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It is an early winter day in Naples, over seven hundred years ago. Two men in the distinctive black and white robes of the Dominican order make their way to a small chapel. One is a large man with sharp, intelligent eyes. His clothing is frayed and poorly fitted. The other man is younger, an obviously attentive friend.
As they have done for many years, the two will celebrate Mass and then proceed through their routine of lecturing, writing, and further prayer. But on this day, December 6, 1273, the feast of St. Nicholas, their lives will change. They will not follow their routine ever again.
The large man celebrates Mass, but as he recites the Eucharistic prayer, he begins to mumble the words and enter a sort of trance. The younger man is not alarmed, for this is a common occurrence with his saintly master. This time, though, the trance seems much deeper and longer than usual.
After finally resuming speaking and finishing the Mass, the master is weary and weakened. For the first time in all their years together, he does not return to his writing. “I cannot,” he tells his stunned assistant.
And…
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