He raised his hand to make the sign of the cross but after touching his forehead his hand fell limp. No breastbone, no left shoulder then right. He was too weak. He died later that day. This had a profound effect upon the young priest, this passing of his father in weakness. At first it was awkward. It felt unfinished, the hand wanted more. But as time passed, which it always does, the movement gained ease by both priest and people. They were referred to by others as “those of the broken cross” – a phrase of derision. But for them it became formative, an outward sign of their inner dependence.