by J A Bouma
Father Jim was at a loss for words, his old mind not able to process the turn of events.
Mother Kayo stepped forward to offer the intruders the rejoinder. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I’d like to ask you the same question, Kimura.” Weiss’s face instantly changed from a smile to a scowl, icy eyes narrowing in challenging disgust.
“This is a private meeting of the Fidelium—”
“Of which I am a part!” Weiss roared with interruption. “In fact, the last time I checked, we all were.” He motioned to his other friends. “A shame we had to find out through…other means.”
Alexander wondered what those other means were—or who those other means were. He stared at his former classmate Apollos, who stared back in smirking resolve. Like his mentor, Cardinal Weiss, he stood tall with a sculpted face of stoicism. His high cheekbones and athletic build gave him the look of an ancient god ready to do battle. He whispered something to Weiss, then stared back at Alexander with a knowing look.
Father Jim took over from Mother Kayo, regaining his composure and finding his courage. “Cardinal Weiss, you and your…friends, were not invited because this meeting’s nature concerns you and your compatriots.”
“Brilliant! Now we get down to business,” Weiss replied, folding his arms and widening his stance.
“The Fidelium is outraged at your partnership with Panligo.”
“Oh, is that all,” Weiss huffed, rolling his eyes and throwing his arms up in feigned disgust.
“This is no joke, Dominic!” Father Jim roared, confronting his old university colleague with holy anger. He extended a shaking finger, and continued, “You are compromising the unity of the Church and integrity of her teachings. Answer us this: Did you or did you not stand on a stage with world religious leaders whilst the citizenry of the Republic looked on, deliberately attempting to dismantle Christ’s Body by signing that pagan Panligo Declaration on the day before yesterday? Yes or No?”
“How dare you shake your finger at me, James,” Weiss roared back, his slick white hair sloshing about his head.
“It’s a simple question,” Mother Kayo calmly retorted. “Yes or no?”
“I did. We did,” he said, motioning toward his allies.
“Anathema,” Father Kojo shouted, echoed by several other leaders from around the room.
“We are trying to save the Church and you anathematize us?” Apollos bellowed, stepping forward as a back up to his mentor. He spit to the side and folded his arms.
“I don’t think that’s what we’re doing,” Alexander said, rising to allay the tension. “Are we, Father Jim?”
The cardinal leaned forward against the podium with outstretched arms, considering his words. Then he took a breath and sighed, as if the weight of Ichthus were riding his shoulders.
He leaned back and said, “Brothers, we gathered here to address the rising tide of persecution and apostasy that is plaguing the Church of Jesus Christ. And yes, to also address our…concerns with your signing the Panligo Declaration.” He paused, taking care to plot his next move, eyeing Alexander and then Mother Kayo. He continued, “But perhaps we were hasty in neglecting to inform you of this meeting and not letting you hear us for yourselves give voice to our concerns. But now that you are here, perhaps you can explain your rationale for linking arms with the Ayatollah and Dalai Lama, for denying our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”
Weiss sputtered his lips in protest and threw his arms in the air with disgust. “We have done no such thing!”
“You deny you signed the Panligo Declaration?” Father Jim shot back with a look of amusement.
“I deny the slanderous accusation that I, we, are denying Jesus. And we will not be interrogated. You are not our judges!”
“Actually, we are. The Ministerium serves to oversee its order of pastors, priests, and bishops. The Fidelium serves as keepers of the faith.”
Cardinal Weiss stared down Father Jim, narrowing his eyes and flaring his nostrils. He continued through gritted teeth, “I am the cardinal bishop of the Americas and ranking member of the College of Cardinals, and I will not be talked down to by a mere cardinal.”
Father Jim’s eyes widened in surprise. “Dominic, I do not mean to talk down to you as one lone voice crying in the wilderness. This body, the Ordo Fidelium addresses you as one.”
“Of which I am prince!”
