The man was silent for a moment, and Father Chris assumed he was actually considering his question, that he was possibly starting to listen to the voice of reason. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” the stranger finally commented. “Regardless of my personal reasons, I’m still obligated to see things through.”
“Even if it means your own damnation?”
The man’s voice changed slightly, as if wonder had engulfed his thoughts. “You disapprove. I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything else.”
“I disapprove,” the priest confirmed, “First of all, your confession is very vague, which means you already know that what you think of doing is a sin. You said yourself that you don’t expect God to forgive you for what you’re about to do; therefore don’t do it. It’s as simple as that.”
“Nothing about this is simple, Father.”
Father Chris sighed. “Listen, you sound like an educated, intelligent man, so may I be blunt with you?”
“Please do,” the man welcomed.
“Very well. First of all, I should tell you that everything you have told me is incredible: Father James, this code that you follow, this conspiracy that involves the church; I cannot sit here and accept all this information as truth.”
“Which means, you believe I’m crazy,” the man pointed out.
“And what would you believe if our roles were reversed?”
The man paused for a split second, but he answered admittedly, “That you’re crazy.”
“Okay. I just want you to understand my position.”
“I understand your position, and I can appreciate it. Second?”
“Second,” Father Chris went on, “as much as I don’t believe your story, what matters is that you believe it. So, hypothetically, let’s say it’s all true. Still, I disapprove. Your sinful actions, even if they are based on noble causes, will have consequences that will bring about more pain and more hate. Revenge is a double-edged sword. I don’t know what it is you’re planning; I’m convinced you won’t share the specifics with me, but whatever it is, no good will come of it. Your actions will not put an end to whatever injustice you believe exists. You will only feed it. If you choose to embark on this quest, there will be no glory for you. No peace.
“However, there is one powerful act that you’re forgetting: prayer. When good people pray for others, pray for the innocent and the corrupt, they are not standing idly by. If you do service for the innocent, out of love and nothing else, and pray for the corrupt, also out of love, then you will meet God, when your time comes, with a pure heart and with happiness, as a true agent of light. In my experience, nothing is more powerful than prayer. It gives us the wisdom to do what God truly wants of His people.”
The man said nothing, listening to every word.
“I urge you, brother,” the priest concluded, “I urge you as strongly as a man of the cloth can, stop this fantastic journey that will only lead you to darkness. Instead, pray. Pray for yourself, your loved ones, and those whom you believe have done you wrong. Leave them to God, and choose a better path for yourself.”
The man remained silent. For a while, Father Chris thought the conversation had ended, that the stranger would give his thanks and dismiss himself from the confessional. The young priest was about to make the sign of the cross, forgive the man of his sins, and instruct him to go in peace.
But the mysterious visitor finally spoke before the priest could give his blessings.
“Hypothetically, Father, since you mentioned it, hypothetically, if you could travel back in time, if you could go into the past with the knowledge of the present, would you kill Hitler?”
Slightly annoyed that the man seemed to disregard his counsel, Father Chris rechecked his watch. Still, he held onto his desire to help this man any way he could. “No,” he answered plainly, “I wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
The conviction in the priest’s answer resonated within the confessional: “Because there is another code. One to which I have, and always will remain true. It’s called the Ten Commandments. Have you heard of them?”
“I was raised Catholic, Father.”
“Thou shalt not kill. Sound familiar?”
“Soldiers and police officers don’t get to abide by that commandment. They don’t always get to choose…”
“I am neither of those,” Father Chris interrupted. “Are you?”
“No,” the man admitted.
“No,” the priest repeated. Then he continued with a voice less stern. “Let me tell you what I would do. I would ask God to give me the courage to ease the suffering of the oppressed in my own way. I would pray that I had the courage to speak out publicly against the Nazi party. I would harbor as many Jewish families as I could manage, as others did. And if I were caught and sent to a camp, I would share the burden of millions of others, but I would spread faith and hope among them, encourage them to endure. And I would pray for the sins of the Nazis; pray that God would shed his grace on them and show them in His way, by His will, the error of their ways. Yes, I would even pray for Hitler. And if I were to die in that forsaken camp, I would humbly meet God with peace in my soul.”
“I see,” the man said with a philosophical tone. “But even if you weren’t caught, you would only have saved maybe a dozen lives. If you were to cut the head off the snake, you could have saved over ten million.”
“Not necessarily,” Father Chris debated. “There were others who shared Hitler’s twisted vision. Even if I succeeded, even if I could prevent the Holocaust by killing Hitler, ask yourself: at what cost? Because it happened, the world learned from it. Anti-Semitism had existed throughout Europe since the Fourth Century. As atrocious as the Holocaust had been, it brought about worldwide awareness. If I had prevented it from happening, isn’t it possible that it would have eventually happened anyway? Sometime later? I would have stopped nothing, and I would have sealed my own fate, now with blood on my hands.”
