Work Text:
From the journal of Brother Aldred Dorkins. Saint Denis, 1899.
I have met a man, my Lord, who ferries my weary faith through doubtful times. You sent him to me in Saint Denis on a day when the air was thick with heat and dust and indifference. You bid him speak to me as I called for alms, and though I could tell he did not count himself among your flock, he offered me his coin and his ear. He called himself a sinner, but in his eyes — green as Eden and so heavy with sorrow — I could see the light of your grace, though it shone from behind a lifetime’s melancholy. For so long I had prayed for the deliverance of those sorry prisoners, those souls clapped in irons beneath the cobbles of the city, and I knew from the moment this man appeared that you had sent him in answer. I knew he would be moved by their plight, and he took no convincing, rescuing those two wretches and expecting nothing in return. Even so, he refused to hear me as I professed his righteousness. My Lord, until this man I did not believe that a servant of God could be too humble. Perhaps he was a sinner, but when you guided him to smile so kindly to me as we parted, I felt my spirit revived.
I have not seen him since he the day returned to me in St. Francis to once again put right an injustice, minor thought it may have been, but I carry Arthur Morgan with me. There are times when the cruelty of this city and her people cause me to waver in my purpose, when the miasma of apathy which surrounds me threatens to infect my heart and harden me. In those times, alone in my darkened cell, I need only call upon my memory of his face and voice, of the kindness which he visited upon me, and I am warmed by the love which you have sent through him.