It was true, given he was considered a senior ecclesiastical prince within Ichthus, especially over the Americas.
“Of this body you are not,” Cardinal Ferraro retorted.
Father Jim was a senior ecclesiastical leader as a cardinal himself, but technically outranked by Weiss. However, within the Fidelium, Father Jim held court by holding its chair.
The tension was palpable, choking off any remaining resolve of the other members. Apollos grinned slightly as the two continued staring down the other in silence.
Alexander was unsettled by the turn of events, wondering if it was a mistake to have not alerted Weiss and Apollos and the others of the conclave. He also wondered who alerted them to the meeting in the first place, which was supposed to have been kept in secret. Instinctively, he reached for his pocket for a narcowafer. But then he remembered: He had stowed them away in his bag.
“I think we are done here,” Weiss said with finality, refusing to break eye contact with Father Jim. “You’ll hear from us soon enough, brothers and sisters. Soon enough, indeed...”
As one, the group pivoted back toward the open doors and stormed out of the chamber, their footsteps echoing down the hallway and back toward the conclave that remained in stunned silence.
A paralytic silence enveloped the gathered faithful in the wake of the departed schismatics. A hum permeated the place, whether from the sophisticated HVAC ventilation units keeping the subterranean chamber cool and dry or from the ungodly turn of events, it wasn’t clear.
Mother Kayo finally broke the silence. “That was most unsettling.” She paused, then turned toward Father Jim, her face furrowed with a mixture of confusion and appall. “Who breached the shroud of secrecy? Who told them of our meeting?”
He shook his head without a word, still contemplating the gravity of the unexpected exchange. Then he huffed out a sigh and added, “I don’t know, Kimura. I dare not venture a guess. But I can only imagine that there is more in store than we can imagine.”
“Forget them for a moment,” she continued. “What about the larger, looming problem? The bombings, the apostasy in our congregations? Yes, it’s bad enough members of our Ministerium, nay our Fidelium, are compromising the historic teachings of the Church. But what about the people in our seats who don’t even know what those fundamental, historic teachings are in the first place?”
“What are you suggesting, Mother?”
“What I’m suggesting is, we need to address them as much as Weiss and his motley crew of heretics.”
“Amen,” Father Kojo shouted. Several echoed his agreement.
“We need to retrieve the historic Christian faith for the sake of our people’s faith,” she said, her voice crescendoing high throughout the vaulted chamber. “We need to help them remember what has always been central to the Christian faith. To help them believe with the Church again.”
The room fell quiet, deep in thought at what Mother Kayo was suggesting.
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Alexander wondered out loud as they continued to process.
“Perhaps we increase our media strategy,” Father Kojo said, “equipping our parishioners with information through books and other media?”
“Do people even read books anymore?” someone asked a few rows from the front.
“And the Word of God can stand on its own two feet!” another shouted from the back.
“Not to mention the sacred vaults of Ichthus writings from centuries past,” someone else added.
Father Jim stretched out his arms and motioned for the room to come to order. “I appreciate the s
entiment, Brother Kojo, but it seems these desperate times call for more.”
“What about the lost Order?” Mama Mara mumbled, leaning back with arms crossed and head aiming for the ceiling in contemplation
“Lost Order?” Alexander asked with wonder.
She looked at him then nodded, her eyes brightening and mouth parting wide with white, gleaming teeth. “There have been rumors of a remnant scattered about the world. I couldn’t think of a better time than for them to reemerge.”
Father Jim took a breath and folded his arms, then grabbed his beard and stroked it with contemplation. “I have heard rumblings of such rumors myself.”
Alexander sighed with frustration. “What rumors? What is this…this lost Order business you speak of?”
“The Order of Thaddeus,” Mama Mara said.
The room seemed to stir as one at the Order’s mention. Hushed whispers were exchanged and Alexander caught several members scowling and shaking their heads and fists.
