The Gift of Piety mellows the sense of reverence for God and over-strictness with ourselves. It inspires a great spirit of kindness and understanding toward others, meekness in bearing their faults, willingness to forgive, and genuine affection for them.

The Gift of Piety awakens in us a child-like attitude toward God and also a sense that everyone is our brother and sister. It sees people as companions on the journey rather than competitors, even when they have different religious persuasions or no religion at all. The Gift of Piety does not label or put people in boxes. At the same time, it fosters both respect for tradition and creativity in trying to adapt to contemporary culture and the circumstances of daily life.

While the Algerian Trappist martyrs exemplify the Gift of Fortitude, as we saw in the last chapter, the Gift of Piety is equally manifest in them. Let us take another look at the work of grace in these men from the latter perspective.

The monks were living in a Trappist monastery surrounded by destitute Muslim peasants. The monks could have lived inside their cloister with safety, but they felt called to reach out in dialogue and charity to their impoverished brothers and sisters, and to help them as much as they could. Two years before their deaths they had been invaded by guerrillas and ordered to leave, but they simply refused. Through community discussion and sensitivity to their conscience and sense of vocation as monks, they decided to stay--knowing they would probably be killed.

Here is where the Gift of Piety is manifest in them. The monks saw their Muslim neighbors as brothers and sisters, not as enemies or friends. They did not see them as people to convert to Christianity. Rather, they saw themselves as creating community among everyone who lived in that space and manifesting it through sharing their agricultural know-how, as well as cultivating hospitality. By remaining there and maintaining their dialogical relationship with their Muslim neighbors they risked almost certain death; but they were more concerned about improving the quality of their daily lives in the details of monastic life and genuine concern for the local population. They felt that martyrdom was not something to be desired, because they did not want to be the cause of anyone's guilt or punishment. In other words, they were concerned for the salvation of those who might kill them. In their writings we learn that we should pray for oppressors as well as for the oppressed, for those who kill as well as for those who are killed. This is what Father Christian, the leader of the monastic community at Our Lady of Atlas in Algeria, wrote about the possibility of death. He addresses his executioner:

And you, too; my last-minute friend, who would not have know what you were doing; yes, for you too I say this thank-you and this a-diar [goodbye]-to commend you to the God in whose face I see yours. And may he grant to us to find each other, happy thieves, in Paradise, if it please God, the Father of us both.

The Gift of Piety enabled the Algerian Trappist martyrs to love even their enemies as brothers and to forgive them in advance for their murder.

This heroic attitude of total forgiveness of everyone and everything is the most mature fruit of the Gift of Piety As the sense of belonging to the human family as a whole continues to grow through contemplative prayer and practice, this oneness extends to the earth, the environment and, indeed, to all creation. One begins to perceive all things in God and God in all things. The Divine Indwelling perceives Godself in everything that exists.

An example of this new way of seeing reality comes to mind. I often take a walk through a grove of aspen trees on the monastery property where I live. Aspen leaves are extremely sensitive to the slightest breeze. Even when the air is still, a few leaves will always be stirring. Such was the quiet reception I received as I walked into this grove on a certain summer day a few years ago. All of a sudden, a stiff wind came up and rushed through the grove of aspens. All the trees with their leaves sprang unto action. Every leaf was shaking wildly. Branches were bending this way and that, and giving the impression of applause similar to a standing ovation. It seemed as though the aspens were waving at me. Eagerly, I waved back to them, trying in vain to imitate their tumultuous greeting.

But were the aspens really waving to me? Or were they waving to God in me? I waved back to God in them! It was a marvelous exchange: God in me greeting God in them. God in me being God in them.

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Excerpted from Fruits and Gift of the Spirit by Fr. Thomas Keating

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