Solomon's Porch (42 page)

“Father, I’ve known about my destiny as a martyr for some time,” Peter said reassuringly. “Don’t be troubled by it.”

“I not far behind you, my boy. I know someday soon we both stand in glory of Christ, together with my Nicki and Neitha.”

Peter let himself contemplate that vision. He immediately knew without a doubt that what his uncle had just prophesied would come to pass.

“Father, help me. I’m still not clear on some of this.”

“Yes son, go on. Ask, I try to help.”

“The church. Which church, Father? My brothers and I have had no need for a denomination or label. We’ve just followed where the Spirit led.”

“Exactly, Panos. You answer your own question.”

“Father?”

“You have Eucharist, Peter, in your services?”

“Certainly. The Bible tells us to confess our sins and to then partake in the body and blood of Christ.”

“Who you confess sins to?”

“Each other. We had a policy at Parkersboro. No secrets. We confessed to each other our sins and drew strength from our common weaknesses.”

“Exactly like early church, Panos. They did same thing. Way God intended it. You will find that priest be necessary, though.”

“Father, what about … ”

“Panos, how in English, let’s not get stuck in mud now. Leave church rituals on side for time being. Point is not style, my boy, but rather truth and basics of message.”

“Keep going, please.”

“Christian church must return to the Apostolic doctrines. No need for all this, what is word, diversion of activity. As Paul said to you such nonsense causes all kinds of evil result.”

“So, I’m to tell the Romans, the Anglicans, the Lutherans, the Orthodox, the ‘whoevers,’ exactly what, Father? Shut down your churches? Come follow me?”

“You must tell them to start be one in Christ, to glorify the Lord as He meant to be worshipped, to stop making denomination schism, to become one body.”

“I think it might be easier to raise the dead, Father.”

The old priest laughed. “No doubt what you say is true. Nothing so stubborn as, how you say, mule with age. These pastors today, not only in America but also in Greece, Europe, all places, many like this mule. They stuck in ways, confuse ideas of man with God’s commandments. But, you see these new faithful my son? English word is “select”, I think, if I say right.”

“Yes, Father, we’ve been watching them. God has clearly called them to His service.”

“They your army, Panos. Oh, we should not be, what is word, too much pessimism about men already in church. Many, many will come to the Lord, change their ways, unite as brothers. But be not fool, Panos, the evil one have strong hold on many pastors’ hearts, blind them with fear and pride.”

“I’ve already seen that, Father.”

“Many they hate you, Panos, for same reason Pharisee Jews hate Christ and twelve. Jealous of you, envy. Very deadly sin this envy.”

“Father, who is the Bishop St. Paul is talking about?”

“My boy, me, of course.”

“I thought you were a priest, uncle. Forgive me for not addressing you properly.”

“Oh, Panos, you call me right name. I priest forever, bishop last few years. Church titles, how in English, little mean. Romans need to learn this lesson big way, you teach them.”

“Holy traditions, Father,” Peter asked, “what exactly are they?’

“Church from beginning have certain rituals not of men, but ordained by God. Baptism, Chrismation, Marriage, Healing, Eucharist, and some more. I teach you. Simple things, but required for Power.”

Enthralled with his uncle and in a glorious haze since reading St. Paul’s letter, Peter had lost track of time. A quick look at his watch reminded him that very soon he would be facing the world through a peculiar type of modern inquisition.

“Uncle, do you know what’s going to take place tonight?”

“Yes, Panos. Men on plane tell me. Also I hear on radio news while in air.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea, Father? I’m not sure that I’m qualified to defend God. These men may make me look foolish.”

“Who says you need defend God, my son?”

“Well uncle,” Peter explained, “the way it’s going to work is … ”

“Oh I have, how you say, idea good on how it work, Panos. But do not fear. We use Scripture. Luke chapter twelve, verse eleven and also twelve.”

Peter quoted from memory, “Now when they bring you to the synagogues and magistrates and authorities, do not worry about how or what you should answer, or what you should say, for the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say.”

“Panos, you not believe God be with you? Why now would He abandon you?”

“I believe, Father. I do. Help me to be obedient.”

“That’s why I here my wonderful son, to help. When last time you confess and take Eucharist?”

“Last week we had Communion and I try to confess daily, Father. My brothers are patient with me. I can share anything with them.”

“As should be, as should be. Now, my son, you share also with me.”

Father Gregory reached into his satchel once more and removed the few items required to hear confession and give the Eucharist.

“Uncle, God bless you, but I don’t know if we have time for that now. In a few minutes the President and his staff are expecting me … ”

“Make time, my son. Christ give time for your soul on cross, you give time for Him before battle. Panos, above all else, God must come first.”

Peter required no further persuasion. Bishop Kallistos was absolutely right, he needed to cleanse himself through confession and strengthen himself through partaking of the body and blood of Christ. Every other form of preparation was secondary.

“Uncle, I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are here,” Peter said, as he watched the priest get ready to minister to him. “I know the brothers will feel the same. Thank you.”

“Oh, no thank me, son,” Father Gregory said. “For two thousand years priests in my village live through wars, famines, plague, disaster, all manner of trouble just so I be here now to listen you say thank you. It is you, not me, who deserve honor.”

Peter confessed his sins to his uncle, his priest. He admitted his fears and doubts and asked for forgiveness. As Peter partook of the Eucharist and he and Father Gregory held hands and prayed the peace of God came upon him. The comfort of the Holy Spirit replaced all of his anxieties.

For Satan, this could not have happened at a worse possible time.

