Vigil

It is approaching midnight. Holy Trinity church is dark and silent. The sacrament reposes in the garden of Gethsemane, represented under the altar. Outside, the dark sky is huge and peppered with stars - I am reminded of a line of poetry: "The night is nailed to the sky with hard, bright stars". It seems appropriate, given the hour and the event we are remembering.

Soon the torches and the marching feet will come, and Jesus will be dragged off to trial. But I shall not be there, for like the disciples before me I have been overcome by sleep.