Two women folded and unfolded embroidered cloths for the altar, a little to the left, a little to the right, spotless white, an extra fold for Jesus and Maria, her picture framed under glass, cleaned every time a parishioner touched or kissed her. It took even longer to set up the display in front of the black Madonna high above the altar, she was small with a hooped dress. She had been repeatedly stolen by a padre from a nearby monastery who did not wish to go to church every day. He had kept her near him and prayed endlessly. However, he could not cross the door sill of the church unless he carried her back. It’s a restless church, no one quite knows what the right spot is for worship.