The Work of Grace
Kristen Leedashing through the snow in a pair of broken skisimagine yourself in a frozen forestthere was a cold lady who swallowed some snowwalking together with a living crystal of snow
is echoed immediately by Father Brennan, my father and Bill Gregor, and all the while, Father Kilroy’s been sprinkling the house with holy water and the smoke from the brazier is rising in a wispy fragrant cloud to fill the rafters.
“Many shall come from Saba,” Father Kilroy says.
“Bearing gold and incense,” the others reply.
“Lord, heed my prayer.”
“And let my cry be heard by you.”
“The Lord be with you.”
“May he also be with you.”
“Let us pray." Father Kilroy waits as heads are bowed. "God, who disclosed your only-begotten Son to all nations by the direction of a single star, grant that we who now know you by faith may one day behold you in your heavenly majesty, through Christ our Lord.”
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