How an Angel Taught the Number Twelve

In the early days of the faith, only a few were known by the name of monks, and those the best of men. They received that way of life from the evangelist Mark of blessed memory, the first to preside as bishop over the church of Alexandria. They not only kept those great marks for which, as we read in the Acts of the Apostles, the church and the multitude of believers were famous in the first days: “The multitude of believers had one heart and one soul. Nor did any of them say that any of the things he possessed was his own, but they had all things in common. For as many as owned lands or houses sold them, and brought the price of what they sold, and laid it at the feet of the apostles, and it was distributed to each as he had need.” They also added to these marks others still more sublime. For they withdrew into more secluded places outside the cities and led a life of such rigorous abstinence that the lofty character of their life was a constant marvel even to people of other beliefs. They gave themselves to the reading of Holy Scripture, to prayer and to manual labor night and day with such fervor that they had no desire for food, or even thought of it, unless on the second or third day bodily hunger reminded them. And they took their food and drink not so much because they wanted it as because it was necessary for life. Even then they did not take it before sunset, so that they might join the hours of daylight to the practice of spiritual meditation and give the care of the body to the night. And they did other things far more exalted than these. Anyone who has never heard of these matters from someone acquainted with such things may learn about them from church history. [a]

At that time, then, the perfection of the first church still remained unbroken, and was kept fresh in memory by their followers and successors. The fervent faith of the few had not yet grown lukewarm by being spread among the many. The venerable fathers, with watchful care, made provision for those who would come after them. They met together to discuss what plan should be adopted for the daily worship throughout the whole body of the brothers, so that they might hand on to their successors a legacy of devotion and peace free from all dispute and dissension. For they were afraid that some difference or dispute might arise over the daily services among those who joined together in the same worship, and that at some time or other it might send up a poisonous root of error, or jealousy, or schism among those who came after. Each man, according to his own fervor, and forgetting the weakness of others, thought that what should be appointed was what he judged quite easy, considering his own faith and strength. He took too little account of what would be possible for the great mass of the brothers in general, among whom a very large proportion of weak ones is sure to be found. In varying degrees, each according to his own powers, they strove to fix an enormous number of psalms. Some were for fifty, others sixty, and some, not content with this number, thought they actually ought to go beyond it.

There was such a holy difference of opinion in their devout discussion of the rule of their religion that the time for their evening office came before the sacred question was settled. As they were about to celebrate their daily rites and prayers, one man rose up in the middle of them to chant the psalms to the Lord. They were all sitting, as is still the custom in Egypt, with their minds intently fixed on the words of the singer. He sang eleven psalms, separated by prayers placed between them, one verse after another, all pronounced evenly. Then he finished the twelfth with a response of Alleluia, and by suddenly vanishing from the eyes of all, he put an end at once to both their discussion and their service.