Tag: christianity

The Unquiet Land

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excerpt

“That ideal has died, Padraig. The light has gone out. It goes out for many of us, I’m afraid. Because it’s only an idea, not a reality. The Greeks first had the idea when civilization was young. Didn’t they believe in the human community as commonweal? Didn’t they tell us we were all free equals linked by a shared concern for the common good? Come on, Padraig, you know more about these things than I do.”
Padraig swallowed a mouthful of wine and thought for a moment. He wondered if he really did know more about these things than Finn. “You mustn’t overlook the Christian component of your humanitas, Finn: humanity as a moral ideal rather than a biological fact. From Christianity, not from Greece, comes that conviction you mentioned that human life has value. Man was created in God’s own image and was precious enough in the sight of God for God Himself to become man. This is what gives human life its value, Finn, and human life must be protected, must be saved at all cost and returned to God transmuted into spirit, pure and undefiled.”
“Another ideal.”
“Another aspect of the same ideal.”
“But equally unrealistic.” Finn leaned forward and held Padraig in the grip of his eyes as the Ancient Mariner held the wedding guest. “You are still young. The torch you hold aloft to light your way through life still burns with the fierce brightness that youth demands. You are just starting out. But as your journey proceeds and the day wears on, the idealism that fuels your torch burns lower. The light grows dimmer, Padraig, till you no longer see your way with clarity. And you stumble and fall. And every time you stumble or fall you spill some of the fuel you still have burning. And the light grows even dimmer. Long before midnight it’s all gone. And you can’t see your way anymore. You look back for some idea of where you were heading, and of course it’s all darkness there too. The light is gone. The darkness reveals the idealism for what it was: a figment of the human imagination, a fiction born of the unique human capacity for creative thought and nourished by the unique human need to believe.”
“It’s too pessimistic, Finn,” Padraig argued. “The light that guides us really burns; it really exists. You can keep it burning brightly right to the end if you have faith. Faith is the fuel, Finn. Pick up your torch again and find the faith to relight it and keep it burning. It will show you freedom, truth, justice, goodness. It will show you love. It will show you God.”
Finn smiled. “As I said, Padraig, you are young. You have a fire in your head and in your belly. I am old. My head is cool, and my belly …

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

Savages and Beasts

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Yet the evil pouring out
of that entry shook him up as if a powerful tempest unlocks a
house off its foundations, such was the thunderous burden put on
his mind to comprehend the atrocity the details of which he read.
“Why, father? Why a man would end up doing these evil
things?” Anton asked.
“Most of these behaviours relate to the man’s psycho-spiritual
essence or level of human’s advancement but in this particular
case it all flows out of what these people who run the Residential
Schools believe, on what philosophical basis they have been
brought up, what values they have been taught in their schools,
and believe me, in the era we live in this country, the Anglos, still
live with the colonial era mentality. They still consider themselves
occupiers rather than co-existent people next to other
people they see themselves as the archon class and everyone else
down under them. That’s where all this misery springs from.”
“Dad, how could that be possible, we live in the 20ieth
century, this is an advanced country, this is not Africa,” Anton
resisted his dad’s negativity.
“Yes, son, it is true this is Canada, yet think of it seriously,
how did these evil things could ever occur? Where would their
origin be but in the colonial era mentality of the people? Because
when we supress we follow in the steps of tyrants who declare in
speech after speech their desire to bestow freedom to all and to
work for the betterment of people’s lives whereas they indulge
in self-deception and monologues which have themselves as the
only audience, satisfying themselves and their ideologies, whereas
when we reject suppressing others and accept others the way they
are we transcend deception and become true societal citizens.”
Anton said nothing. He felt his father was right. He felt
it in his heart and he only hoped that one day things might get

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

Savages and Beasts

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For now, let us have our supper; come wife get the table
going,” he addressed his wife who was waiting for their word
before she put the table together.
They ate their supper in utter silence; each in their
thoughts: Anton’s mind ran to Mary and the light touch of her
body, which brought a faint smile on his face; his father’s mind
ran to the Indian Residential School and the monsters who have
managed it up to now and the church’s role in all this; Anton’s
mother’s mind ran to the peaceful retirement they might have
come time when her husband would make up his mind to put his
papers in; he wasn’t of excellent heath either and it was time for
him to take it easy, something he despised and always reminded
her that he had no hobbies, other than reading books, and retirement
could be a fast walk towards death; he had followed the
statistics which he had studied and which never lied, as he often
said to his wife, to be sure, most of his pals at work had died
within a year or two after retirement.
Silence the queen of the evening was still in control of
their house when they finished their supper; Anton’s father
took the diary and went to sit by the window. He opened it and
started reading the entries from the beginning. Anton helped
his mother with the dishes before he took his truck and drove
to Molly’s diner; he briefed Molly about Dylan’s heart attack.
Dylan’s buddy, Simon, the drunkard was there and said he was
so sorry Dylan had a heart attack and asked how serious it was;
Anton said to them it was serious enough to make the doctors
keep him there for the angiogram that was to be performed early
tomorrow. The drunkard shook his head in disbelief that all these
things were taking place and how could his buddy get out of this
calamity that struck him.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