“You’re suggesting that the Holocaust had to happen in order for mankind to evolve,” the man said with a criticizing tone. “Ten million lives is a high price to pay for awareness. What if it could’ve been prevented? What if those who opposed the atrocities that occurred stood together against it? It wouldn’t necessarily delay the inevitable. Not if there would always be those who would fight such evil instead of standing idly by.”
“No my friend,” Father Chris dismissed, “I would keep my faith in the power of prayer. I would rather beg forgiveness of others, than that of myself, as Jesus had done while upon the cross.”
The man was silent again. Father Chris felt that he should move to conclude the act of penance, as there was no better counsel he could give than what he had already said, but he also felt a rare opportunity; a chance to share the teachings he wished he could share at Mass if he hadn’t been so stunted by the pastor. For once, he could speak how he wanted, how he felt was right. So he continued, and his words for once came naturally: “You know, many people often ask how God could have allowed the Holocaust to happen. Do you ever wonder this?”
“Sometimes,” the man answered.
“Well,” the priest replied, “tell me. How could God have allowed it?”
“My opinion Father; maybe He didn’t. He’s the God of love, of mercy, and of peace. The Ten Commandments, as well as Jesus’ commandment to love thy neighbor, were established so mankind wouldn’t engage in such things. But, mankind has also been given free will. Mankind allowed these things to happen, not God.”
Father Chris smiled. “You understand God well, my friend. But do not think that God was absent during these dark times of humanity. He was there. Whenever a citizen helped the Jews to hide or escape, God was there. Every time a prisoner in a camp, starving from lack of sustenance, gave up his meager ration to his weakened father, God was there. And when prisoners wept for the children sent to the gas chambers, He was there. He was present in every kind act that was done in the face of evil.”
“God was the act
of kindness itself. It says that God is good.”
“Exactly,” the priest acknowledged. “God’s goodness and kindness works through people. So you see, as a man of God, I would not kill Hitler as that would not be an act of God, even if my actions were out of the intent to do good. Instead, I would allow God’s presence to occur through me, by conducting acts of kindness and mercy."
“And you would ask God to forgive Hitler and the Nazis, even as they burned babies.”
“I would,” Father Chris admitted, “but understand that asking God’s forgiveness for one’s actions is not the same as condoning them.”
“‘Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do,’” the man said, almost to himself.
Father Chris checked his watch one last time. There was still plenty of time to prepare for the evening Mass, but he felt it was appropriate to end the confession. For the first time at St. Elizabeth’s, he was satisfied with his duty. For the first time, he truly felt like the priest he aspired to be. “If there really is a code that you are bound to, then I pray you will have heard me well. I pray that you cast aside these emotions that blacken your soul, and that your actions are God’s will and not your own.”
The man said nothing at this.
“Now, are you sorry for your sins?” Father Chris moved on.
“Yes Father,” the man replied.
The priest then recited, “God the Father of Mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son, has brought forgiveness of sin to the world. Through the ministry of the Church, I grant you pardon and absolution for your sin,” he then made the Sign of the Cross, “in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
He waited for the door on the other side to open, to allow the stranger to leave in secrecy. When he heard no sound after several seconds, he decided to prompt him. “Go in peace, brother.”
Instead of leaving, the man spoke again. “You’re a good man, Father. I admire your faith. And your wisdom. I think you’ll need them both very soon. Change is coming, Father Chris. The people will look to you when it does.”
Was he not getting through him? Father Chris didn’t know what else to say, after all he had explored spiritually with him. “Your confession has ended, my friend. You should spend this time in solitude to…”
“There is one thing you haven’t considered though,” the man interrupted. “How do you ask God to forgive terrible people, committing terrible sins, when they do know what they do? There are powerful, corrupt men and women that I spoke of, Father. The worst of humanity. They are fully aware of their doings, and believe me when I tell you… they are beyond God’s mercy.”
“No one is beyond God’s…”
“I disagree, Father. And if I’m wrong, then so be it. I will accept that my future actions will not be God working through me. But you never considered one factor of my hypothetical question: if you had the power to go back in time, perhaps you were given that power for a reason. I have the ability to stop these people, so it’s possible that I’m meant to do so.”
“If there are such people, and you can stop them, then you can stop them without committing sin,” Father Chris suggested.
“There’s only one way to stop them, Father.”
The priest sighed. “I pray you reconsider, but if you choose not to heed my warning, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
The man ignored the priest’s comment. “I know your time is short, Father, but before I go, I’ll leave you with one last hypothetical scenario.”
“This is pointless,” Father Chris argued. “Further conjectures will only have us going in circles.”
“Imagine entering the church alone in the middle of the night after hearing a disturbing noise. As you walk in, you find me up on the sanctuary, behind the altar, where I have tied down a very young child; a little girl perhaps. She’s naked, bleeding all over from dozens of slits I have opened in her skin with a knife I have in my hand.”
“That’s enough,” Father Chris commanded. “I’m not playing this…”
Before he could finish ordering the man to stop describing his twisted scenario, a very strange thing happened. The confessional walls surrounding him began to dissolve before his eyes, and within seconds he found himself standing at the back of the nave. No lights were on, but he could see hundreds of lit, black candles covering the sanctuary. And the scenario that the man was describing had now appeared at the altar.
