Wounded by Claudia Mair Burney

Author:Claudia Mair Burney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Wounded, Claudia Mair Burney, rose, African American, love story, addiction, healing, miracle
Publisher: David C Cook
Published: 2012-11-16T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

FATHER ALESSANDRO DIAMANTE

Il mio fratello. My brother.

Anthony and I used to sit for hours at his Nana’s—a blessed woman if ever there was one. She wasn’t one for a lot of television, no, but we never needed it. I’ve met few souls who possess Anthony’s imagination. Oh, we must have been eight years old. My dear mother, God rest her, worked so hard, as we’d lost my father to cancer when I was just a bambino. Nana often cared for me.

Anthony and I would sit on the floor for hours in his little room, sorting through stacks of holy cards for trade. He would tell me saint stories. Even then he loved stories.

I always thought he’d go to seminary. The holy gospels say, “A little child shall lead them.” It was Anthony who fueled my love for God, the saints, and our lady in that tiny room when he was just a boy, my poor friend.

Without a doubt I was surprised to get his call. I must confess, when he’d told me of his illness and I hadn’t heard from him for two long years, I feared him dead. Always I lit candles for my friend. Always. And suddenly there was his voice on the telephone like a gift.

I often left the rectory to enjoy a respite before evening Mass, but having received his call I waited in the sanctuary for him.

The gospel of Saint Luke says, There was a man who had two sons. Surely Anthony and I were our Father’s children: Anthony the prodigal, and I the dutiful son. After he had spent everything, a severe famine took place … and he began to be in want.

That’s what I heard in his voice: want.

So he set off, and went to His father.

You can’t imagine my anticipation. I saw him when he walked into the nave, his coat draped over one of his arms. Blood stained the collar of his shirt.

But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him, and kissed him.

Our Father is very, very good, and I believe this gospel offers to all a fine example. I wanted to do as our Father would.

It was I who joyfully ran to meet my brother. I put my arms around him and spoke the words of grace to him before he could utter his “I am not worthy” speech.

“This brother of mine was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.”

I kissed both his cheeks, and let my own tears fall upon his face.

“Come, mio povero, we must go to the Father for the sacrament of reconciliation. We must dress ourselves in the garments of sons of God. We must eat of the fattest calf together.”

My brother wept in my arms, and I noticed, despite his having slept among swine, Anthony bore a faint scent of roses.

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