Anastasia's Grail

by Mary Pearson

baseball cap. At every stop light they would wink or blow a kiss at the usually elderly gentleman in the car next to theirs. Stacy’s mom hated this game, almost as much as the one they played at the Villa Italia. She said that it objectified people. The old guys didn’t seem to mind it, though, and it definitely spiced up an afternoon ride.

  “Whoa!” Stacy exclaimed, as they turned down a side street. “Upgrade.” Her guy this time was wearing a well-taylored suit and tie. Then, “Downgrade!” she said, laughing and pointing at Emily’s next “catch”—a very old gentleman who was struggling along with a walker.

  “Stop!” Emily suddenly shouted. “What’s in that window?”

  “Black pants suit?”

  “Behind the pants suit.” Stacy looked. Emily was right. There in the window of an upscale consignment shop was the dress. She pulled the car to the curb and placed it in park. They went inside to get a closer look. The dress was floor-length red velvet with white velvet accents. It was cut princess-style, had built-in crinolines and just the hint of a sleeve. Both the neck and back were cut low enough to show some skin, but not distastefully. This dress exuded quality.

  “Can I help you girls?” A red-haired lady appeared at Stacy’s elbow.

  Stacy sighed. “I’d like to try this on,” she said.

  “Are you planning on attending a formal event?” the sales clerk asked her.

  “Winter formal at my school.”

  The clerk nodded and smiled. She led Stacy to a dressing room and she and Emily waited while Stacy zipped herself into the dress. Then she lead Stacy to a triple full-length mirror. She didn’t have to say a word. No one did. The dress fit Stacy as though it had been tailored especially for her.

  “Shall I wrap it up?” The saleslady knew she had a winner.

  Stacy nodded, then looking at the price tag as an afterthought, she was horrified. This dress cost three times as much as all of the money she had in savings. Stacy’s face fell as she regretfully began to unzip the dress. “I can’t afford this,” she said.

  The clerk bit her lip. “Maybe we can knock off a bit for you,” she suggested. “If I make a call I think I can get the previous owner to take off twenty percent, since it fits you so perfectly.” She hastily made the call, but even with this reduction the dress was still quite a bit above Stacy’s budget.

  “I still can’t commit to this,” Stacy said. “I need some time to… “ To what? It seemed such a trivial thing to pray about, but Stacy had never wanted anything this badly. What was the name of that Patron of hopeless causes… St. Jude. Stacy closed her eyes and said a hasty prayer. “Maybe I can work something out,” she told the clerk as she left. Even the clerk seemed sad to see her go.

  Stacy couldn’t ask her mother or grandmother for the money. She knew they were not the sort to blow a wad for a one-day event. Even if they were, they wouldn’t want to support her going out with Darius. She couldn’t even bring it up to them. No, what she was hoping for was truly a miracle.

  That night Stacy sat at the computer at home. She called up their internet server and typed in Joseph of Arimathea. A column of articles appeared on the screen. Scanning them, she decided to go with the Catholic website. This site told her nothing that she could not have gleaned from reading the Gospels: that Joseph was a member of the Sanhedrin, that he was wealthy and had an unused grave to bestow upon Jesus and that he was a disciple, although a secret one for fear of the Jews. It also said there was no substantiation to the legend that Joseph was Uncle to the Blessed Virgin. What legend…?

  Next she opened the Encyclopedia Brittanica site and was rewarded with the answer to her question: the Arthurian Legend. Apparently ancient British sources suggested that Joseph of Arimathea had been a seafaring merchant, uncle to the Mother of Jesus. Some legends held that, as a child, Jesus had accompanied His great-uncle and His Mother on certain voyages, that, in fact He had played on British soil. Later, it was held, Joseph of Arimathea had fled to Britain with the Holy Grail—a container that held the Blood of Christ. People assumed this to be the Cup which was used at the Last Supper. Ultimately this led to a search for this Grail when it became lost—a Crusade. Many British Royals believed themselves descended of Joseph of Arimathea. Curious legend.

  Next she googled the Holy Grail. Scanning the column of offerings, her eyes arrested on one that read: The Holy Grail and The Shroud of Turin. When she pulled up this article she discovered that many people now believe that the Holy Grail was never a Cup. The Container in question was originally supposed to hold both Jesus’ blood and His sweat. What contained both sweat and blood and was in the possession of Joseph of Arimathea? The answer is right in the Gospels: The Burial Shroud which Joseph both bought and folded around the dead body of Jesus. The Shroud itself was the Holy Grail.

