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More than ever I feel the need of having Thee close to me. My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. I am weak, then I am strong. I was drafted into the role. The temperature was high and the sanctuary airless but all was serene and calm as I awaited the M’s descent from the top step to the foot of the altar for the Ad Deum qui laetificat. I went, automatically, to save him and we both clutched at each other like drowning sailors in some grotesque liturgical dance.
Being the good man that he is the M recovered, kicked the carpet into place and commenced the Mass. I had broken out into a sweat at the prospect of him breaking a hip and the subsequent ambulance and hoo hah. My concentration and composure had gone and I struggled throughout the Mass to keep a grip on things. M’s feet were no more than 8 inches away from yet another faux step. As the moment of Holy Communion approached I devised the only plan open to me.
I would whisper to the M before I received the host, that the step was dodgy. Not a very reverent way to receive the Body of Christ but better than remaining silent and the M going flying together with the Blessed Sacrament. The poor man recoiled in horror at this unseemly hiss but recovered and avoided the pitfall while I dutifully, kicked the carpet back into place. The throbbing and twitch were now of mammoth proportions but we got through the rest of the Mass without incident. Arriving home we found that the Collie dog from the farm opposite had breached our garden defences and had run amok amongst our prize flock of Old English game bantams.