“But Sister Annunciata,” Clare protested. “It’s Christmas Eve! No sickness will keep me from the Eucharist!”
“Mother Clare,” Sister Annunciata said gently, “you are so frail. I don’t think you will be able to even get over to the Church. Our Lord understands your sickness and will comfort you here.”
“But Sister-” Clare objected, but Sister Annunciata shook her head.
“Please, Mother,” Sister Annunciata begged. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Clare clasped the wooden rosary beads in her fingers even tighter and sighed.
“Yes, Sister,” Clare agreed. “I will do what you ask.”
Sister Annunciata smiled her bright, Christ-filled smile and kissed Clare on the forehead before closing the door of Clare’s dark cell. Clare laid down in bed, her fingers twisting around her rosary beads. Why must I be sick now? Clare wondered sorrowfully. What could the Lord wish to accomplish with this?
Suddenly, a great light illuminated her room, as if the sun itself had been dropped from the sky and had settled in her cell. Clare threw a hand over her eyes, which were burning from the brilliance. A few seconds later, Clare’s nose began to tingle. There was something…beautiful…in the air. She pulled her hand down and her ears were instantly met with the piercingly beautiful sounds of a choir. In awe, Clare looked around her. The ceilings above her head were vaulted, soaring up to heaven, and there were vibrant colors everywhere. It was the Basilica of Saint Francis, the most beautiful church she knew of - but how was she there?
Unable to answer these questions herself, Clare’s focus was drawn to the marble altar, where the priest was standing, leading the congregation in the Sign of the Cross. Clare made it with him and with the people, forgetting her questions and immersing herself in the mystery of the Mass.
The Mass was absolutely beautiful, and Clare had almost completely forgotten that she wasn’t really there when suddenly, right when the priest passed, everything in the room fell away, and there was only darkness and silence.
At first, Clare was frightened. Where was she? Where was the bright, beautiful church she loved so much? As her eyes focused in the dim light, she began to take in sounds. She could hear the faint lowing of cows somewhere near to her. Her eyes set themselves upon a light a little ways away. Interested, Clare moved closer and stopped dead in her tracks as soon as she saw the people.
It’s just like Francis’ crèche! she thought, her eyes settling on three figures centered in the little cave she had found. There was a man, his fingers clutching the staff at his side, and a young woman, whose eyes were resolutely fixed on the child in her arms. Clare put a hand to her gaping mouth and knelt down, leaning herself against the stones that made up the border of the young couple’s refuge.
Is this what heaven is like? she asked herself. She was perfectly content to sit there and watch her Messiah sit in the arms of his adoring parents for all eternity.
Just as suddenly as the image had come, everything evaporated and there was only darkness. Clare stood up and looked around her. There was no vantage point, nothing for her to grasp - and Clare was afraid.
Clare felt pressure on her shoulder, and instantly she was consumed in a divine peace. Her eyes detected a bright light around her. And turning slowly, she met eyes with her Messiah. He held the Eucharist in His hands, ready to give it to Clare. Tears of joy began to form in her eyes as she dropped to her knees.
........................................................................................................................................................................................
“Mother Clare!” a voice called distantly. “Mother Clare!”
Clare’s eyes opened and she looked around. She was back in her convent in Italy, far from the cathedral, from Bethlehem, from heaven. She took in the sounds of her sisters running up the stairs, excited to see their leader who was too sick to attend Mass with them.
Sister Annunciata burst into the room, followed by Sister Isabella, Sister Lucia, and Sister Ginevra.
Sisters Isabella and Lucia stood around Clare’s bed, while Sister Annunciata placed herself at Clare’s feet and Sister Ginevra knelt on the floor, taking Clare’s hand in her own.
“We really, truly missed you, Mother,” Sister Ginevra said sweetly. “It was such a beautiful Mass.”
“I am so happy you were able to be there, my sisters,” Clare told them with a radiant smile.
“I wish you could have been there too, Mother,” Sister Isabella said. “You would have really loved it.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Sister!” Clare exclaimed, taking sorrowful Sister Isabella’s hand. “Don’t worry. The Lord took care of me.”
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