Predatory priests had been callously unleashed on the innocent and trusting laity. The reports from Boston parishes were sad stories from people suffering in a climate of abandonment and terror. They had bravely struggled to be obedient and keep the faith because they didn’t want to lose the way of life they’d practiced for generations, but the hierarchy’s cruel lack of concern about their pain was eroding their trust in the Church.
Simon’s story came out just as the hierarchy was realizing there was no way to hide the ugly truth. Initially, when the reports of rampant abuse during the 1960s and 70s began leaking out during the 1980s, priests, bishops, and archbishops closed their circles and conspired to maintain absolute control. They played a twenty-year global shell game moving known abusers from parish to parish and to other countries. They got away with it because the laity simply could not believe the rumors and reports; they couldn’t conceive of such things. In 2002, however, when the Boston media courageously reported on the extent of the abuse, a rising tide of the faithful began leaving the Church, taking their financial support and their children with them. The hierarchy in America responded by selling Church property to pay for the victim lawsuits. By 2004 parishioners realized they had no ownership rights over properties their own grandparents and great-grandparents had originally donated and developed for the Church. Padlocks snapped shut on old doors of beloved churches and schools, while many bishops and archbishops continued to live like royalty in the mansions gifted to them by the founder Catholics. Hard-working Catholics were losing their culture and their access to sacred space while old neighborhoods decayed around them. Simon’s vivid description of the Catholic sexual and financial crisis was a compelling story of voracious greed and rotting lust. It hit hard.
Sarah read the article on her laptop while snuggling in her velvet window seat. She felt as though Simon was writing from his heart, and she was hearing him deep in her mind. They were both obsessed with the same things. Sarah wondered if she would ever get her Ph.D. She was struggling to approach Marcion academically. She was so interested in what the early Christians thought that she found she had little interest in objectivity. Instead the more she studied, the angrier she became about the way the Marcionites and Gnostics had been silenced when Constantine created his alliance with the Church in the fourth century. The great cover-up in the early Church had advanced during the struggles over Christology in the early councils; she believed they had cut the subtle thread leading back to the real Christ. The battles over dogma then raged for centuries while the Church attacked and murdered anybody who went against orthodoxy. The hierarchy prevailed for more than a thousand years, and now they were blind to the evil they claimed to fight because they were not in touch with divinity. Sarah saw Simon’s article as the story of a metastasizing cancer spreading through the Church.
Her cell phone rang, and she reached for it eagerly, thinking it was Simon. Instead, a loud and exasperated male voice growled, “Sarah! Is that you?” It was her father.
Sarah moved the phone a short distance from her ear. “Yes, Daddy, are you all right?”
“You’re damned right I’m all right, but the New York Jewish rag sure as hell isn’t. Did you see the article about priests in yesterday’s paper? Part of it focuses on unsubstantiated reports of abuses in Boston parishes over the past forty years. Just when the sit-ins finally went away and we’re getting back in the black, now this! It’s going to get everyone stirred up all over again about the church and school closures. Dragging up these sick accusations after the fact just makes things worse.”
Sarah sighed. She couldn’t pretend to agree with her father about this. “Well, Daddy, it’s not like the people in Boston hadn’t already noticed the connection between the closures and payments for the lawsuits. They resent losing their family churches and schools just because the priests were out of control.”
“Oh bullshit, Sarah. The archdiocese has been cleaning up its financial act, so it’s time for forgiveness and reconciliation, you know, healing the pain. This damn article is a stink bomb on Boston just when everyone was getting over it and moving on.
“But that’s not why I’m calling. We’ll be able to talk about all this in person, sweetheart, since I’ve been called to Rome to attend some meetings as a representative of the Boston Archdiocese. I can’t wait to see you. I’m going to hop on a plane as soon as possible. We can talk about how your studies can help the Church—like father, like daughter! I’ll call you later about when I’m arriving. Your mother says hello.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon then. Bye, Daddy.” She wondered how this would turn out. What on earth will Simon think of my father?
