I said to the one who stood at the Gate of the Year,
Give me a light that I might go safely out into the darkness.
The gatekeeper replied,
Go out into the darkness and put your hand
into the hand of God.
That shall be more to you than a light and safer than a known way.
SILENCE was the first prayer I learned to trust when I began my visits to San Damiano. Only later did I begin to let the words in. The silence of the chapel at prayer was broken only by a habit of praise that I came to see was so primal it was not only human. It was — or it mimicked exactly — the essential utterance of existence. It rose from the raw passion which rules life, an urge which has no voice but craves articulation. This communal prayer voiced a harmony otherwise elusive in all of creation, yet thrumming in the monastic silence.