In our monastery's large refectory, at the furthest end, a large cross hangs over the abbot's place. It is the cross we use on Good Friday. I sometimes will walk down to it, the refectory dark except for the light that is over the cross. I will stand there and sip my coffee and pray, I guess, looking up at our Savior who gave his life for me, for all in the world. I believe it, and on some level understand it, but it is still a mystery how it all works. A mystery is not something we do not understand. It is something that we can't get to the bottom of it, nor should we. It is an eternal journey.