Last night I was sitting at dinner with some colleagues. I was mostly listening but also talking. I think I had a smile on my face: a taut smile, no teeth, lips together, cheeks raised in a tense and not gaudy way. My eyes were, I think, intense without being distracting or discomforting: that is, compassionate, open, but not staring. I have a habit of tilting my head slightly to the left – just slightly.

At one point, I said an Our Father in my head because it occurred to me that this would pour grace onto this table.

At other points, I just wanted to break out into song to hear people talk. Not so much because I love words or people, but because so much of it was good that it was like God was saying, “Here I am. Listen to me and be thankful.”

And on the few times that it occurred to me that something was not good or highlighted a reality that was not good, I sat and saw it and suffered for it. Jesus was on the Cross. Just remember. He will come.

Was it good? If so, nothing of it was my own doing. I’m sure of it. I have nothing to be proud of. The most I ever did was say yes to the ideas and dispositions that God put in my head. I couldn’t do anything or invent anything so wonderful myself. I know it. I know me. This is but an exercise in listening and being docile.

Just one hour in one day of living the most exciting life in the world: seeing Jesus in – or behind – everyone we meet and know and think of; being a contemplative on the road and in the mud.