2013: Beyond Armageddon (18 page)

“First you tell the Jews they’re the chosen people. Then along comes your Son—a Jew—who complicates matters with a little thing called Christianity. But instead of Him coming right out and
telling
us who He is, and what He’s up to, He talks in parables, and leaves everybody guessing: ‘Is He the Messiah, or just some crazy Jew starting trouble?’

“Then, you come along six centuries later and tell Muhammad
he’s
the one, that the whole Jesus thing was not the real deal. Now you’re telling me
I’m
supposed to be the guy?

“Uh-uh. Ain’t gonna get it. Again, no disrespect, but this is the moment of truth. The Crucifixion was a fiasco. It did
not
deliver us from evil. Evil has been ripping us to shreds ever since. I’m all for doing what I can to stop it, but before I go marching into the enemy camp with The Message, there needs to be a plan. A very specific plan. In plain English. No parables, no cryptograms we spend the next two thousand years slaughtering each other over, trying to figure out what they mean—who’s Chosen, who’s not.

“You need to brief me, Lord. Break it down real simple for us humans. We’re not that smart.”

Zeke looked off to the side and saw Jesus nailed to a small crucifix. He spoke to it. “I know all about ‘you have suffered,’ but you know what? So have I. So have a lot of people. Billions since the Crucifixion. So now you’re finally going to put a stop to it?

“Fine. It’s about time. But if you want me to be your guy, before I put my life on the line, you are going to have to make me believe.

“No disrespect.

“Amen.”

Too many horror movies made Zeke feel silly as he waited for whatever would happen next. In those movies a statue would start bleeding right about now. He went to the white marble railing at the foot of the altar and looked toward the distant back wall, at the largest mosaic of Jesus in the world.
Christ in Majesty.
If blood was trickling from his wounds, it was too far away to see. Even as Zeke chided himself for making light of the situation, he looked around for anything unusual.

The flickering votive candles did not suddenly go out. No shaft of light or gust of wind came down from the dome far overhead to envelop him. He made a derisive grunt, left the pew, and began walking up the west aisle toward the mosaic of Jesus.

Zeke reached the far wall and looked up at the mosaic from a familiar vantage point, the center of a sunburst pattern on the marble floor directly beneath it. The accusatory face of a disapproving Jesus bore into him from directly overhead, triggering a memory of the mosaic’s nickname: Scary Jesus. The name fit.

No blood trickled from his wounds.

Zeke’s gaze drifted to the inscription beneath the mosaic:

I WILL SEND THE ADVOCATE
.

The term referred to Christ, but could there be another…?

No. These inscriptions had always been here, for everyone to see. They hadn’t suddenly taken on new meanings, just because they happened to catch Zeke’s eye. He took a last look into the glowering eyes of Jesus and walked away to continue his search for divine inspiration. Just before he re-entered the west aisle, he looked back at the face of Scary Jesus.

It was looking straight at him. That was odd. When he was standing directly beneath the face, it had been looking straight down at him. Now, twenty yards away and on a forty-five degree angle, it still stared directly at him. He’d looked at this mosaic many times and never noticed that, but he hadn’t really been looking for it. Knowing that paintings often had eyes claiming to follow you everywhere, he went and looked at the face from the same vantage point on the opposite side of the Shrine.

The face looked directly at him.

The eyes weren’t moving, and the head wasn’t swiveling, but there was no mistaking it. Zeke finally shrugged it off as a trick of perspective and went back to the entrance to the west aisle. Again he looked up.

The face glowered directly at him.

He forced himself to head back down the ornate corridor. Thousands must have had experienced this same quirk, but it was still disturbing to think that the intense eyes were following him. He did not look back.

Just ahead, the same lively and enthusiastic docent, probably in his seventies, was telling a couple the significance of one of the statues. Zeke stopped and waited for a break in his dissertation.

“Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt, but if you don’t mind I’d like to ask a quick question about that mural of Jesus.”

The docent smiled a knowing smile. “His eyes were following you.”

