The Harvest

by John David Krygelski

  Elohim stood before the altar, staring intently at Michelangelo’s depiction of The Last Judgment, a massive work which covered the entire wall. The portrayal was clearly designed to evoke fear and awe in the viewer. Reese joined Elohim and asked, “How does looking at this make You feel?”

  Elohim, surprised by the question, answered Reese without turning his gaze away from the work, “Predominantly, I feel sadness.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It has always been my wish, my hope, that this event would be one of joy. I do not relish the fear that it has engendered in most. This is not the future of which my Son spoke.”

  “Isn’t it a day of joy for the Chosen?”

  Elohim closed his eyes, visualizing an unspoken image. After a moment he turned and faced Reese. “Have you felt joy? Has Claire?”

  “No, not really. There has been a happiness born of vindication, as well as a desire to live without the bad, without the evil that seems to fill our days. Yet, at the same time, there is a cloud, a worry about the unknown. I suppose that Heaven still seems too foreign to us, impossible to visualize.”

  “Would you like to visualize Heaven?”

  “Yes. Yes, I would.”

  “It’s quite easy. Think back to the last perfect day you had. A day of comfort and love. A day of stimulation and pleasure, where nothing unpleasant intruded.”

  Reese thought for a moment. He recalled a recent day, just after moving his family to Tucson, when they had decided to explore their new environment. Traveling the winding road to Mount Lemmon, he and Claire, Melissa, and Matthew marveled at the scenery and animals all so new to them. As it was a workday for most, the picnic area they chose was nearly deserted. The air was fresh, and the view of the valley was breathtaking. His family spent the hours laughing and talking, playing catch with a frisbee, and taking short hikes. Claire spread a thick blanket on the pine needles and read. Throughout it all there was not a single nick or scrape, not a spoiled morsel of food, not a loud or belligerent stranger. As the sky darkened and they began their drive back down the mountain, all four were quiet, not from exhaustion but from sadness that the day had come to an end.

  Elohim, looking deeply into Reese’s eyes at the end of his reverie, said, “Now imagine your next day being just as wonderful, just as fulfilling, just as happy, with none of the bad which dominates so much of your lives. And then imagine each day after as the same.”

  “As perfect as that day was, a lifetime of trips to Mount Lemmon would soon pale.”

  “Heaven is full of every imaginable wonder, from beautiful mountains to magnificent cities. You found a happy day on Earth because you escaped from the others for a time. You were able to hide from them by finding a secluded bit of land. Your other perfect days were all the same and yet different. One was a day on the ocean, another in a mountain cabin. The common thread is that you escaped from those who infringe upon your happiness; you found a place where they did not intrude. There is no monotony in Heaven, only a permanent respite from the people and things you would prefer not to see.”

  “Every day is a vacation?”

  “No. You may work. You, my friend, will work, but it will be only for the satisfaction that work brings. Reese, you love to teach. There are multitudes in Heaven who wish to learn from you. The difference is that all of your students will be in your class because they want to be there, want to hear what you have to say.”

  Reese could see a glimpse of what Elohim described. He was able to place himself there and began to believe he could be happy in such a place. “But what about the children? Matthew and Melissa?”

  Elohim smiled. “They will find it the easiest, having not yet given in to the realities of life on Earth. It is the natural tendency of the young to attempt to create a Heaven-like existence here where their days are filled with friendships and pleasing activities. Only the necessities of society divert them from this life and force them into another direction, a direction of immersion into the not-so-pleasant. Reality requires that they grow up, and growing up means abandoning much of what brings you joy, simply so you can survive.”

  Reese, puzzled, asked, “I thought that self-centeredness and hedonism were the opposite of what was welcomed into Heaven. Children and teenagers are very nearly defined by those traits.”

  “That is certainly true of smaller children who are incapable of sharing a toy. But by the time good people such as Matthew and Melissa reach their teen years, they crave sharing…they intensely wish to contribute to the group. Nowhere will you find a more pure desire to give and to help than in people of this type. After America suffered through the damage from Hurricane Katrina, charitable adults gave money for the rebuilding of the homes damaged, but it was the younger among you who individually gave hundreds of hours of time organizing events and soliciting donations. And surely, Reese, there can be no more unambiguous example of self-sacrifice than the young men and women who put on your country’s uniform and offer their very lives for an ideal, for the good of the whole. Your sociologists have theorized that youths are the ideal candidates for armies because the young do not believe they will die. This is not the case. They are willing to fight…and to die…because their pure beliefs have not been replaced with mature cynicism.

  “The hedonism and self-centeredness you witness among so many of the young are symptoms of their resistance to giving in to the vicissitudes of life on Earth, their opposition to surrendering the dream of a perfect life without compromise. I know this is a difficult premise for you to personally embrace, Reese, as your childhood was far from ideal, but for most who have reached their middle to late years, the images of happiness which comfort them are from their youth. That which youths love and that which they crave are in abundance in Heaven. That which they struggle to avoid does not exist there.