A figure dressed in black robes stood behind the altar; his very presence struck fear into the priest’s heart. He couldn’t see a face, for the figure wore an ungodly mask unlike anything he had ever seen before. In his right hand, he wielded an evil looking dagger with a silver blade. Upon the altar lay the bleeding girl the man had described. Suddenly, the priest could hear the sounds of this scene in conjunction with the man’s voice, as if he were in two places at once. The echo of the girl’s cries boomed about the large space of the empty church, and her screaming pierced him with such force.
“Standing at the altar,” the man’s voice continued in his ears, “I am renouncing God and disgracing His name as I run the blade of my knife along the soles of the child’s tiny feet, allowing fresh blood to seep out.” In the priest’s vision, the same action occurred.
“Stop this,” Father Chris shouted, but his voice only echoed through the church in his vision. No sound escaped his lips in the confessional. “Stop this now!”
“You are wielding a pistol, Father,” the man informed, and the priest looked down at his right hand and saw that it was true. “I’m going to kill her unless you kill me first.”
As the figure sliced another slit across the palm of the little girl’s left hand she screamed horribly, begging him to stop, crying relentlessly for her mommy.
Father Chris felt his own tears burning his eyes before they escaped down his cheeks. “No more!” he cried with fear and disgust, and also an anger that began to build in his chest. He aimed the pistol at the figure as he approached down the center aisle toward the sanctuary. “No more!” he repeated with more might.
“I have renounced God,” the man said again, “and I am offering this girl’s soul to Satan himself, with nothing but hatred for mankind, and dark ambition in my heart. I have pledged myself to the dark lord, and I will seal my binding to him with this precious sacrifice.”
The figure used the tip of the dagger to draw a thin circle of blood around the area of skin where the girl’s heart lay beating rapidly beneath. She screamed again in pain and terror. She cried, “Please no more!” over and over again.
“In the name of God,” Father Chris screamed, “I order you to stop! Stop now!” He pulled the hammer of the pistol back, hearing it click into place.
“There’s only one way to stop me, Father,” the man’s voice said softly in his confessional ears. The ears in his vision only heard the child’s tortured screams. “What will you do? Will you ask God to forgive me? Will you pray for me? Pray for the girl? Or will you save her?”
The figure raised the dagger high into the air, laughing with such maniacal wickedness. “In the name of the dark lord,” the figure shouted through his laughter, “I offer up this sacrifice, that he may grant me the power to carry out his bidding.” With a final heave, the figure motioned to drive the evil blade deep into the girl’s heart.
“NO!” Father Chris screamed with all his will. He felt the cold steel of the trigger against his finger as he abandoned thought and reason, and submitted his body to pure action. Instantly, the deafening crack of the pistol shot exploded in his ears. Then, as if the gun had more than just the power to fire a bullet, the vision ended with the echo of the shot ringing in his ears.
The priest’s eyes were once again registering the dimness of the confessional. The walls of the enclosed space had returned. There were no more screams, no more evil chants, only his own heavy breathing. And the burning tears he could still feel in his watery eyes.
“I’m sorry, Father,” the
man spoke again, gently. “I don’t expect your forgiveness; I can only hope for your understanding. Now you see, there really are those who are beyond mercy. And there are times when the only option is an act that is not of God.”
“What the hell did you do to me?” Father Chris demanded, not caring about obscenities at the moment. His body was shivering as his arms were wrapped around himself. “Who are you?”
“I can’t tell you who I am Father. Penitent’s prerogative. I can tell you that I’m not the man you saw in the robes and mask just now. That’s someone else.”
“What are you?” Father Chris pursued. “Tell me that.”
“The Lord is our shepherd,” the man pointed out, “but that doesn’t mean he wants us to be sheep. When the time comes, show the parishioners the right path.”
The priest could ask no more questions. He focused to calm himself as he rocked back and forth in his seat, trying to shake off the effects of the terrible phenomenon that invaded his mind. As he breathed hard, he heard the wooden panel slide closed in front of him, followed first by the gentle opening and closing of the door on the other side, then light, but quick-paced footsteps against the polished floor of the nave fading farther away.
Though Father Chris wanted to see this man for himself, he remained in the confessional until he was sure that he was alone in the church. To himself, he realized that it was not respect of privacy that kept him from pursuing the stranger, but a fear of knowing, a fear of being pulled further into an unnatural world, of which he wanted no part.
Chapter V
Megan did not know the day or time. With nothing but her own unanswered prayers to occupy her mind in this dark prison of dirt, wood, and stone, all she had gained a sense of were the intervals in which food and water would be brought to her. It would not be long now before Things One and Two would arrive.
It seemed ages ago when they had brought her the paper bag full of tampons, but she was still bleeding, and though she had started with an excessive supply, more than were usually necessary, she now only had a few left. Surely her female cycle should have passed by now; even in this timeless space, she realized that, yet she continued to cramp and bleed. It never lasted this long, but perhaps it was the stress of everything.
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