An All-Consuming Fire by Donna Fletcher Crow

the brief second reading. As his clear voice proclaimed Jeremiah’s prophecy of the coming King Felicity marveled at how right this sometimes clumsy, contradictory young man seemed in the sacred service.
    The service moved on to the next hymn, “The Lord Will Come and Not Be Slow.” Antony was the reader for the third lesson, this from the prophet Isaiah. Felicity wondered if she would ever get over the prickles of pride she felt whenever she watched Antony performing his duties at the altar. She hoped she wouldn’t; it was such a lovely warm feeling.
    At the end of the reading the congregation stood again to sing the Advent carol “Hail to the Lord’s Anointed” and the familiar service moved on through its set pattern of nine readings foretelling the birth of the Christ that was to come, each followed by a hymn or anthem. This was not the more familiar Festival of Christmas Lessons and Carols made famous by King’s College, Cambridge, but a strictly Advent service that took worshippers through the Old Testament prophets up to the Annunciation by the Angel Gabriel to Mary. Accounts of the Babe in the manger and singing of familiar Christmas carols would await midnight on Christmas Eve, then continue for the full twelve days of Christmas.
    Father Anselm led the community and their guests in the Advent Responsory following the ninth lesson and hymn. “My soul waits for the Lord; in his Word is my hope.” When Felicity repeated the words with the congregation she became aware of a particularly resonant male voice behind her, but checked her impulse to turn around.
    “Almighty God let not our souls be busy inns that have no room for You, but quiet homes of prayer and praise where You may find fit company…” Father Anselm pronounced the final collect and the organ boomed forth the recessional “The King Shall Come When Morning Dawns.” The white-robed crucifer and thurifer led the readers and monks from the choir and Felicity turned to watch their progress down the aisle.
    When she did she saw the man whose sonorous voice had so enriched the responses. She blinked to be certain. No, Corin had been a participant in the service. He was recessing with the monks. Besides, this man was older, more weathered. But the likeness was remarkable. The same blond hair drooping into his eyes, the same large-boned height and prominent nose and cheekbones. On second look, though, this man had none of Corin’s rangy coltishness. This man exuded a self-assurance that had long outstripped any awkwardness he might have possessed.
    “May the Daystar from on High shine upon you and fill your hearts with joy as you await his coming…” Felicity wrenched her thoughts from the visitor to the benediction just in time to join in the final “Amen.”
    “Go forth in peace to greet the coming King!” Anselm pronounced.
    “Thanks be to God.” Again, the voice behind her boomed above the rest of the responses.
    Felicity was still gathering her belongings when Corin approached. “Felicity, I want you to meet my parents. Stanton and Elsa Alnderby, Felicity Howard.” Ah, so Corin was capable of displaying social graces when the situation demanded it.
    Felicity held out her hand as she turned. So she was right that the man with the strong resemblance to Corin was his father. Now she looked at the small woman standing beside him. Elsa Alnderby seemed half her husband’s size with rather mousy brown hair, but when the women shook hands a warm smile lifted the lines of weariness in her face and Felicity realized that Corin’s intelligent blue eyes were his mother’s gift to her son, whereas the father’s were a much colder steely grey.
    “How lovely that you could be here tonight,” Felicity said. “But I’m surprised, I thought Corin was going home tonight.” She didn’t add that she was also surprised because Corin said his parents had never come to anything at the community, although the sixty-something mile drive across the