  The internet article had especially cited the work of a Dr. Daniel Scavone, who had done his doctoral thesis on this subject, but Stacy was unable to find anything he had written available to the general public, so she gave up the search—for the time being. When she went to bed that night she pulled out the remaining book which she had bought at the conference, The Diary of Faustina: Divine Mercy in My Soul. She pictured this girl about her own age who, thinking herself called to the religious life, had asked her parents’ permission to become a nun. This was refused. Later, at a party where she was trying to immerse herself in the careless pursuits of others her age, a scourged and bleeding vision of Jesus appeared to her. She left the party and went to a nearby chapel, where she was counseled by this Apparition to go secretly to Warsaw. There she would be told what to do. She ran away, ultimately to become a nun, but she continued to have mystical experiences. Jesus asked her to do difficult and embarrassing things, many of which her superiors refused to allow, just to induce Faustina to learn to trust Him and to obey legitimate authority. One day she asked Him to explain to her what it meant to be God. (This reminded Stacy of the time she had asked to know what Jesus looked like.) He took her to a Place of Great Light, where she perceived Three Individual Lights. Out of one of these Globes of Light an Apparition of Jesus separated Itself. This Jesus gave Faustina to understand that she couldn’t be expected to comprehend God in His Essence. She should seek to know Him by His Attributes.

  Stacy fell asleep contemplating how holy Faustina must have been to have wanted nothing to do with parties or frivolity. Stacy herself couldn’t help dreaming of her upcoming dance. She couldn’t help hoping against hope for her dress.

  Awaking the next morning, Stacy added a new prayer to her simplified morning greeting to Jesus: St. Jude, come through for me.

  Stacy saw Darius the next morning. He was in a circle of teenagers who were milling outside the main entrance of the school, deep in conversation with a little blond sophomore, Stacy only knew her name—Junie. She thought about butting in and telling him her dress would be red—whichever dress she wore, it would be red. But feeling suddenly insecure, she decided to wait until she could talk with him alone. What if he had changed his mind? Then she would be mortally embarrassed.

  Libby found Stacy sitting at their usual table that morning. She offered Stacy a plate. “Want a muffin?”

  Stacy took the muffin—morning glory or bran, she thought—and bit it. “Did you make these?”

  Libby nodded. “In Domestic Science.” She took a seat. “When I heard you were going to the dance with Darius I figured you were done with being a Bible thumper.”

  Stacy didn’t go there. “The muffins are good.” She polished the rest of it off. “I’m working on my Senior Panel Presentation.”

  “What’s your topic?” Libby asked her.

  “The Holy Grail.”

  “Well, I know what that is,” Libby said, “or rather, who.”

  Now Stacy’s curiosity was peaked. She bit. “Oh, yeah? Who?”

  “Mary Magdalene. It’s all in here.” She plunked a copy of The Da Vinci Code in front of Stacy.

  Stacy picked up the book and whiffled through it. “Can I borrow thi
s?”

  Libby shrugged. “Why not? Of course it’s long been known that Mary Magdalene and Jesus were a ‘thing’, if you get my drift. In this book you find out they had a love child and that a certain secret order was pledged to protect the Seed of Jesus—His Grail—until the end of time.”

  “Sounds interesting,” was Stacy’s comment.

  “You’ll like it. It’s a good read.” Libby settled back in her chair. “Anything new I should know?

  “I’ve actually been hiding for awhile.”

  “That Chad is very devoted to you,” Stacy said. “He came looking for you every day.”

  Libby dismissed him with a wave of the hand.

  “Are you going to the dance?” Stacy asked her.

  “I could, I suppose.” She examined her perfectly French-tipped nails, frowning at a chip. “It might be rather festive.” She leaned in towards Stacy. “How long have you and Darius been serious?” she asked.

  “I don’t know that we are.”

  “Going to the Winter Formal is a serious date. I rather envy you. I don’t know if there is anyone more fashionable around here.” She bit her lip. “You will make a fetching couple.”

  Stacy breathed in, thinking about the dress. She imagined they would—if she could just get that dress.

  St. Jude…!

  As it turned out, Darius found her after lunch in the hall. She told him