Revelations of the Ruby Crystal

by Barbara Hand Clow

  After hanging up with Sarah, Mary walked into William’s study, taking note of an empty Scotch glass on his desk. His feet were propped on the desk while he leaned back in his office chair looking completely disheveled. “Well?”

  Mary sat down in a nearby rocking chair and said softly, “She says she has to leave the Church because her studies make her feel like Christ is not in the Church. Since she has such a profound communion with our Lord, she cannot marry in it because, for her, the Church is devoid of our Lord.”

  William was quite tipsy. “She would look at things that way, wouldn’t she? She was always a damned idealist and thinker, and now she had found an intellectual guy. There they will be, the smarty pants. I would rather have my faith than my reason. The Church comforts me in my hour of need. Just wait till she loses one of her children like we did when Patrick died. Then she’ll find out what it is like to have no God to pray to.”

  “William,” Mary retorted pleadingly. “I think she will always be able to pray to our Lord. For me, Christ is in the Church as He is for you. But if that is what she feels, I think we have to respect her. I think we are going to have to tolerate the way they want to plan their wedding.”

  William gave himself a week to adjust. He consulted with several spiritual advisors, who mostly said the same thing: most people lose their faith when they investigate the heresies that stained the early Church. That’s why the heretics were condemned! People often lose their faith when they consider different ideas.

  There was something about this that didn’t sit quite right with William. To one priest he commented maybe the Church would drive everybody out eventually if they couldn’t handle more points of view. That priest shrugged. “Well, so what? This is our faith, which is open to anyone. We intend to keep it the way we want it.”

  When William finally called Sarah he was resigned. “As your father, I hope you will never lose your faith in Christ. If you do, you will be alone in this world. No one should be alone in the world. I will give you away in the chapel at Harvard.”

  20

  A Stormy Night

  Wednesday was Sarah’s and Simon’s favorite day of the week, the day for late afternoon meetings to keep up with wedding plans and a delicious dinner prepared by Simon. On one such Wednesday evening in early October as they sat in Simon’s living room, he said, “I bet you loved it when the Vatican pronounced Karen King’s fragment mentioning Mary Magdalene as Jesus’s wife a fake?”

  Sarah laughed. “Yes, it is circuitous reasoning in top form! Since everybody knows Jesus did not have a wife, therefore the fragment is a fake. That is so typical of them!”

  With a burst of excitement, Sarah suddenly changed subjects. “I found a wedding dress, a really simple Edwardian ivory lace gown. I looked online to see where to go and it was easy. It is exquisite; you will be charmed.” Simon smiled and looked into her eyes intently. He has a way of focusing just on me. When he deepens his eyes, he looks so intentional and serious. He makes me feel like he knows something about me; he studies me.

  Steering the conversation back to his interests, Simon said, “I’m sure I will. At the Vatican today, a guy told me to keep my Jewish nose out of the pope’s affairs. Shit, you’d think we were back in the days of Olimpia Maidalchini and Pope Innocent X!”

  “Did you say Olimpia Maidalchini?” she practically screamed. “What does she have to do with the pope’s affairs?”

  “Well, I am kind of joking. The butler in the Vatican slammer guarded the pope the way Olimpia guarded Innocent X, so now he has pissed off the inner circle. The butler controlled access to the pope to protect him from all the intrigues. I’m thinking about writing some columns describing the historical intrigues and rumors during the reign of Innocent X to satirize the current drama, since little has changed in a thousand years,” Simon explained with a smug smile.

  As they sat down at the table, he continued, “It could be very funny and suggestive, and my editor at the Italian newspaper likes the idea. There are so many parallels: to this day high positions in the Vatican are doled out to the pope’s relatives. There is always a scheming relative who is either a financial wizard, or a promiscuous fool, or both.” He gestured excitedly with his wine glass. Vatican insiders would gobble up every word! Romans just love quasi-historical fiction and satire, so it could be good cover. I don’t want to make direct accusations, even though I know my instincts are right.”