  “It is answering your question about youth that brings us closer to an understanding of Heaven. Your day on the mountain, your day on the ocean or in the cabin, those days that best describe a perfect day…are they not typical of every day that teens strive to create?”

  Smiling, Reese answered, “You’re right. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve actually felt a slight twinge of resentment when I’m fighting a deadline and juggling two courses while Matthew and Melissa are piling into a car for a day at the park.”

  “In Heaven, you would be free to join them.”

  Laughing softly, Reese replied, “If it’s Heaven for them, they may not want Dad along.”

  They both heard the clacking of footsteps on the marble floor, coming from beyond the transenna which separated the main room from the smaller room of the faithful. They turned to see Cardinal Bonavente hurriedly enter, pausing to genuflect before resuming his rapid pace.

  “Elohim, bless You.” The Cardinal suddenly stopped and turned slightly red. “Forgive my presumptuousness. Old habits are hard to break. May You find it in Your heart to bless us this day.”

  Elohim smiled at Mario and answered, “What is in your heart matters much more than what passes your lips. I am, in fact, honored to receive your blessing.”

  The five of them gathered in a small circle in front of the altar which, shortly before Columbus sailed to America, had been dedicated to the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. They spoke in soft, respectful tones.

  Bonavente continued, “His Holiness begs Your forgiveness for the delay and will join us in a moment. I am afraid the Swiss Guard, in their zeal not to allow a repeat of the travesties which have been occurring around the world, have confused our plans for Your arrival. It was the Pope’s wish that he meet with You in his private apartment; instead, You were escorted here.”

  “A fortuitous choice,” replied Elohim, waving his arm to encompass the great works of art, “otherwise I would not have had the opportunity to enjoy these works.”

  McWilliams asked, “I would have thought You had seen them before?”

  “And I have. I have seen all of them, but only through the eyes of others, just as y
ou have seen them in photographs and film. None of these images are new to you, yet do you not appreciate them all the more as you stand before them?”

  Craig was about to respond, when more brisk footfalls were heard. Turning again to the opening at the side, they saw the Pope enter. He arrived without the customary entourage and was wearing a simple white robe that reached the tile floor and swirled around his feet as he walked. He, also, paused at the entrance to the main chapel and, rather than genuflecting quickly as the Cardinal had done, dropped to both knees, gently touched his forehead, then his heart, followed by each of his shoulders. He then firmly clasped his hands in prayer and closed his eyes.

  As the Pope prayed, Elohim walked forward, leaving the others where they stood. In twenty paces he reached the Pontiff and removed the white skull cap from his head. The Pope did not move, did not open his eyes, and continued to pray. Bonavente, Reese, McWilliams, and Reynolds stood transfixed as Elohim slowly bent forward and gently kissed the top of the Pope’s head.

  At the moment of Elohim’s touch, the Pope’s body became rigid, as if every muscle was clenched, the only movement being a trembling of his hands clasped in prayer. After a few moments passed, Elohim stood. The kneeling Bishop of Rome reacted to the removal of the touch by collapsing to the floor, motionless. Cardinal Bonavente, snapped from his trance, bolted forward to help his friend, when Elohim turned to him and with a subtle motion stopped him. Turning back to the prone figure, Elohim held one hand out, not extended to the Pope but to his side. They all witnessed a slight brightening of the air just inches from Elohim’s fingertips. The brightening intensified and expanded both sideways and vertically, reaching the floor.

  The light changed to become crystalline. No longer diffuse, the bright glow transformed into a million distinct specks of light, shimmering next to Elohim, the points moving and swirling like a cloud of fireflies. The pinpoints of light, resembling pixels, continued to swirl and rearrange, resolving into the shape of a man, and then they began to dim. As they did, and the eyes of the watchers adjusted, there appeared a man where none had been a moment before. He wore a brown robe, closely matching the color of his thick hair and beard, and turned to embrace Elohim. The others heard him say, “I have missed You, my Father.”

  Reese, under his breath, said to the Cardinal, “Is that Jesus?”

  Bonavente, speechless, simply spread his hands in wonderment, shaking his head. Elohim turned to them and answered, “This is Peter, my Son’s beloved friend.” Turning, he said to Peter, “Go to your vessel.”

  The robed saint knelt next to the Pope and gently touched his shoulder. Responding immediately, the old man’s eyes fluttered open, tears filling them, and he rose to his feet, helped by Peter. Elohim, addressing the others, said, “Come. Meet the maker of your Church.”

  Mario Bonavente was the first to move, nearly running to join them. Nicholas, Craig, and Reese followed. Bonavente knelt before his saint, only to be taken by the hand and raised back to his feet. “Mario,” Peter said, “it is wonderful to behold you with my own eyes on such a momentous occasion.”