“I knew it must be an illusion, but I had to ask.”

The docent nodded. “I knew the artist. De Rosen. He made the eyes convex. That’s what creates the illusion. Very powerful, isn’t it?”

“Very. He looks almost mean.”

“He does. He’s been given the nickname Scary Jesus. We certainly don’t call Him that, but I can’t argue with it. I asked De Rosen why he’d made Him so intimidating. He told me, ‘Who would you rather have fighting the battle He has to fight for us? Somebody tough or a wimp?’”

“Makes sense when you put it like that. Thanks.”

Zeke continued to the rear of the church, evaluating what he’d seen, knowing he’d only focused on things that seemed relevant to his situation. Whatever their significance, they weren’t the unmistakable sign he needed to become God’s warrior against Satan. Not even close.

He was right back where he started.

He stood hesitating in the narthex, just inside the tall wooden doors that would take him back outside and into the harsh reality of his life. He almost ached to get back to Leah, to get on with their life together, but he wanted to make sure he’d given this visit every chance. So far there had been no epiphany, but the extreme holiness of the place, and the thought of the millions of believers who had been in here, fueled a glimmer of hope.

But the mission he was contemplating required much more than hope. It had to be driven by an unshakable faith, and at this moment he had none.

If he went through those doors now, with his prayers unanswered and his faith unrestored, this visit would have been a failure. He would have kept his promise to follow up on the scrolls, but, barring some miracle, this would be the end of it.

Determined to go the extra mile, he found himself walking down the stairs that led to his favorite retreat at the Shrine.

Zeke was glad to find only a few people in the Crypt Church. It made it feel like his own private sanctuary. He stood in the nave, remembering all the times he’d come here after his discharge from the Army, looking for healing. For answers.

All these years later and I’m still looking
. With everything that had happened since he got the scrolls, he was more lost now than he had been then.

Muted blue light filtered through the small stained glass windows near the ceiling. Dozens of votive candles flickered in stands along the edges of the room. Their light darkened his mood instead of brightening it.

He sought inspiration from the lovingly crafted images of saints and apostles that were everywhere. Though long dead, the power of their teachings still brought billions of people around the world to church each week. Millions had come to this very spot since the Shrine’s opening. Zeke walked down the nave to the railing and looked at the Mary altar just beyond.

Thousands of priests had been ordained at that altar. When he’d re-enrolled at CU after his discharge, Zeke had stood here many times, again considering the priesthood, wondering if that would be a way to atone for the jungle, always waiting for a sign that never came. Standing there now, surrounded by granite and marble and onyx, ceramic tile depictions of scenes from the Bible, he wanted desperately to believe in all this imagery and symbolism, to be shown the way. He went to the first pew and sat, trying to open his heart to whatever belief might find its way there.

Mixed in with various publications in the holder in front of him were several Bibles. He opened one to the place marked with the red satin ribbon: chapter five in the Gospel of John. The entire page to the end of the chapter was printed in red to indicate the words of Jesus. Zeke scanned the red passage until he came to verse thirty. From there he read the rest of the chapter, certain passages leaping out at him:

I can of mine own self do nothing…if I bear witness of myself, my witness is not true…

There is another that beareth witness of me; and I know that the witness which he witnesseth of me is true…

Zeke read on, but kept being drawn back to verse forty-three. He read it over and over:

I am come in my Father’s name, and ye receive me not…if another shall come in his own name, him ye will receive.

This section of the gospel was a famous one, the notion that God needs witness to confirm his existence. Zeke tried to apply the idea to his current situation.

If God went into Hell alone and defeated Satan, without a witness no one would know. But if a human were to go, and lived to tell the tale, there could be no doubt. God needed someone to bear witness. An Advocate.

The chestnut from philosophy came to mind: if a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, did it make a sound?

Zeke closed the Bible and put it away. The passage was interesting, but not exactly the heavenly ray he was looking for. The marker had probably been left at that passage because it had been the topic of the last sermon. All the Bibles were probably marked at the same spot.

