Sister Constance knelt before the altar and crossed herself before raising the chalice to her lips. The communion wine was sweet, but with an undertone of bitterness. "Blood of Christ," Constance thought. "The sweetness of His love, combined with the sourness of our sins." Then, as she looked up towards the priest, she saw a golden light surround the crucifix behind him and heard a melodious buzzing.

Constance rose before the altar. "Again! I see it again!" she called out. The other celebrants stared at the young nun, her arms spread out like the Christ above the altar. Constance began to dance to silent music and to speak in tongues, swaying from side to side in ecstasy. Then a shrill cry of agony ended her trance, and she fell unconscious to the floor of the chapel.

She woke on a bed in a curtained-off cubicle, a concerned doctor bending over her. Her body ached and she felt a vague nausea.

"Good," said the doctor. "My name is Michael. I need to ask you some questions just to make sure you're alright. What is your name?"

"Constance. Sister Constance."

"And where do you live?"

"In the convent."

The doctor nodded. "Do you know where you are?"

Constance shook her head. "No. A hospital? It looks like a hospital."

"That's right," Michael said. "Now, you collapsed in church. Your sisters are worried about you, so I am going to conduct some tests."

Constance looked confused. "But I'm fine now."

The doctor held up his hand. "No arguments. People don't just collapse for no reason."

For the next day the doctors examined Constance's health. They took her blood, they measured her heart rate, they asked her questions that made her blush to answer. Some of her sisters came to visit her, bearing gifts of food and love. Eventually Michael came to her with the diagnosis. He took Constance's hand and spoke softly.

"Your kidneys are damaged - very badly, too. We need to find out why. Will you help us?"

Constance nodded. "Of course."

It took another week of more tests and more questions for the doctors to determine the cause. Again it was Michael who came to Constance. He looked at her sternly.

"Constance - do you drink alcohol? Specifically, do you drink absinthe?"

Constance was confused. "Only the wine at mass, as the Lord commanded. Apart from that, no."

Michael thought for a moment. "What do you drink from?"

"The chalice, of course."

"Could you describe it to me?"

Constance took a deep breath. "It is a new chalice, made of wood. We thought it was more fitting to have a cup like one that Jesus would have drunk from."

Michael hurried away, a look of intense concern on his face.

A day later, the doctors convened to discuss Constance's case. They sat around a table in one of the hospital's conference rooms. The specialist in charge of the case rattled the papers in front of him. "So, have we determined the cause of Sister Constance's condition?"

One of the doctors, a young lady in Public Health spoke up. "It's the chalice. We took samples and found it was made of Artemisia absinthum, commonly known as wormwood."

The specialist thought for a moment, "That would explain the symptoms - the visions, the fits and the kidney failure. What about the other nuns?"

Michael shrugged. "Once we knew the cause, we started a programme of testing. So far, all of them are alright, but we'll keep an eye on them for a while. Just to be sure."

"Good," the specialist replied. "Do we have any idea why it was only Sister Constance who was affected, then?"

"No," Michael said. "It's a miracle that the other nuns at the convent are fine."

The specialist nodded. "God moves in mysterious ways."