  The Cardinal was speechless, still gripping Peter’s hand tightly and smiling. Reese looked at the Pope who was standing beside Peter. His tears were gone, and his face shone with a serenity and happiness that was unmistakable. Peter turned to the others one by one and, with his free hand, grasped their hands, speaking their names and giving each of them a blessing. Reese, after receiving his blessing from Peter, watched him speak to Nicholas and noticed something for the first time. When Peter finished addressing them all, Reese asked, “You’re speaking Aramaic, aren’t you?”

  Turning back to Reese, he answered, “I am. It is my language.”

  “But we can understand you, and you us?”

  A smile filled Peter’s face, and looking into his eyes, Reese could understand how this man could have been responsible for founding a church which had survived for more than two millennia. Peter responded, “In the presence of Our Father there can be no misunderstanding and no barriers between us.”

  Craig asked, “When you first, uh, arrived, you told Elohim that you have missed Him. I don’t understand. Haven’t you been in Heaven?”

  Before Peter could answer, Reese said, “Of course! You never left. The teachings are literal.”

  “Yes, Reese, it is true. I made a promise to our Lord, Jesus Christ, that I would not abandon the flock.”

  “But where have you been?” asked Craig, still not understanding.

  Again, Reese responded, “He has lived within and through the popes, all of them.”

  “It is true,” Elohim affirmed. “Peter chose to remain behind, to willingly and lovingly forsake his right to an honored place in Heaven so that the teachings of my Son would live on through the ages.”

  Reynolds asked, “How could that be? I mean, from what I’ve read, some of the popes in the past were less than perfect.”

  Peter answered, “That is true. And watching the events unfold was saddening beyond description. Yet I was only a voice in their minds and in their hearts. It was not the wish of Jesus for me to control them, only to advise. Some choose to ignore the voice and pursue other, more temporal rewards. Others” – he said, lifting the still-gripping hand of the Pope – “have served our Lord well.”

  The Pontiff smiled broadly. “Thank you, blessed Peter, for your kind words. I pray that I will be allowed many more days on Earth to fulfill my destiny as your servant.”

  Cardinal Bonavente, alarmed, spoke urgently. “Your Holiness! You have the mark! It is your destiny to go to Heaven.”

  Finally releasing his grip from Peter’s hand, the Pope grasped the Cardinal by both shoulders and said, “Do you not see, my friend Mario? Peter not only resides within me, I reside within him. His promise to our Lord to remain here as long as there are souls to guide is my promise, as well.”

  “Then,” asked Mario, “after you have drawn your last breath, will you join us?”

  The Pope looked into the hopeful eyes of his longtime friend. “Mario, I am certain there is a young priest somewhere in the world who, after I have died, might benefit from my advice.” Ignoring the sadness filling Bonavente’s face, the Pope turned to Elohim and asked, “Is there not such a young man?”

  Elohim only nodded.

  Taking a deep breath, the Cardinal began to speak and was cut off by his old friend. “I do not wish to hear from you that you, too, will stay behind.”

  “But it is so.”

  “It cannot be.”

  “Why? As you have said, there is much left to be done.”

  “And there are many here to do it. I would presume that your mother and your father await in Heaven, as do many others who love you so. They wait for you. To not join them would be cruel and would tempt others to stay behind, as well.”

  “Do you not have many who yearn for your presence in Heaven?”

  “Perhaps I do, but I have freely made a pact – a pact with our Lord, one that cannot be broken. You must remember, Mario, that Heaven is eternal, and mankind is surely not. Someday I will join you, and it will seem to you like the blink of an eye.”

  Bonavente stood silently, studying the face of his old friend, hoping that he would waver in his resolve and knowing that he would not. The Pope hugged Mario, and the two held each other tightly. Ending the embrace, the Pope turned to Elohim and said, “Thank You, my Father. Today You have given me a great gift. And I, in turn, have a gift for You.”

  Reaching into the thick folds of his robe, the Pope pulled out a wooden box. Reese could see a carving of a rose on the lid as the Pope offered the box to Elohim. Peter smiled at the sight of it while Elohim took it in his hands. When Elohim turned the box in his grip, Reese saw an opening on the side, an opening that appeared to be a keyhole.

  “I retrieved the box from the coffin of Saint Peter,” said the Pope. “He has held it for You all of these years. I have been told” – he glanced at Peter and smiled – “that You, Elohim, po
ssess the only key, brought to You in Heaven by Your Son when He resurrected from this Earth.”

  “I do,” said Elohim, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a large golden key with a sparkling crystal mounted to the tip. He handed the box back to the Pope who held it while Elohim inserted the crystal into the keyhole. Without so much as a slight turn, the lid of the box opened, its contents revealed only to Elohim. Looking inside, he said, “There is a gift for me,” and removed a golden chalice.

  Peter said, “It is the chalice from our last meal with Your Son, the chalice from which we had all partaken of His blood.”

  “The Holy Grail!” exclaimed McWilliams incredulously.

  Elohim turned to Craig. “The Holy Grail has been many things to many people. This chalice is what it is, the final remnant of my Son’s life on Earth.” With this statement, Elohim tipped the chalice and a brilliant, red liquid began to spill out onto the marble floor.