Flight Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page B

eyes is tempered with an aging milkiness. His hair is still a radiant gold, touched with lighter strands of gray and white. He wears it long and full, revealing a streak of vanity in his austere mien. The effect of his hair is all the more pronounced against the lavish brocade of the chasuble he wears. His walk seems too slow, even for the stately procession; the boys measure their steps carefully so as not to leave him behind.
    The five now stand at the foot of the stairs that lead to the altar. They genuflect, the priest with more effort than the boys, then recite the opening dialogue of the liturgy, bowing in turn, striking their breasts as they confess their mortal weaknesses.
    The priest mounts the stairs and opens the huge leather-bound altar missal. He turns to face the people, stretching out his arms in a gesture suggesting the crucified Christ. “Dominos vobiscum,” The Lord be with you, he sings in a monotone.
    The liturgy continues with the expected regularity of an ancient, never-changing rite, the Tridentine rite. The priest turns to invite the congregation to pray at intervals specified by the rubrics, the red print, of the missal. Each time he turns, his face is more heavily beaded with sweat. After reading the Epistle and Gospel in Latin, the priest descends the stairs and approaches the pulpit. While the people seat themselves to hear his comments, he studies the faces that stare back at him.
    A pearl of sweat glistens at the tip of his nose. It hangs there for interminable seconds, then drops. The people watch as another shimmering bead begins to form in its place. The priest deigns neither to mop his brow nor to brush the tiny salt-pool from his page of handwritten notes. Minuscule veins of blue ink grow at the edge of the pool.
    The lady with the novel flaps a silk fan. She is the only one present to take action against the heat; the others suffer passively, racking up purgatorial credits in some celestial ledger. She eyes the priest with a wry smile. Come on, Father, she thinks. You’re losing your audience. Better get on with it.
    “My brothers and sisters,” he finally says. His voice is soothing and firm. “Let us today rededicate ourselves to the beliefs, the ideals, the truths that we professed when we founded this community. Ever mindful of the Blessed Virgin Mary, who was assumed into heaven—taken there bodily by her Son, our Savior—we rededicate ourselves to the truths that inspired us to name our community Assumption, a name that serves to remind us of what the world has lost, of what we have found.
    “We have come to this place for many reasons, but the shared event that unites us was a crisis of faith—a crisis generated by change, heretical change, over which we had no control. Now they wring their hands and preach against the dangers of schism, but it is they, not we, who have pushed this confrontation to the brink. Each of us present has been touched by the spirit of the Lord in a special way, and now we are reborn to that which was so carelessly lost.
    “For us, then, a major battle in the fight for personal salvation has already been won. We have known God’s saving grace, and we have seen His light. Like Christ the good shepherd, we must now be mindful of our brothers and sisters who have gone astray, of the forces that have misguided them, and of their dire need of our prayers.
    “Let us, then, remember in our prayers the troubled Church of Rome, now riddled with the heresies of change and doctrinal inconsistency. Let us pray that the Church Universal may return to the truths of which it was once sole guardian, that the people whom God has called to be His own may once again know the peace and unity that faith alone can bring.
    “Faith. It is faith alone that binds us. And it is on our faith alone that we shall one day be judged.
    “My friends, I want to relate to you an incident that took place last year as I lay somewhere in that netherworld between life and death. The