He remembered a brief mention of the forgotten religious order in his Church history class. A footnote, really, with a passing mention about a resurgent, ancient enemy rising to destroy the Church near the start of the twenty-first century. But nothing more.
He went to make further inquiry when Father Jim raised his arms again to silence the room.
“Unfortunately, I’m not sure the prospects of reconstituting the Order are all that viable, considering…”
As he trailed off, Alexander noticed several members of the Fidelium nod with knowing recognition. Even Mama Mara sighed and nodded, then bowed her head as if dejected.
“Then what shall we do, brothers and sisters?” Father Kojo asked. “Because Mother Kayo’s exhortation still stands. What are we to do?”
Father Jim laughed. “Too bad we can’t go back in time to retrieve its memory!” He smiled and sighed. Then he added with a sort of holy hush, “Wouldn’t that be something, zooming back through time to major moments of the Church, retrieving them for our time, for our place, for our people?”
Mother Kayo chuckled to herself. “Yes, that sure would be something.”
Suddenly it hit Alexander. Time travel. He remembered the OneWorld Network news flash on his old friend. “Sasha...”
“What’s that, my boy? Did you say something?” Father Jim asked.
Alexander’s eyes widened slightly, realizing he had been heard. He turned his head, mouth agape, then shook it. “Nothing, Father,” he said before looking down with embarrassment, feeling foolish about remembering and mentioning his friend’s discovery of time travel.
“I thought I heard you say Sasha. As in Sasha Pavlovich, from our days at Oxford?” Father Jim’s brow was furrowed with confusion and interest.
“Yes—” he stumbled, clearing his throat. “Yes, I did. But it was nothing.”
“You clearly had a revelation,” Mother Kayo pried. “Perhaps the Spirit is prompting you to share something.” She smiled and nodded, encouraging him along.
Alexander took a breath and adjusted his position. He raked a hand through his hair, then said, “It’s going to sound crazy, but yesterday there was a news item on OneWorld News about my college friend and roommate Sasha Pavlovich.”
He paused and laughed, the feelings of foolishness returning.
“Spit it out, lad,” Father Jim moaned. “I’m wasting away over here!”
“Sorry. They reported our friend from Oxford discovered…time travel, Padre.”
“Time travel, you say?”
“I know, it sounds fantastical, something from science fiction. Apparently, he and a small team discovered the means to go back in time.”
Father Jim considered this news. He shot a look at Mother Kayo as a smile began to stretch across her face.
“That’s it!” she exclaimed. “Yes, time travel. What have we just been saying? That we need to retrieve the historic faith from the historic Church. That we need to help our people rediscover the past in order to hold fast to the faith in the present.”
“What you’re suggesting Mother Kayo is mad,” Alexander blurted. “All due respects, of course,” he added, trying to recover.
“Is it?” Father Jim asked.
“Well, yes! Who ever heard of anyone going back in time?”
“Apparently, it’s possible if Solterra is making a big deal about it. And our own man Sasha discovered it for crying out loud!” Father Ferraro shot back. “Have you stayed in touch with him? Do you have contact information? How can we get ahold of old Sasha—or perhaps I should say, Dr. Pavlovich?”
“He’s at the University of Kiev if I re—” Alexander paused mid-sentence, scoffing and raising a hand. “Hold on there, Padre. What are you suggesting? That we try to travel back in time?”
“Why not! It seems the enemy is at the ramparts, and I’m afraid we’re outmatched and outnumbered. These are desperate times, calling for a resourcefulness Ichthus hasn’t had to muster in generations. Even foolhardy maneuvering to beat back the enemies at the gate—both foreign and domestic, both inside and outside the Church. Why not go back in time and do what Mother Kayo is suggesting? Literally retrieve the historic faith through a firsthand account? All in order to help our people experience it themselves afresh? It’s brilliant, positively brilliant!”
“But how? How do you expect us to do that?”
“Haven’t a clue. But I’d imagine Sasha does. And you’re going to help us get him to help us. You and I will travel to Kiev and convince Dr. Pavlovich to help the Church.”