Twenty-Four

“It’s like this, dad. I just can’t bat real good. I’m a good fielder, but it’s tough for me to hit that dumb ball! Were you good at baseball, daddy?”

“So-so. You are probably much better at it than I was. I kinda liked football.”

“Me too! Can I play Pop Warner, daddy? Mommy says no because she thinks I’ll get hurt.”

“I’ll speak to her, son. No promises, but we’ll see.”

Peter relished any opportunity to simply be a father. When he and Kevin were together, even on the phone, everything else faded in importance.

Normal life, the powerful draw of simple, soul satisfying family pleasures. The fruits of living to a “quiet and peaceable” rhythm, as St. Paul suggested. For Peter Carson, this blissful version of reality was an illusion, or at best a very temporary island of tranquility in his sea of trials.

“When are you coming home, dad?” Kevin’s question ripped out Peter’s heart and brought to the surface all of the guilt he felt for being a very imperfect father. Only the Spirit saved him from falling into despair, from losing himself through mourning over lost chances and parental failures.

Of course, he could not say to his son what he said a few minutes earlier to Kevin’s mother, that he may never get to come home again. To do so would only cruelly add to his only child’s already considerable and underserved burdens.

“God has plans for me, Kevin,” Peter said as bravely as he could. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Very soon, I hope. But you know what I’m doing tonight. Mom explained it, right?”

“You are going to be on TV dad, I know. Answer a bunch of questions from important people. Mom says I can watch you, but I wish you were here playing cards and eating popcorn with me. We need you too, you know? Tell God that, daddy, will you? Please?”

Whatever sliver of emotional self-control Peter Carson had left was dissipating rapidly.

“Kev,” Peter said, choking back his raging emotions, “I wish I was there playing cards with you too. I love you, son. Remember that always. No matter what. Promise me.”

“I promise, daddy.”

“That’s my boy. Now put your mom back on the phone, Kev. Pray for me, son. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t forget, daddy. The angel, he won’t let me. Here’s mommy.”

“Peter?”

“Jules, what was all that about an angel?”

“Gabriel has been talking to Kev, Peter. I’m sure of it. The way he describes his angel, it can only be Gabriel. You didn’t know?”

“No. It’s the first time Kev said anything to me about it. Jules, be sure to … ”

Peter was cut short by a gentle tap on his shoulder. He had asked for every spare second to talk with his wife and son. Reluctantly the President’s communication staff had given it to him, they would have preferred a much more lengthy pre-panel prep, but now the clock was pushing seven thirty.

“Jules, I’ve got to go, honey. Remember everything we’ve discussed. From now on I’m just not sure when we might get the chance to talk again. Lord willing, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“God help you, Peter, and God help me too.” Julie barely got the words out in between her tears. She hung up the phone in frustration and fear, not sure whether to curse the Lord or to praise Him.

“Good evening. My name is David Martz. The gentleman to my right is Alex Anderson and the lady to my left is Doris Spence.

“Between the three of us we have over one hundred years of experience in television broadcasting and print journalism, four Emmys, and two Pulitzers. But such credentials mean little in this setting, at this most difficult and yet tremendously opportune moment in human affairs.

“We will be remaining largely in the background as our panel directs a series of questions and comments to Mr. Peter Carson, also known as Panos Kallistos, which is his Christian birth name. Our role is to facilitate the discussion, not to dominate it.”

“While it seems to us impossible,” Alex said, taking his turn as the narrator, “that anyone could not by now be well aware of who Mr. Carson is and of the events of the past forty-eight or so hours, let us briefly review.”

“Unless a dramatic change occurs while I speak,” Doris Spence said, chiming in right on cue, “no human being on this planet is capable of committing a violent act of any kind against another human being. Our mental processing of information seems unaffected by this ‘restriction,’ as it has come to be known. We can intend to be violent, but we are unable to act on our intentions.”

“Nothing like the restriction has occurred before in the common memory or myth of our species,” Dave Martz said, as the camera switched back to him. “Claimed miracles have been reported since man first started using language, but never anything on the scope and scale of the restriction.”

“Peter Carson says he is an ambassador for God, a messenger as he describes himself. Since a purported divine vision almost a year ago, Mr. Carson has, in front of hundreds of independent witnesses, healed the sick, battled demons, and even raised the dead.”

“The world is asking,” Doris Spence said, in her somewhat stern and neutral newswoman manner, “is Peter Carson a genuine prophet of God? Millions are gathering to his cause across the globe, calling themselves the select. Is this phenomenon what Mr. Carson claims it is, or is it something else? Perhaps no other single question has ever been as important as this one.”

“For if,” Alex said enthusiastically, not at all trying to feign professional indifference, “Peter Carson is telling the truth, our choice is clear. We must, each one of us, embrace God and Jesus Christ His Son as our Savior or be left, spiritually speaking, on the outside looking in.”

“Conversely, if another credible explanation for everything that has and is happening exists,” Dave Martz said, as the camera backed off of a close face shot of him and went wide angle to capture the as yet unoccupied conference table, “then humanity will avoid being duped and perhaps brought to its collective knees through a dangerous and unprecedented manipulation.”

“Tonight, in the historic East Room of the White House, a distinguished panel has been assembled to help a nervous world determine the truth.” Doris Spence was clearly positioning herself as the most skeptical of the three moderators through her edgy attitude and stiff body language. “It is my honor to introduce them to you and to our live audience here in Washington.”

“And what a live audience,” Tim Austin whispered to Kenny. “Do you realize that within fifty feet of us are the chief political executives of every major country in Europe and the Americas? There is also enough money in the room to pay off the national debt twice over. Thank God we don’t have to worry about security.”