little River went for a walk with Brother Jerome, the dishwasher. They were both ancient monks whose bladders brought them from bed well before the dawn. They returned to find that the gas main had blown and the monastery with its seventy monks was gone. Father John asked Brother Jerome what he thought they should do, and Brother Jerome, a simple and insignificant man looked at his watch and pointed out it was time for choir. So Father John began, "Praise the Lord, I will extol the Lord with all my heart" and Brother Jerome responded, "Great are the works of the Lord." Of course, neither of them meant a word of it, faced as they were with the loss of their home and the deaths of their brothers and companions.

But in heaven the archangel Michael sheathed his flaming sword and the archangel Gabriel laid down his dreadful trumpet and in hell Satan ceased his preparations for the Lord had decreed that as long as the monastery at Little River prayed, Armageddon could not happen.

Do) As I drove the blue Toyota across the I-94 bridge with the commercial towers of the city rising to my right, I said to myself, "Great are the works of the Lord," and realized that with my blue suit, white shirt and red tie I was robed this morning to join the business choir. Sometimes I am tempted by my own insignificance not to come. And sometimes I am tempted by my own pride to claim an undeserved pre-eminence over other voices.

The author of this essay is John Cowan. He has written two books of similar essays: Small Decencies and The Common Table Each is approximately 160 pages in paperback. To purchase either book by mail send a check for $10 per book to him at 1498 Goodrich, St. Paul, MN 55105. Price will be negotiated for any order over 20 books. If you wish to discuss consulting or speaking engagements or attendance at a workshop he may be reached by e-mail. His address is Johnedie@aol.com

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