  “I like it, Simon, using humor to get your point across,” Sarah said.

  “Yeah, it’s the best way to change things. This could get steamy since many historians think Olimpia was Innocent’s mistress. So far few think that’s what’s up with the butler though. Anyway, why the reaction to Olimpia’s name?”

  “When I was dating Armando, he took me to his private club, the Doria Pamphili, below the Hotel Circus Maximus. During our first dinner there, he went on and on about Olimpia Maidalchini. Otherwise, I never would have heard of her.”

  “Sarah, you are joking! He took you down into the Doria Pamphili? Are you serious?” He watched her nod with wide, curious eyes. “Do you have any idea what that place is? It’s the most notorious sex pit in Rome. It’s rumored there is a tunnel from the club to an aqueduct juncture where perverts go to conduct Black Masses and orgies, some say Satanic rituals!”

  “We just went there for dinner twice, and the first time I didn’t know where he was taking me,” she answered as her eyes got even wider. “The club is in a large limestone grotto that was part of the ancient aqueduct system. The food there was great except I did notice some peculiar people around the room, but I always do in Rome.”

  A file opened in Simon’s brain, always the sign something was brewing. It was the same feeling he got when a story or scandal was breaking through; then he followed the leads. The connections that keep coming up between Sarah and me always seem to lead somewhere. What if the butler discovered something really dark going on in those tunnels? What if he got wind of some nasty undercover stuff? Is Sarah in any danger from dating Armando Pierleoni? After all, his parents are known to be big players in Vatican politics. Why would Armando have taken Sarah down in the Doria Pamphili? He said, “How seriously do you take synchronicities?”

  “Well, I do notice them sometimes, and I wonder if they mean anything,” she replied, wondering what he was getting at.

  “Have you ever tried to follow a synchronicity to see if it led to something hidden?” he asked. Inadvertently, she found herself staring into the ruby crystal with her eyes widening. “What is going on, Sarah. What do you see?”

  She was staring into the stone where she could see the entrance grotto of the Doria Pamphili. She felt herself getting smaller and smaller, just like Alice in Wonderland. Simon’s living room transformed into the grotto. Sarah closed her eyes and began speaking in a hollow voice that did not sound quite like her own. “We are in the Doria Pamphili and we can go anywhere we want; come with me.”

  Closing his eyes and feeling cool limestone touching his skin, he said, “Take me down into the grotto with you.” Immediately he fell down through a long tunnel. She said, “Can you see it? Are you with me?” He was in the middle of a large cave with four caves or tunnels at right angles to where he stood. His first thought was, I wonder if they’re oriented to the four directions? He answered, “Yes, I am under the Bernini altar in St. Peter’s Basilica! There is a large flat altar in the center. Energy swirls in a vortex over a crude and bare stone altar, and a screen floats above.” Her voice penetrated his mind. “I can see this too, but we cannot look anymore. Maybe we can’t ever look at this; maybe it is dangerous?” Then he felt her hand on his arm and he immediately shot back.

  Sarah’s face was white. “What’s going on, Simon? This ring is making me psychic. I can see things in it like movies, especially when I’m with you. I am afraid.”

  His logical mind knew some things, so he put his hand on Sarah’s reassuringly. “You’re right, Sarah. The ring is making you psychic. Bu
t since you’ve been given this gift to penetrate hidden things and I can go with you, I think we should explore this way to find secrets. We need to know what’s going on before we can imagine what we could do about it. That’s how I write my articles. Often I know ten times more than I can put in print. Because I have deeper knowledge, however, readers sense it. This is how a journalist can reveal secrets. My father gave me the ring because he sensed you were in danger for some reason. After all, you are investigating heretical ideas and your father is in Opus Dei. You shouldn’t be scared; the ruby crystal will protect you. I will protect you. My father and I both think you’ve been chosen to use it.”

