Alone in a Church

Up, near the front, where years ago there was a rail, flickers a lone candle in a red glass, indicating what Catholics call the real presence, the consecrated bread. It is the only place, I feel, where I can touch infinity.

I pray, simple words of a one-sided conversation, but I do listen. I made such a visit before every major decision of my life, and I can’t say they turned out bad — rather, overpowering — I hardly knew how to deal with them.

I am surrounded by stained glass windows, depicting scenes from the well-documented life of the man who most changed Western Civilization, and the woman who raised him, a favorite of Catholic Christians; his minions were everywhere, all over Europe, starting from Rome. And thence, they went to every corner, from the Arctic to Africa.

People reacted differently, as people do. But that was all right; like me, they touched infinity.

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