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"We are our own greatest surprise," he said. "Faith as tiny as a grain of sand allows us to move mountains. That's what I've learned. And now, my own words sometimes surprise me.
"The apostles were fishermen, illiterate and ignorant. But they accepted the flame that fell from the heavens. They were not ashamed of their own ignorance; they had faith in the Holy Spirit. This gift is there for anyone who will accept it. One has only to believe, accept, and be willing to make mistakes."
The Virgin smiled down on me. She had every reason to cry--but She was joyful.
"Go on."
"That's all," he answered. "Accept the gift. And then the gift manifests itself."
"It doesn't work that way."
"Didn't you understand me?"
"I understand. But I'm like everyone else: I'm scared. It might work for you or for my neighbor, but never for me."
"That will change someday--when you begin to see that we are really just like that child there."
"But until then, we'll all go on thinking we've come close to the light, when actually we can't even light our own flame."
He didn't answer.
"You didn't finish your story about the seminary," I said.
"I'm still there."
Before I could react, he stood up and walked to the center of the church.
I stayed where I was. My head was spinning. Still in the seminary?
Better not to think about it. Love had flooded my soul, and there was no way I could control it. There was only one recourse: the Other, with whom I had been harsh because I was weak, and cold because I was afraid--but I no longer wanted the Other. I could no longer look at life through its eyes.
A sharp, sustained sound like that of an immense flute interrupted my thoughts. My heart jumped.
The sound came again. And again. I looked behind me and saw a wooden staircase that led up to a crude platform, which didn't seem to fit with the frozen beauty of the church. On the platform was an ancient organ.
And there he was. I couldn't see his face because the lighting was bad--but I knew he was up there.
I stood up, and he called to me.
"Pilar!" he said, his voice full of emotion. "Stay where you are."
I obeyed.
"May the Great Mother inspire me," he said. "May this music be my prayer for the day."
And he began to play the Ave Maria. It must have been about six in the evening, time for the Angelus--a time when light and darkness merge. The sound of the organ
echoed through the empty church, blending in my mind with the stones and the images laden with history and with faith. I closed my eyes and let the music flow through me, cleansing my soul of all fear and sin and reminding me that I am always better than I think and stronger than I believe.
For the first time since I had abandoned the path of faith, I felt a strong desire to pray. Although I was seated in a pew, my soul was kneeling at the feet of the Lady before me, the woman who had said,
"Yes,"
when She could have said "no." The angel would have sought out someone else, and there would have been no sin in the eyes of the Lord, because God knows His children's weakness.
But She had said,
"Thy will be done,"
