Vigil. The wee hours of the morning. Alone in a quiet church. Praying. Candles in the torch stands around the pews, flickering. Every now and then, the peripheral vision catches movement. Is someone here? How did I not hear the door open? Oh, no, it's just the movement of those tiny, lively flames.
But it reminds me. This holy night, in this holy place, angels and saints, apostles and prophets and martyrs, pray and praise. This holy night, in other holy places (where it is already daylight), the Church throughout the whole world prays and sings of her dear Lord's passion.
Not alone here after all.
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