St Paul's Labyrinth

by Jeroen Windmeijer

  Judith soon began to find it difficult to follow his story. She felt dizzy, as though she was drunk. This is not good, she thought, and although she very much wanted to go home, it seemed rude to leave so abruptly. So instead, she blinked hard a few times and tried to concentrate on the job at hand.

  At first, the menorah and books didn’t look especially interesting. They weren’t the sort of thing that the museum would immediately clear out a cabinet for. The letters looked more promising, correspondence from his great aunt and her husband who had been in Westerbork, the man explained. While they were in the camp, they had written letters to their family in Voorschoten and Leiden.

  ‘War Letters,’ the son chipped in. ‘We thought that would be a good title, if they were ever published.’

  Judith blinked again. She felt so woozy now that she thought she might faint. ‘Sorry, I …’ she stammered.

  The old man and his son looked at her attentively, as though patiently listening to small child trying to tell a jumbled story.

  ‘I’m suddenly not feeling very well. Could we perhaps do this another …’ Judith’s body began to tingle. Her heart was beating faster and faster. She was taken aback by how calm the two men were when she was so visibly unwell.

  Suddenly everything went black. She fell forwards. Someone caught her just before her head hit the table. She was unable to move but she was still strangely aware of her surroundings. She heard the men talking to each other but their voices were distorted, as though a DJ had added weird effects to the mix of sounds around her.

  One of them grabbed Judith under her arms and shoved her chair backwards. The noise the chair legs made as they moved across the floor was ghastly, like nails being scraped down a blackboard. It roused her slightly, but her vision was still black.

  The other man held her ankles. It felt like they were dragging her away. The floor grazed her back painfully, and as they took her down a small set of stairs, her buttocks banged hard against each step.

  Not long after that, they put her down. The coolness of the ground was a relief as it spread along her body. But it didn’t last long.

  They put something in my drink, she thought. They’re going to rape me. Her instinct was to lash out wildly with her legs and her arms, to kick them, hit them … but she was paralysed. It felt like a nightmare, trying to escape but not being able to move.

  The bitter taste in her mouth had been masked temporarily by the slice of lemon, but now it was overpowering. Vomit rose in her throat, a foul slime that tasted of bile and made her feel even more nauseous than she had been before.

  She was aware of them picking her up again and dragging her down another set of stairs, a longer one this time. She felt the temperature plummet and the air became chilled and damp. It smelled musty and stale here, like a poorly ventilated cellar. Her senses seemed to have become sharper; she could hear and smell better, but she still couldn’t see at all and she felt horribly groggy.

  She had no idea how long they had been carrying her around for now, but it felt like an eternity. It was like floating through an underworld towards her death, a near-death experience without the tunnel of light. Now and then she heard stones scraping or hinges creaking. These noises were always followed by a draught, as if two doors had been opened opposite each other.

  Eventually she was lowered onto a mattress. It was so thin that she could feel the bed beneath it. The door closed. And then there was absolute silence.

  This must be what it felt like to be buried: unable to move, unable to see and unable to hear anything. There was an intense odour of wet earth and clay. Her body felt like a strait jacket or a wet suit a few sizes too small, oppressive and constricting. She tried to scream but all that came out was a rattling gasp.

  After a while, she gave in to her exhaustion and fell into a deep, heavy sleep.

  But now she was awake again.

  And she had a plan.

  THE THIRD VISION

  And behold, I saw the young man going forth to meet his fate, spurring his horse on, all the while dreaming his glorious dreams. Look! Here I come, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills. Your love is like a gazelle or a young stag. Look! I stand by the wall, gazing in at the windows, looking through the lattice. I speak and say to you: ‘Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away with me.’

  And behold, a snake shoots across his path, the wiliest of all the wild animals. The horse takes fright, rears and throws its rider. It causes a fit, the holy sickness, the young man’s body trembles and shakes. Foam appears on his lips. His companions rush over to him, hold his tongue to prevent him from choking. He screams, he groans. He screws up his eyes as though he is looking into a bright light that no one else can see. He mutters an answer to a question than no one else can hear. ‘Who are you Lord?’ he asks. And then: ‘What should I do?’ Only he hears the answer: ‘From the very beginning I have been your Lord. But now get up and stand on your feet. I have appeared to you to appoint you as my servant. Because you will be a witness of what you have seen and what I will show you. I will protect you from your own people and from the Jews to whom I am sending you so that you may open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God. So that they may receive forgiveness for their sins and eternal life among those who are sanctified by faith in me.’

  And then the young man grows still. He opens his eyes, but sees nothing. He is no longer even able to ride his own horse, so he is lifted onto the horse of a companion who sits behind him and holds onto him. For three days he is blind, and neither drinks nor eats. And he says: ‘The Lord has appeared to me.’ And his companions rejoice with him, but they do not know of which Lord he speaks.