He opened another to the saved page. John again, his first epistle:

Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.

Zeke got another Bible and read the bookmarked passage, from the second epistle of John:

For many deceivers are entered into the world, who confess not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. This is a deceiver and an antichrist.

Zeke wondered what the Sappersteins, dear Jewish friends of his parents, would think of that passage. Still, the coincidence of verses was becoming more intriguing. He was not surprised to find that the next Bible was marked at John’s third and final epistle:

I trust I shall shortly see thee, and we shall speak face to face.

Interesting to be coming upon them in order like this. When he opened the next Bible to the saved page, he couldn’t resist a smile. Of course. Revelation. The Apocalypse. Also written by John, although which John there was no universal agreement:

I Jesus have sent mine angel to testify unto you these things…

Enoch had been sent by God and left his scroll as testimony. Intrigued but unconvinced, Zeke put the Bible away and went back to the railing. He stared up at the crucifix sitting atop the Mary altar.

No blood flowed from his wounds. Nothing had changed. What he had just read was tantalizing, but the books of John were some of the most popular in the Bible. Zeke needed more, and he told God so.

A priest bustled by on his way to the altar.

“Excuse me, Father,” Zeke called.

The priest came over. He was tall, almost even with Zeke’s 6’3”, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. Early thirties, maybe. Good looking, in a studious, Clark Kent kind of way. Zeke was touched that in this rotten world, with the Church and priests under constant attack, young men still joined the priesthood.

“When was the last mass held in here?” Zeke asked.

“Eight-thirty this morning. There’s another one at ten past noon, if you’d like to attend.”

“I may, but I wanted to ask you something. What was the sermon about at that last mass, do you happen to know?”

“Oh yes. I gave the sermon. I’ll be giving it again at the twelve-ten. Since Halloween is next week, I wanted to emphasize the positive Christian aspect of the tradition—that the word is a contraction for All Hallows’ Eve, the day before All Saints’ Day, which is followed by All Souls’ Day. So rather than being a celebration of evil, it is a time for honoring our saints and praying for our faithful departed.”

Faithful departed.
The phrase pricked Zeke’s mind. His family had been faithful. How long had they been departed? Today was Friday. They had been killed on a Friday. The 5th. “What is today’s date, Father?”

“The 26th.”

Three weeks. He had not prayed for them. What good would it do? Prayer when they were alive hadn’t saved them. He clamped a lid on his simmering anger. “Educating people about the positive aspects of Halloween is a laudable goal. You’ve got an uphill battle, though, considering how deeply ingrained the scary tradition is.”

“Very true. But I believe it’s a battle worth fighting.”

Zeke’s eyes flicked from the priest’s face to his white collar and black cassock. His uniform. He had joined God’s army in the battle against evil.
A battle worth fighting.

He shoved the thought aside. “I wanted to ask you, Father: did you use passages from scripture in your sermon?”

“Yes.”

“Which book?”

“Several, but mainly Peter and Paul, two of our most famous saints.”

Zeke couldn’t resist. “So, since you were featuring Peter and Paul in the house of Mary, you had Peter, Paul, and Mary.”

The priest’s face lit up. “My parents loved their music. Had all their albums. Come to think of it, maybe the answer we all seek is blowin’ in the wind.”

“Smooth,” Zeke said.

“And since my name is Michael, I could say that in my sermon Michael rowed the boat ashore.”

“Nice. I know the Highwaymen had a big hit with that, but I didn’t remember Peter, Paul, and Mary doing it.”

“It wasn’t a hit for them, but I know we had it on one of their albums. Anyway, maybe I could drive the messages in my sermons home better if I had a hammer.”

“You’re on a roll, Father. Do they have open mike night for priests? You could try your hand at standup.”

“We don’t have one, but it’s a good idea. I might bring it up over dinner tonight.”

“But seriously, folks,” Zeke said. “Did you use anything from Revelation in your sermon?”