Chapter 15
The faint smell of candle wax and new wood, and the energy of the music from the keyboard which accompanied the Night Office all hung gently in the air. Instead of leaving the oratory and going over to the hermitage where his cell was, the abbot knelt down and pulled out a small wooden prayer bench from underneath the chair behind the podium from which he sang God's praises day and night with the community. He placed the low and slightly slanted bench over his ankles. He then sat back on it and adjusted himself a bit to become more comfortable. There was but a breath of daylight left in the sky and the moon was rising, as if attracted by a
huge magnet far above. The four choir stalls along the left side of the barn, along with the four along the right were outlined by the light. An uneven but soothing candle flicker from the clear sanctuary lamp hanging front right and signifying God's presence in both Word and Eucharist hinted at the open scriptures on the left and the small wooden tabernacle containing the Eucharistic bread on the right. The four foot square wooden altar stood like a dining room table, inviting, full of memories, but presently not in use.
Francis felt himself praying a mantra over and over again: "Take Lord, receive, take Lord, receive, take Lord, receive." The influence of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Jesuits, had not only permeated the spirit of his founders, St. Francis de Sales and St. Jane de Chantal, but had also seared his soul as well. Take Lord, receive from the heart of Christ to the pen of Ignatius to the soul of Abbot Francis.
Periodically, he would offer one or another of the community members up to the Lord: Sister Scholastica, Brother Matthew, Sister Jane de Chantal, Brother Benedict, the men and women Associate Members who lived in their own homes. Somewhere within him, as if a strange counterpoint, Beth Johnson-Angelo was also offered up, and then Father Theophane. Francis had a sense of being grounded. The energy of love was pouring into him and over him and through him and the negativity of recent days was being sucked out through his feet and hands. Energy moved up the base of his spine, rising to the crown of his head. Time no longer existed. Like the dawning of the day, he began to sense flame, the color orange in his spirit. After some time, he oriented himself back to the present and to the oratory and wondered about the moon. It was long gone, shining down on the oratory but not to be seen from within. He gently rose and put his prayer bench back under the chair behind the wooden podium of his choir stall and moved toward the door with complete assurance that someone was sitting on the floor in the choir stall across from his on the other side of the oratory.