Did you hear about the time, way back, when the monks were working on the Bible translation? It was hard work and had been going on for a long time. Heaps of manuscripts to examine and read and understand. Heaps of scrolls to translate - the dust flew, fingers got numb transcribing, eyes got tired peering at faint words.
Then a snag!! A problem!! There was a word which just couldn't be quite be clarified. Not quite right.
The Abbot was called. The problem was put to him. He too peered at the manuscript. He discussed it at great length with the Chief Scribe. There was prayer. There was more discussion. Deep thought - then a decision! A course of action was decided.
The Abbot called over a young novice.
'Go, my son,' he commanded, 'to the Archives and do not return until this matter is solved.'
The Novice went and again seached. It took a long long time. In the Archives were piles of the most ancient of texts, in scrolls and even on tablets. All were covered in dust and need a lot of time to sort through.
It was months, some say even a year, before the Novice found what he was after and rushed exitedly back to the Monastry .
'Father! Father!' He shouted with the enthusiasm of youth.
'Hush, my son! What is it?' The Abbott was old and tired. He had forgotten.
'The word! The word, Father!'
The light dawned on the Abbott. His brow cleared.
'Ah, yes.' he said, 'I remember! Well, my son?'
'The Word!' the Novice couldn't restrain his glee. 'It's "celebrate", Father! Not "celibate!"'
'Oh, my son! It's too late! It's gone to the printers!'