  And then suddenly, behold, the scales fall away from his eyes. He gets up and eats. Then, alone on his couch, he opens the letter which has burned all this time next to his breast. He summons a companion to translate the Hebrew words, the message from the high priest to the leader of the Jews in Damascus. His companion hesitates, refuses to convey the words to him, Saul, but he compels him to do so. And the message says:

  Keep this man in Damascus for a few months. Give him some sort of task to occupy him, it does not matter what. My daughter is about to marry the man to whom she has been promised since birth. Keep Saul away from us. He amuses my daughter and she finds his zeal for the law entertaining. How can he possibly think he could ever be a match for her, this unclean, Roman Greek with his deformed manhood? He has been useful and will continue to be so, but as a servant of the law, as part of the temple guards, not as a member of my family. Farewell, Caiaphas.

  He is consumed with rage. His humiliation knows no bounds. He hides under his blanket, hot with hate and shame.

  But accounts of the wedding still reach him, a celebration the likes of which has never been seen. With his darling as the radiant centrepiece, like the queen of Sheba, a Bathsheba, as a Delilah, as the whore of Babylon …

  And he prays: forgive me my God, that I have strayed from the path. Humbly I come to you. Use me. And help me to spread your message. I will find a way. And help me to take revenge on him, the man who has humiliated me, he who has darkened the light on my path. And I will thwart him, his religion and his law. I will destroy them from within, like a worm eating a chair from the inside. From the outside it looks unblemished, but woe to him that takes his place upon it. He will crash to the earth and wallow in dust. And her also, I shall bring her down, that serpent, with her treacherous glances. From the outside she is pure, but inside she is rapacious and wicked. It is better for man not to touch a woman!

  And he leaves immediately for Arabia, and from there he returns to Damascus. There he stays for three years, in silence, as befits the true Bridegroom. He takes his old name once more, the name given to him by his parents. Paul the humble, the small, the insignificant.

  And he thinks: I am strong in my Lord and in the strength of his power. I put on the whole armour of my God, so that I may be able to take a
stand against the wiles of the devil. For my struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, the cosmic powers of this present darkness and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore, I shall take up the whole armour of my God, so that I may be able to withstand on that evil day. I will stand firm, with the belt of truth around my waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and on my feet, sandals of peace. And above all of these, I will take the shield of faith, with which I will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of evil. I take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of my God, Mithras.

  I am a Soldier.

  22

  LEO

  LION

  Twenty-one years earlier, spring 1994

  The priest was discharged from the hospital the next day. After his sight had returned and nothing unusual had been revealed by further tests, there was no reason to keep him there.

  He quickly resumed his work. The vivid memories of the vision he’d had in Archeon remained with him. He was reminded of it many times a day, sometimes unexpectedly, but he often directed his thoughts towards it himself.

  He had put his activities with the Knights of Christ on the back burner for now, excusing himself with the need to avoid too much excitement. His fellow knights had been understanding. However, their protests against heretics continued unabated under the guidance of a young man who had recently converted to Catholicism and whose zeal was even greater than that of all the others combined.

  He hadn’t seen Ane since he had visited him in hospital. But he had started to look more deeply into the phenomenon of epilepsy and its association with mystical experiences. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t done so before. Apart from a few medical leaflets and the instructions that came with his medicines, he had read almost nothing about it. It was simply a part of his life and whether he had more knowledge about it or less, that would never change.

  However, now he was reading about the temporal lobe, an area of the brain which had not been the focus of much research until the mid-1950s. When this lobe was stimulated during brain surgery, patients reported experiencing a ‘cosmic consciousness’, a spiritual presence or other bizarre phenomena. Another area of the temporal lobe was associated with out of body experiences.

  In the 1980s, the neuroscientist Michael Persinger developed the god helmet, a sort of motorcycle helmet that stimulated the temporal lobe to induce the same experiences.

  The priest found it all very interesting, but this new scientific knowledge didn’t detract from the reality of his own experiences. Even if the source of his vision had been his temporal lobe, couldn’t it still be possible that he had communicated with another being? That this was the way in which man could contact other beings, like a precisely tuned radio receiving the signals from a radio station?

  He enjoyed thinking about it. From time to time, he found himself overcome by those same feelings of peace and tranquillity again, of being accepted with all his faults, without judgement. He occasionally felt the urge to contact Ane, but it hadn’t yet felt like the right time.

  Ane’s words had stayed with him. ‘You can still be a priest, the Father you are now,’ he had said, ‘but with a different purpose.’

  Ane had also suggested that the daily rituals he performed for his parishioners wouldn’t change much at all. The format would remain the same but the substance would change. It was an intriguing idea, Tiny thought.