Two days later, Sarah’s father picked her up and took her to dinner at the home of his old friends, the house where he always stayed when in Rome. She’d already visited their house when she first arrived a few months ago and was blinded by the sheer joy of being in the ancient city. Now that her reality was clouding with complexity, she couldn’t wait to return. Life felt simple and unchanging at the ancient house by the back side of the Borghese Gardens on the Via Lombardia.
Sarah and her father knocked on the imposing door of the Pierleoni home. It creaked slowly open, and a wizened servant showed them the way in and through a cavernous room where seventeenth-century scarlet and sapphire tapestries softened the cold stone walls. The echoes of William’s and Sarah’s footfalls emphasized the profound silence.
They entered the library, where a lively discussion was going on around a huge fireplace covered by a large metalwork screen. Count Pietro Pierleoni, an elfin and elegant man, and his lovely, birdlike wife Matilda warmly greeted Sarah and her father with cheek kisses.
A third man, a Catholic dignitary wearing a white cassock cinched with a kelly green embroidered surplice, embraced William, who introduced him to Sarah as Father Sean McBride, head of the Vatican office for American parish affairs. Sarah greeted him and then withdrew to a nearby leather window seat to observe the scene. Her father joined the others by the fireplace.
Pietro was saying, “Yes, this scandal is of such proportions that now we even hear about it in Rome. At first we thought the Americans were fussing about things we tend to ignore here in Italy. After all, little peccadilloes do happen. We all know the Vatican is not lily white and that life must go on.”
The Pierleonis, descendants of an old Roman family that originated in Tuscany, fascinated Sarah. Family crests and elaborate genealogies tracing their ancient bloodlines adorned the walls around her. The Pierleonis had come into prominence when their family produced a few popes more than a thousand years ago, and to this day they were still involved in Vatican intrigues. Sarah settled into the window seat, surrounded by leather-bound, gold-embossed books arranged in shelves so high ladders were required for the top rows. Near her a golden tabby curled up under a heavy gabled desk glared at her with hot amber eyes, switching his fluffy tail to express annoyance over the invasion of his space.
Matilda Pierleoni smiled at Sarah from the fireplace, over her crystal glass of amber scotch. She sensed that Sarah, whom she’d first met in Boston when Sarah was only a little girl, needed a few moments for reflection. A few months ago during a dinner, Matilda had shared some wonderful stories about her family history with her and had been utterly charmed by Sarah’s keen interest and her dark-haired beauty, which was particularly enhanced when she was thoughtful. Matilda thought of her eldest son, Armando, who had been born in Tuscany years before Sarah was born. I wish I could get the two of them together in the same room. She discreetly looked the young woman over, enjoying the sensation of the warm liquid sliding down her throat, and decided she was going to make it happen.
Sarah crossed one leg over the other, cognizant of the older woman’s scrutiny. She wondered if the Pierleonis would have welcomed her so warmly if they knew about her new ideas about her religion. A maid dressed in a black dress covered by a starched white pinafore offered Sarah a glass of wine on a silver tray. Sarah felt l
ike she was in another place in time. Accepting it gratefully, she strained to catch the conversation in front of the fireplace. Apparently, Father McBride had asked for a meeting with the Pierleonis and her father. Father McBride, a corpulent man with fierce gray eyes, seemed to be attempting to use his size to overwhelm them all. Sarah didn’t find him very convincing, mostly because of the way his right wrist went limp when he made a point. In a low whisper barely audible to Sarah’s sharp ears, Father McBride said, “Our concern is connections are being drawn between the Holy Father and the scandals in Europe, especially Belgium. Of course, the Holy Father is an innocent man of God who must be involved in Church affairs and political issues. It is unavoidable that he would have made some difficult decisions in the past. His decisions will be scrutinized if his private documents ever became public. Maybe you can describe to me how Church records are arranged and stored in America, William? And Pietro, you know how records are kept in Italy. I wanted all of us here to share ideas on how to handle these administrative processes more efficiently. I need direction for how we can, ah, protect documents for the Holy Father’s privacy. How can we keep things for our eyes only, if you know what I mean?” Sarah touched her lips to the etched wine glass and stared at the annoyed cat still gazing at her.
The conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the maid announcing that dinner was ready. They retired to the dining room, where they enjoyed pasta primavera with linguini steaming in colorful pottery bowls and rich red wine from the Pierleoni cellars in crystal goblets. The room was a cavernous crypt with heavy dark beams looming over a heavy oval table. Wall sconces with candles emitted soft light as the servers’ footsteps shuffled on the worn alabaster floors. A heavy door led into a cavelike kitchen, and whenever it opened or shut, audible suction pulled through the ancient dining room. Sarah was seated next to Pietro, who wanted to know everything about her studies and whether she was still enjoying Rome.
“I love being able to do reference work in the Vatican Library,” she told him. “When I’ve had enough, I walk all over the city where the visible layers of time lead me deeper and deeper into the fabric of history. It’s so much easier to understand the past by actually being here instead of just reading about Rome at home. Now I see why Europeans have such a firm grasp of history, deeper knowledge, beyond what’s possible for most Americans.”
“Yes, of course, my dear,” Pietro replied in cultured English with a smooth Italian accent that made every word sound sensual.
Pietro was a charming older man who enjoyed life, and tonight he was exceedingly taken with Sarah. Matilda always seated him next to the prettiest woman in the room. Sarah wore a richly embroidered, tawny empire-waist dress with a dark blue bodice, and he was enjoying the deliciously low neckline. Pietro considered beautiful breasts to be man’s gift from God. “Yes, and I wonder exactly what you are studying? I believe it is very early Church affairs?”
She murmured yes, aware that Father McBride was listening to their conversation while he chatted with Matilda. Her soft response thrilled Pietro, making him feel like she was sharing a secret.
“I’m investigating the three centuries just after the time of Christ when Peter’s church in Rome formulated the Gospel canon.”
“Ah, yes,” Pietro nodded. “But what are you seeking, my dear?”
At this point everybody stopped talking as Father McBride aimed a pointed glance at Sarah over his small silver eyeglasses.
She took a deep breath and boldly spoke to the table while the fat prelate leered at her chest. “I’m investigating Marcion of Pontus, an early theologian and bishop who was excommunicated in 144 CE, even though he was the founder of bishoprics all over the known world.”
Father McBride dropped his knife on his gilded Spode plate and almost cracked the gold rim. Sarah’s father stared at him, wondering why he was so upset.
Pietro persisted, “Well, what a fascinating subject! I know very little about Marcion except that he is said to be the first and greatest heretic refuted by Tertullian. I suppose you’re poring over the Gnostic sources and recent biblical redaction, discoveries, and research that have been offering many new insights about the early Church?”
Pietro was enjoying himself mightily. Wine warmed his throat, and he observed appreciatively the rosy flushing on Sarah’s chest and cheeks.
Sarah rallied. Her earnest green eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “Well, yes,” she replied, peeking under her thick black lashes to see if her father was listening. He wasn’t, which was not surprising since he wouldn’t know a Gnostic from an early Church Father, so she went on. “All the recent discoveries, like the Nag Hammadi and Essene scrolls, make it possible to reconsider the early days of the Church. I’m interested in this new perspective and what it may mean to us in the modern world.”
“It’s easy to see why you’d be so interested in this period,” Pietro responded. “However, my dear, the early Church must have had good reasons for suppressing the Gnostics, good reasons for laboring to refute them. That’s why there were so many early councils to define Christ’s nature. What if you inadvertently raise the lid on Pandora’s box? What do you think, Father McBride, since you’ve been listening to our conversation?”
Father McBride’s salacious snooping amused Pietro, since the priest was supposed to be paying attention to Matilda. Matilda had also been listening to Sarah while she talked with Pietro, since she kept her eye on Pietro when he was drinking wine. He loved to stir people up and flush out what they were thinking about, especially pompous clerics. Her task during dinner was maintaining harmony.