  Sarah turned the ring this way and that, admiring its depths. “So you knew when you gave it to me that the ring was more than a family heirloom?” Sarah asked, her dinner temporarily forgotten.

  “My father told me it was special,” Simon said. “And we have this incredible opportunity now. I keep noticing the synchronicities between your research and the various stories I’m working on. The whole world is in a vortex of change right now, the time when the Vatican may finally be exposed. The whole Middle East where the three main Semitic religions interface is exploding. Many people are penetrating ancient secrets and testing all religious beliefs. For some reason, we found each other in Rome during 2012. I think we are destined to explore the real truth about dark secrets that mind-control the public.”

  In his study one mid-October night, William was deep in thought. It was nearly midnight, and sheets of icy rain battered the copper roof above his window seat. He respected his oldest daughter’s choices for her marriage, but her desire to leave the Church had shaken him to the core. I want this to be a joyful time for our family, but I can’t shake something in my mind. What is it? What is eating away my edges? In an abstracted frame of mind he was rummaging through his files for the text of the homily the pope had given for the June 2012 Eucharistic Conference in Ireland. What was it that he said? It was deeply meaningful for me a few months ago. Finally he pulled it out and read the part marked with red ink where he had underlined what Pope Benedict said about priestly abuse: “How are we to explain the fact that people who regularly receive the Lord’s body and confessed their sins in the sacrament of Penance have offended in this way? It remains a mystery. Yet, evidently their Christianity was no longer nourished by a joyful encounter with Jesus Christ. It had become merely a matter of habit.”

  With his big feet propped up on his oak desk, William found that this time the sentence about the priests not being nourished by a joyful encounter with Jesus Christ really caught his attention. That is exactly what Sarah says about Jesus not being present in the Church. She says she has to leave because Christ is not there. I admire her for being so honest. Now it is time for me to face what I feel, since I have not felt Christ in the Church for years myself. Long ago I felt Him in the blessed sacrament and around the altar, but not in many years. I have tried to get the feeling back by serving my parish and Opus Dei. When did I lose it?

  The wind was blowing so hard he was afraid big trees might come down. Regardless, he stayed at his desk and forced his mind back, back, and back. When I was nine and a new altar boy, I loved being close to the priest. I loved casting my eyes piously up to his hands as he raised the Host. I saw light above the altar fill with the sweet presence of our Lord. I loved receiving Communion before the people during Mass and then standing by Father as the people lined up to receive. I loved the light in their eyes, their tears of joy. What happened to those feelings? Soon after that everything was gray and boring. I was dull and felt disgusted by something. I didn’t want to be there . . . Suddenly his mind was blinded by a flash and a push. I can still feel the place on the side of my arm where I got cut and bruised. Rubbing his arm to make it go away, he was jolted by shocks deep in his solar plexus. I am the great oak by the porch ready to crack! He felt his young body with the priest behind, jamming him against the prayer rail and pulling up his cassock, and he also caught a flash of the obscene moment. But he stopped the distant movie in his mind. I can’t go there, it won’t help. It won’t help anybody. He slouched down deeper into his chair, expelling air from his clenched diaphragm and cramping stomach. Oh my God, my God! I will not think about this, not ever again. Now I know the truth; now I remember. But I don’t want to remember any more of it, ever. I have to admit the truth to myself, the ugly truth. To keep his sanity, he had to block the recovery of any more details. He blanked his mind, a skill he had learned when he had to take care of a worker who had fallen off a ledge on a construction site and spilled his intestines.

