It's early morning in Weston—just after the five o'clock vigil prayer of our monastic community. This is the time when all of us brothers go quietly to our rooms to spend a few hours in personal prayer, a time of silent presence with the God who has created us, redeemed us, and constantly calls us to the newness of life.
This morning a voice compels me to write, to fulfill a promise that somehow takes me beyond schedules or even the opportunity for a time of quiet and peaceful prayer. It is a voice that I heard and that I still hear in a darkened room in southern Mexico.
It is a woman's voice, a young Guatemalan woman, holding an infant in her arms. Her quiet voice is filled with feeling. "Brothers, tell your people that we are not communists. We are simple people, Christians like yourselves, who only want food and shelter for our families, a place to work and live. Please, brothers, tell your people to stop your government from sending more arms that only kill and hurt our people."
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