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resist before he fled from our house to return to his true path? Or even if he
never went back to the seminary, what price would I have to pay to keep him from
returning to that path?
Everyone there, except me, seemed to be concentrating on what they were doing. I
was staring at him, and he was speaking the language of the angels.
Suddenly, fear and jealousy were replaced by calm and solitude. The angels had
someone to talk with, and I was alone.
I had no idea what pushed me into trying to speak that strange language. Perhaps
it was my strong need to connect with him, to tell him what I was feeling.
Perhaps I needed to let my soul speak to memy heart had so many doubts and
needed so many answers.
I didn't know exactly what to do, and I felt ridiculous. But all around me were
men and women of all ages, priests and laypeople, novices and nuns, students and
old-timers. They gave me the courage to ask the Holy Spirit for the strength to
overcome my fear.
Try, I said to myself. All you have to do is open your mouth and have the
courage to say things you don't understand. Try!
I prayed that this night the night following a day that had been so long that I
couldn't even remember how it had begun would be an epiphany. A new beginning
for me.
God must have heard me. The words began to come more easily and little by little
they lost their everyday meanings. My embarrassment diminished, my confidence
grew, and the words began to flow freely. Although I understood nothing of what
I was saying, it all made sense to my soul.
Simply having the courage to say senseless things made me euphoric. I was free,
with no need to seek or to give explanations for what I was doing. This freedom
lifted me to the heavens where a greater love, one that forgives everything and
never allows you to feel abandoned, once again enveloped me.
It feels as if my faith is coming back, I thought, surprised at the miracles
that love can perform. I sensed that the Virgin was holding me in her lap,
covering me and warming me with her mantle. The strange words flew more rapidly
from my lips.
Without realizing it, I began to cry. Joy flooded my heart a joy that
overpowered my fears and was stronger than my attempts to control every second
of my life.
I realized that my tears were a gift; at school, the sisters had taught me that
the saints wept with ecstasy. I opened my eyes, gazed at the darkness of the
heavens, and felt my tears blending with the raindrops. The earth was alive and
the drops from above brought the miracles of heaven with them. We were all a
part of that same miracle.
How wonderful that God may be a woman, I said to myself, as the others continued
to chant. If that's true, then it was certainly God's feminine face that taught
us how to love.
"Let us pray in tents of eight," said the priest in Spanish, Italian, and
French.
Once again, I was confused. What was happening? Someone came over to me and put
his arm around my shoulders. Another person did the same on my other side. We
formed a circle of eight people, arms around each other's shoulders. Then we
leaned forward, our heads touching.
We looked like a human tent. The rain fell harder, but no one cared. The
position we had taken concentrated all our energies and heat.
"May the Immaculate Conception help my child find his way," said the man
embracing me from the right. "Please, let's say an Ave Maria for my child."
"Amen," everyone said. And we eight prayed an Ave Maria.
"May the Immaculate Conception enlighten me and arouse in me the gift of
curing," said a woman from our circle. "Let us say an Ave Maria."
Again, all of us said "Amen" and we prayed. Each person made a petition, and
everyone participated in the prayers. I was surprised at myself, because I was
praying like a child and like a child, I believed that our prayers would be
answered.
The group fell silent for a fraction of a second. I realized that it was my turn
to make a petition. Under any other circumstances, I would have died of
embarrassment and been unable to say a word. But I felt a presence, and that
presence gave me confidence.
"May the Immaculate Conception teach me to love as she loves," I finally said.
"May that love grow in me and in the man to whom it is dedicated. Let us say an
Ave Maria."
We prayed together, and again I felt a sense of freedom. For years, I had fought
against my heart, because I was afraid of sadness, suffering, and abandonment.
But now I knew that true love was above all that and that it would be better to
die than to fail to love.
I had thought that only others had the courage to love. But now I discovered
that I too was capable of loving. Even if loving meant leaving, or solitude, or
sorrow, love was worth every penny of its price.
I have to stop thinking of these things. I have to concentrate on the ritual.
The priest leading the group asked that we disband the tents and pray for the
sick. Everyone continued to pray, sing, and dance in the rain, adoring God and
the Virgin Mary. Now and then, people went back to speaking strange languages,
waving their arms, and pointing to the sky.
"Someone here& someone who has a sick daughter-in-law& must know that she is
being cured," cried one woman.
The prayers resumed, along with chants of joy. From time to time, we would hear
the voice of this woman again.
"Someone in this group who lost her mother recently must have faith and know
that she is in the glory of heaven."
Later, he would tell me that she had the gift of prophecy, that certain
individuals can sense what is happening at some distant place or what will
happen in the future.
Secretly, I too believed in the power of that voice that was speaking of
miracles. I hoped that voice would speak of the love between two of those
present. I hoped to hear that voice proclaim that this love was blessed by all [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]