Norberto breathed deeply. He wished that their composure was enough to steady him. He wished that he could somehow turn away from his private loss and focus on the monumental task ahead. Helping to keep the spiritual peace in a city of over three million people was a challenge unlike any he had ever faced. But maybe that was what he needed now. Something to keep him from dwelling on the terrible loss he'd endured.

The elderly Father Jiménez was sitting beside Norberto in the back row. Jiménez came from the village of Laredo, which was farther west along the coast. Not long after they were airborne, Jiménez turned from the window and leaned close to Norberto.

"I hear that we will be meeting with prelates from other denominations," Jiménez said. He spoke loudly in order to be heard over the growling engines. "There will be at least forty of us."

"Do you have any idea why he selected us?" Norberto asked. "Why not Father Iglesias in Bilbao or Father Montoya in Toledo?"

Jiménez shrugged. "I suppose it's because our parishes are very small. Our parishioners know one another and can help each other in our absence."

"That's what I thought at first," Father Norberto said. "But look around. We are also the oldest members of the order."

"Therefore the most experienced," said Jiménez. "Who better to entrust with such a mission?"

"The young?" Norberto said. "The energetic?"

"The young question much too much," Jiménez said. He poked Norberto's arm. "They're a little like you, my old friend. Perhaps the General Superior wants men. Men he can trust. Men whom he can tell to do a thing and it will be done, without delay or complaint."

Norberto wasn't so sure of that. He didn't even know why he felt this way. Maybe it was his awful grief or the overbearing manner with which he'd been ordered to Madrid. Or maybe, he thought portentously, God was poking him the same way Jiménez just had.

"Do you even know where we'll be gathering?" Norberto asked.

"When Father Francisco telephoned," Jiménez replied, "he said that we would be taken to Nuestra Seńora de la Almudena." The priest's soft, white cheeks framed a gentle smile. "It feels strange, leaving a small parish for a place like that. I wonder if Our Lord felt the same way when he set out from Galilee? 'I must preach the Kingdom of God to other cities also, for therefore am I sent,' " he said, quoting the Gospels. Then he sat back, still smiling. "It feels strange, Norberto, but it also feels good to be sent."