  The moment of insight came one Sunday morning in the middle of a mass that was no different from the hundreds of other masses he had conducted before it.

  When it was time for the Eucharist, the communion bread was brought to the altar first. The priest prayed:

  ‘Blessed are you, Lord, God of all creation. Through your goodness we have this bread to offer, which earth has given and human hands have made. It will become for us the bread of life.’

  Then the wine and water were brought to the altar. The priest said:

  ‘By the mystery of this water and wine may we come to share in the divinity of Christ, who humbled himself to share in our humanity.’

  He offered the chalice to God with the words:

  ‘Blessed are you, Lord, God of all creation. Through your goodness we have this wine to offer, fruit of the vine and work of human hands. It will become our spiritual drink.’

  The priest bowed his head and continued:

  ‘With humble spirit and contrite heart may we be accepted by you, O Lord, and may our sacrifice in your sight this day be pleasing to you, Lord God.’

  After washing his hands he prayed:

  ‘Lord, wash me of my iniquity and cleanse me of my sins.’

  And he ended with:

  ‘Pray, my brothers and sisters, that our sacrifice may be acceptable to God, the almighty Father. May the Lord accept the sacrifice at your hands for the praise and glory of his name, for our good, and the good of all his church.’

  After the Prayer over the Offerings and the Eucharistic Prayer – a ‘call and response’ prayer with the whole congregation – he extended his hands over the bread and wine and beseeched the Holy Spirit to change them into the body and blood of Christ.

  ‘Lord, you are holy indeed, the fountain of all holiness. Let your Spirit come upon these gifts to make them holy, so that they may become for us the body and blood of our Lord, Jesus Christ.’

  Now he recited the Words of Institution, echoing the words of Jesus at the Last Supper. He had said these words countless times before, but he still took a reassuring glance at the book that an altar boy held up in front of him.

  That was the moment in which everything fell into place. It came not as a flash of insight, but as a very calm and suddenly perfect understanding of the actual meaning of the text.

  ‘Take this, all of you, and eat it.

  This is my body which will be given up for you.

  Take this, all of you, and drink from it.

  This is the cup of my blood,

  the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.

  It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven.

  Do this in memory of me.’

  He found it difficult to conceal his emotions. He was almost on autopilot when he invited his flock to join him in the Memorial Acclamation:

  ‘Let us proclaim the mystery of faith.’

  The congregation answered:

  ‘When we eat this bread and drink this cup, we proclaim your death, Lord Jesus, until you come in glory.’

  Finally he prayed:

  ‘Look with favour on your Church’s offering, and see the Victim whose death has reconciled us to yourself. Grant that we, who are nourished by his body and blood, may be filled with his Holy Spirit, and become one body, one spirit in Christ.’

  The impact that this new awareness had on him was so great that it was only by exerting enormous willpower that he was able to finish conducting the service. He was grateful for the unchanging structure of the Catholic mass. His years of experience and familiarity with the fixed order of its elements had enabled him to perform the rituals and recite the prayers almost unconsciously.

  After the prayers for intercession, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Sign of Peace, it was finally time to break the bread. For a brief moment, he saw in his mind’s eye that clear, blinding light again. This time he was able to look directly into it, without even having to blink. The feelings of love and acceptance that he’d had at Archeon flooded over him again.

  ‘Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.

  Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.

  Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, grant us peace.’

  The priest spoke these words with such intensity that some parishioners looked at each other and smiled in surprise. He looked as though he might burst into tears at any moment. One or two members of the congregation held their breath. But for
the priest, it was as though the words on his lips were new, as if this was the first time in his life that he had said them, the first time he had truly understood what they meant.

  He raised the bread, holding it up to the bright light that still blazed in his mind.

  ‘Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.’

  The light slowly faded but the fire within him burned as never before.

  Before he asked the congregation to come forward for Holy Communion, he delivered the traditional warning.

  ‘For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of profaning the body and blood of the Lord. Let a man examine himself, and so eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgement upon himself.’

  The people came forward. For the next few minutes, the only sounds in the church were the muted music of the organ, shuffling feet, the odd cough.

  The priest raised the host before each communicant and said:

  ‘The body of Christ.’

  The communicant followed this with an amen. Most of the faithful chose to rest their left hand gently on their right hand and receive the host into the left palm before bringing it to their mouths. A few of the older parishioners put out their tongue for the priest to carefully place the host upon it.

  When everyone had taken their turn, the priest cleaned the paten and chalice. A few minutes of sacred silence followed, and after the concluding rite to which his flock responded with an amen, the Eucharist – literally ‘thanksgiving’ – was concluded. He blessed those present with a final sign of the cross.