Today, we will hear the story of the courageous saint we called a mind on Good Friday. Though we know very little

about St. Disman's life, and most of this story is imagined, we know that he was good. And we

imagine his tale started something like this. Father, the hour has come.

Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.

Amen, I say to you.

Today, you will be with me in paradise.

The man and child crept through the night's stillness, disturbing neither silence nor shadows.

Suddenly, the man stopped. He raised his hand, gesturing for the boy to remain

quiet as he greedily eyed of the small hut. The cave-in roof was recently patched and repaired.

Whoever was staying here had just arrived, and they were not staying long. They were in a hurry.

The boy watched the man intently.

In the dim moonlight, he could just make out a grin on his ragged face, a face creased and worn

by a lifetime of hurt and hate.

He was watching for his signal, for the next move.

At this point in their raids, his heart always beat like a drum in his chest, but his head remained calm.

His ears alert.

Maybe that was why he was so good at this life.

The only life he ever knew.

Yeah. The only life he ever knew. There they are.

Where? It's so dark.

Right there, beyond the thick trees.

I see now, just a man and his wife.

...