Matilda was afraid Pietro was igniting an explosion, since Father McBride looked like he was on the verge of apoplexy as he responded, “Well, of course, I could not avoid hearing the discussion, since this young lady is talking about things that are rarely spoken of in polite company. We believe it is dangerous for Catholics to look into the Marcionite heresy and dangerous for them to read the Gnostics. The Church buried these ideas years ago for the protection of the faithful, so they are best left forgotten. As I understand it, Sarah, you are a devout Catholic. At least your father certainly is. So how do you justify this research in the light of your faith?”
Sarah felt her neck get hot; however, she’d already thought plenty about what to say to people like Father McBride. Noticing her father put his utensils down to slug more wine she retorted in a sweet, calm voice, “If my faith is strong, things I discover will strengthen it. How can seeking the truth be wrong in any way? Divine providence guides us when we explore new insights about Christ’s life, things that have been hidden for so long. After all, every century brings forth a new Christology, a new interpretation of His meaning to help us keep our faith. I think it’s time for a twenty-first century Christology.”
Matilda saw William’s perplexed look and arched her eyebrow pointedly at Pietro to cue him that he must be concerned with all the guests, especially his old friend. Even when they were students together at Yale, William had never shown the least interest in theology.
But Pietro ordered a double bourbon for Father McBride and boomed, “I started this discussion, so I will say what I think! We are here tonight because of a crisis in the American Catholic Church that is spreading into Europe and around the world. We could be having a Second Reformation. We all know something is very wrong. Perhaps this is a crisis over celibacy, even some kind of challenge to the hierarchy itself. The Church does evolve although it is slow like an aging turtle. We must trust God’s providence, just as Sarah says. As a devout Catholic girl from a good Boston family, she is an ideal person to look into the new information coming to light. Sarah, you love history and want to know what happened in the past. I commend you for this, since our greatest danger would be to ignore what we’ve already learned. So, I look forward to reading your reflections on early Christianity!” He proposed a toast to his pretty dinner guest as she demurely smiled at Father McBride, who suppressed a cough with a slug of bourbon.
After dinner they returned to the library for cognac and chocolates. Matilda scooped up the sleeping golden cat from the window seat and beckoned Sarah to sit with her. “My dear, I am impressed by your courage and determination. I’ve been curious about some of these recent discoveries in early Christianity, and I’ve read a few sources. Gnostic theology seems like New Age gibberish about conspiracies and spacemen. I’ve never heard of Marcion. Why are you so interested in him?”
Her clear blue eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity, lighting up her delicate face. Her skin glowed like fine marble in the light from the fire. Sarah thought it was a face Botticelli would have painted. Sarah also noticed her hostess was wearing the family jewels, an exquisite necklace of two- to three-carat emeralds separated by brushed gold beads. It sat heavily on her delicate neck, leaving indentations in her fine skin.
Sarah replied, “The most compelling thing about Marcion is that around 150 CE his early church was much more extensive and developed than Peter’s. Also it continued for many years around the world. Marcion’s main belief was that Christianity should let go of the Old Testament and start fresh by using only new Christian sources. He believed the emerging religion would be distorted if it added its new scripture to the old Jewish scripture. After all, Christ spoke of a New Covenant.”
Matilda frowned. “But Jesus himself was Jewish, so I’ve always thought it made sense to study the scriptures he himself knew so well. I can’t imagine what our faith would be like without the Old Testament scriptures.”
Sarah leaned forward eagerly. “I’ve been thinking about the same thing. I think our faith would be more about Jesus. It’s Jesus who I think was lost when his teachings were grafted right on top of the Jewish scriptures. Even though I have my faith and feel close to Christ, the Church is in the way of what I feel in my heart. The Church has erected a great wall of dry scholasticism around Christ’s true nature, a castle that imprisons his warmth and passion. When I consider early sources, Jesus comes alive for me as a real person. I want to know this man and hear what he came to say to us.”
Revelations of the Ruby Crystal Page 5