Sitting in a pew at Chiesa di Santa Maria Maggiore of Trieste I was approached by a man haggard-looking, thin, in tattered clothes, and with a three-day old growth of beard. My first reaction was to recoil in dread: “Can’t these damned migrants, addicts, or paupers stop bothering me… in Church?” But, then I realized that beneath the modern, Western accoutrements, the man wore the habit of a Franciscan priest-monk. He spoke to me of God’s love and forgiveness; I nodded my head, as I have heard it all before. Only seconds after he left my side did I realize this monk was wearing coarse, fingerless gloves, and I was struck by the thought that I just spoke to
I suspect you may encounter St Francis again -- sooner or later.
Thanks, Farasha. That's a beautiful mosaic. Is it from the same church?