  He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone of the horrible thing the priest had done, but he was bleeding so badly when he got home that his mother insisted on taking him to the doctor, and the doctor knew exactly what must have happened. William could still remember his mother sitting by his side hugging him and brushing his hair softly with her fingers, the pitying look on the doctor’s face. When I came back home, I hid myself from the grave expressions, all the sadness. His parents were prominent parishioners, so the priest had been sent off to a far-away parish in the middle of the night, and soon a young priest fresh from Ireland replaced the old one. That was the end of being an altar boy, the end of feeling like a good little boy. Eventually he became a beer-drinking carouser in high school and was in a serious car accident that had killed one of his friends. Luckily he wasn’t driving, but that sobered him up. When he met Mary in college, he fell in love, forgot everything, and began to heal. I will never tell her what happened to me, for shame! I was lucky. The priest got sent away, so it only happened once. I’m sure other guys had to deal with that priest over and over again; they must be wrecked for life.

  He sat there for two more hours listening to the wind while occasionally tapping his pen on the desk. Around 3 a.m., as he was nodding off, he had a vision of Sarah’s face when she was only a few hours old. Great light surrounded her little body, like a golden halo! A triumphant voice said, “This is my beloved daughter, and I am well pleased.” When I first saw Sarah, I felt the presence of our Lord again. Just briefly, but it was enough for me to keep my faith and raise my family in the Church. As the pope said in his homily for the Eucharistic Congress, “It remains a mystery.” If the pope could say that, maybe he didn’t know what was going on? Either way, evil lurks in the Church and I want to know why, but it is not Sarah’s fault. Finally the terrible wind abated after he fell asleep on his couch.

  The next day he dialed Sarah’s apartment at 7 a.m. Rome time. “Sarah? It’s Dad. I want to talk to you about something.”

  She hoped it was something good. She was so happy just to hear his voice again and hoped he was getting over his anger. She responded, “Yes, Daddy, what is it?”

  “Well, Sarah, I have remembered some things, some things that go way back to when I was a young altar boy. I don’t want to discuss all of that with you, no need to. But I want to tell you that all my sadness and resistance about you not being married in the Church is gone. Remembering some things helps me see that you and Simon know how to begin your marriage. The only reason for remembering anything in the past would be if it could help us now. Now that I understand myself better, I am really ready to give you away at your wedding. We are all ready here to celebrate with you and Simon.”

  Sarah knew that key events like weddings often get people to remember deep things and she didn’t want to lose this opportunity. Obviously he is alluding to some kind of abuse, and I wonder if I should probe him. But it doesn’t feel like this is the right time. She said, “It sounds like you have recalled a childhood abuse trauma? Sure you don’t want to talk about it? You can, you know.”

  “Sure, I know I can, and if I wanted to, I would. I think I could even talk to Simon about it, if you can believe that. That tells you how I feel about your intended. But it is the past. I know it isn’t that way for everybody and I can understand why.”

  “Okay, Dad, as long as you are okay.”

  “
But there is something I want to share with you. You brought all this up for me because you said you can’t find Christ in the Church, which kept eating away at me. That’s blasphemy, yet it is the truth for you. And the pope said something similar at the Eucharistic Congress in Ireland this summer, which caught my attention because it was the most honest thing I ever heard him say. I wonder whether he knows what is really going on?” William paused. But as neither had an answer to this question, he went on. “Anyway, because of what happened when I was young, just like you I couldn’t find Christ in the Church anymore. Yet I found Him again when I saw you after you were born. The real presence came in with you, Sarah, and I admire you for refusing to let it go. Makes me wonder whether all newborns come in with a halo, which makes me question original sin. You must never let Christ go. If that light isn’t in the Church for you, then you should not stay.”

  Her throat muscles tightened and thickened. She managed to squeak out in a small voice that William could barely hear, “Daddy, your words give me so much happiness that I need to get off the phone and cry for hours. I never thought you could understand; I had not even hoped. This is the sweetest gift a father could give his daughter. You are the reason I have not lost the light, and now you are letting me go to love Simon. The way you responded to Simon has been so touching.”

  “It wasn’t hard, Sarah; just look at his family. He was raised well.”

  “Regardless, when you met him, you welcomed him. This meant everything to him because he didn’t expect it. He loves you simply because you accepted him.”