Alexander sipped some of his water, trying to calm his pounding heart. Traveling under cover of darkness to a secret conclave deep in the heart of history was one thing. It was an entirely different thing to try to convince his old roommate of a crackpot idea hatched in the heat of burning tensions to leverage his discovery for the Church. Last he remembered, the man wasn’t even practicing faith.
Finally, he said, “And how do you expect to convince him to help us? What does that even look like? There was nothing in that news report about actually time traveling. Only that they discovered its possibility.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know…” Father Jim said in exasperation. He finally took a seat, slumping in his chair from the confrontation and the weight of the Church resting on his shoulders. He looked older than Alexander had remembered. His face was sagging and wrinkled, like a pile of bunched up bedsheets.
“All I know is, we’ve got to do something.” Father Jim paused and stared directly at Alexander. “Will you help us, son?”
His words seemed to reach right into his very core, searching for acquiescence and begging for help. Alexander could only stare back as anxiety coursed through every fiber of his being. Yet how could he say no? He couldn’t disappoint his mentor, not when he needed him.
He took a deep breath and sighed. “Yes, Father. For you.”
“Don’t do it for me. Do it for her.”
Alexander looked to Mother Kayo, confused.
“Do it for Christ’s Church, my son,” Father Jim added. “Do it for Ichthus.”
He smiled and nodded. “So what’s the plan? More covert identities and trained assassin guards?”
“No, no, no. We go as we are. You and me. That’s it. First, we need to get out of here. But then we take the magnarail from Byzantium to Kiev. Did you say Sasha ended up there after all these years?”
“That’s right. He’s a professor at the University of Kiev.”
Father Jim nodded, a grin of hope stretching across his tired face. “Then we take the train to Kiev and pop in on my former Ukrainski student. We’re congratulating him for his epic achievement, aren’t we?”
“Then what?” Alexander pushed.
“Then pray to God the Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost that the boy can help us.”
Chapter 10
Alexander awoke with a sudden jolt, his arms waving frantically groping for stability in the dark, anything to bring some semblance of recognition to the confusion.
Tara Rodriguez and the cryptic note from Father Jim. The frightening display of force by those Enforcers with that poor soul in Tripoli and the journey to Church of the Dormition for the conclave. The surprising interruption by the apostates Weiss and Nicolai and ensuing hackneyed plan to do something about it.
Sasha Pavlovich and time travel.
He took a deep, stabilizing breath and raked both hands through his dirty, unkempt hair. Apprehension churned inside Alexander like a vice as his eyes adjusted to the tiny, nondescript room within the sleeping quarters of the secret Ichthus outpost just down the hall from the conclave chamber. Faint light seeped into the room through cracks around an ill-fitting door. He caught sight of peeling paint along a crack anchoring a corner of the ceiling as he caught his breath from the rude awakening.
He lay still, trying to get his bearings, his mouth watering for narcotic relief and body longing to return home to his parish—desperate to return to his routine of prayers and house calls, to winemaking and sermon preparing. He wanted to go back to the way things were before they were interrupted by that blasted note from Tara, to life before charges of apostasy and the Church began rending in two. He hadn’t seen the mysterious latina since before the conclave. He wondered where she had gone, especially since Father Jim didn’t want anyone else along on their extracurricular activity, even Tara.
Finally, he gave in to the necessities of the early hour and packed up his belongings once again. He opened his door to exit with a start. Waiting for him was Tara.
“Where are you guys going?” she questioned.
“Good morning to you too, Tara,” Alexander replied, brushing past her down a dimly lit corridor of the same stacked ancient bricks that greeted them the day before. “How’d you sleep?”
She shuffled after him to continue her interrogation. “Fine. But what’s up? No one’s telling me anything.”
He pushed forward, thinking it curious that even Father Jim hadn’t shared their plans with her. He considered this and decided he shouldn’t either.