St. Michael's was even more beautiful in the snow. Samuel had not been here for some time and the glory of the day took his breath away. The two Serles skipped ahead like very young men, which they were, and ran up to the Abbey Church doors. This "little corner of England which is forever France, irreclaimably French" as Ronald Knox had called it, sat like a crown of jewels on a cushion of white. Samuel was not by any stretch an "aesthete", but this abbey and grounds had always moved him, bringing him into an experience which led directly to Christ and His Mother.
Mass was just beginning, the Tridentine form, and the Abbot looked up briefly and nodded at his guests.
Samuel walked briskly to the sacristy, vested and was at the side of the sanctuary in minutes. Mark and John sat in the row behind the monks, looking the world like English Gentlemen in from a brisk walk. They laid their new walking sticks on the floor.
Missals lay in the pews and the two, who were trained in the Mass, left them there. They had not seen books for years. There entire seminary training had been provided by memory from Columcille and Samuel. John wondered if the National Catholic Library still existed intact. Mark prayed for Columcille, Samuel and all seven of the resident monks.
The Abbot intoned the Epistle and then the Gospel. The Feast was the Annunciation. Samuel thought of all the Catholic congregations in the world, some free, some not free, some in gorgeous abbeys like this one, some in small cottages, some outside under trees, or under mountains, all celebrating the great day of the Incarnation. At every minute of every day, the Eucharist was being consecrated in some part of the world. He also mourned for those who could not attend Mass and who would hold this day sacred in their thoughts, prayers, longings.
When the Abbot intoned the Credo, Samuel's heart sang the words of his deepest beliefs. Et incarnátus est de Spíritu Sancto ex María Vírgine, et homo factus est. From all time, God had seen the Long Walk of the four clerics, the death of Columcille, the horror of the persecutions, the Church in hiding, the worldwide hatred of this day, this Woman, this God-Man, Who came to die for all.
Samuel let his heart sing and the grief stricken love for his lost friend died and rose again in a great joy. The entire Abbey glowed with the renewal of the earth. Samuel, for the first time in years, felt like he had come home. There was only this minute, only this time, only the present in which to worship God for Whom all time was one and whole. Like a clear hourglass stopped, without sand, thought Samuel. this Mass held the Timeless Sacrifice, the Body and Blood of Christ, the sign of God's presence and present among humans. To be totally present to this God was the joyous expectation of all the faithful.
To be continued.....