Winter Message

This morning I saw Saint Francis of Belchertown in prayer. He was outdoors on a hilltop suffering hard at five degrees buried past his waist in frozen snow with ice clinging to his shoulders. His countenance did not betray his pain, and not because he wore the hard mask of stoicism or the blissed-out expression of transcendence. His expression is what drew my attention - engaged, patient, optimistic. His head was bowed, humble but not shameful, not beaten. I thought, if no one hears your prayer friend, it's no fault of yours, and then realized someone did.