The lint

Priest Ioan Bădiliţă

I  go with the Gospel in the middle of the church and I put it on my left shoulder. My lips are whispering the beautiful prayer of the small litany: Lord, God Who put in heaven the squads and armies of angels and archangels…

A strong light is coming from the altar flowing below and over the stretched arms of Jesus ready to swallow me as the sea did with Jonah the melancholic prophet.

From this shining flow I look furtively to the sexton, Mihai, who is holding the candlestick as if it were a scepter of a Byzantine emperor. He is on my right side. Behind him his wife scanned him quickly and with a gentle move takes away a lint from his coat.

I say : `blessed is the entrance of Your saints` smiling and making the sign of the cross over the halo of light from the altar and after that I add in my mind: `Blessed are You Master and Loving One and Odorous and Wondrous One Who put on earth the squads and armies of wives with  eyes of cherubims and hands of a watchmaker, the sleepless and always remembered and blessed women who permanently take care of us not to wear crumpled trousers or a flannel ungainly over the collar of the shirt or not to have a lint over our confused and always hurried hearts…

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