Jazz with Ella

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David smiled. “You know, I don’t know when Gorky wrote that, but it’s the utterly perfect story for this country in 1974. Don’t you find that so much that’s told to us is a beautiful illusion when the truth is really ‘bitter’?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Paul continued. “The Soviets are like the old man—they just ignore the failures. The elevators that don’t work. The trucks that break down. The harvests that don’t yield what they expect. We visitors are like the father—we have to put a name to it, admire the beauty, then we point out that it’s not the truth. It’s no wonder they don’t really like our visits.”
“This is great philosophizing,” Maria cut in, “but I hear the truth right now.” She leaned over the railing. “I’m sure I hear a real nightingale singing.” The notes were pure and true, haunting. The group was quiet for a long time, listening, delighted.
Finally Paul got up from his deck chair. “Nah, it was just a scrubby little village lad.”
★
Paul Mercier returned to his cabin with the intention of diving into the definitive biography of the Sentimentalist period writer Karamzin that he had been trying to finish before the end of the trip. It had been difficult to find any study time because of their rigorous sightseeing schedule, though his conversations in Chopyk’s advanced class had been informative. That’s one thing about the guy, he is a serious scholar. He wondered if academia was truly his own calling. Did he really want to end up like Chopyk—an old lady, unloved by students and women alike? When they started out on this trip, he had found it easier to read the Sentimentalist view of nature in literature than to be out in the streets of Moscow actually viewing the real thing. But while they were in Leningrad something new had been emerging, something not found in books. He had been taking enjoyment from the scenery; it was refreshing. And he had even been moved by the rich, barbaric Russian history he saw depicted in paintings and church frescoes. For amusement, Paul had been keeping an informal list of the countless statues of Lenin they had seen to date, the endless art galleries, museums, and palaces of culture they had visited, but now he threw down these lists in disgust.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

Arrows

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And so I prayed.
To deny myself at that point meant quelling the abhorrence I felt
toward my countrymen and replacing it with love. I needed to clean
the crystal ofmysoul of all intention, so that the pure light of God could
shine through me, like the sun through a window into a dark room.
I tried, I really did. But when I descended into the valley, carrying
my little medicine chest under my arm, in case I should find a
moribund Christian to whom I could offer spiritual comfort, the
expanse of unnecessary death and pain sickened me.
“Are you a Christian?” I asked of those who could still talk,
mostly Indians.
A few spat at me, others looked beyond me. I was amazed to find
only two Spaniards, two harquebusiers who must have fallen
during the first round of arrows.
It pained me to simply pass by most men, but my desire to help
someone and offer him absolution of his sins before he died kept
me going, though I was sadly aware of all the souls that would not
be saved.
“Are you a Christian?” I kept asking. I found a young native man
whom I recognized as one of our party. He had received several
blows from macanas: his head was cracked open and his entrails had
spilled onto the ground. Iridescent flies feasted on the pool of gore
underneath him.
He nodded, shivering and bathed in sweat. “Are you? Good,” I
said, regretting the word ‘good’ as soon as it left my mouth. My
hands trembled as I opened the chest and extracted the ampulla
containing the oleum infirmorum. “Can you talk?”
He nodded and moaned horribly, his eyes wandering aimlessly.
He made a convulsive attempt at confession, and I absolved him
forthwith, giving him the viaticum and anointing his eyelids,
saying, “Through this holy unction and His own most tender mercy may
the Lord pardon thee whatever sins or faults thou hast committed by sight,”
and repeating it with his ears, nostrils, lips, hands, feet and loins.
I raised my head and saw Pánfilo checking on the dead with his
harquebus hanging from his shoulder and his dagger at the ready.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Arrows

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Excerpt

The day of our departure came too soon. Entire families gathered
at the plaza to bid farewell to their most respectable sons. After a
year of preparation, don Diego de Losada had managed to convince
one hundred and fifty men to take their chances with him. No small
achievement, considering their prospects for survival.
Our expedition was bound for the province of Caracas—where
the town of San Francisco had briefly existed—and we were
destined to rebuild it in the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ for our
most gracious king, His Sanctified Catholic Majesty, Don Felipe II.
Less than five men out of each of the previous two expeditions into
the area had been left alive to tell the tale.
I had heard stories about battles, about how I would be lucky to
be killed at once. Cannibals liked to tie a Christian to a tree while
they danced in circles, possessed by the devil, chopping pieces out of
him every time they came about, cooking his parts under his nose or
even eating them raw, shooting arrows at him until his blood had
drained, blood they would collect in little bowls and drink as they
danced, smearing it on their bodies, spitting it on the ground.
One chief in particular, Guacaipuro, who commanded the Indian
forces of the valley of Caracas, put the fear of God into Spanish and
tame Indians alike, for it was said he had no mercy for either. All of
the other chiefs pledged their allegiance to him. On the land of one of
these, the settlement of San Francisco had been established almost a
decade ago, but Guacaipuro had burned it to ashes. It was to that
place we were heading.
Dressed in their feathered morions, coats of mail and cloaks,
twenty men on horseback under don Francisco Ponce’s command
melted stoically like butter in the sun, to be accompanied by fifty
harquebusiers with their pouches heavy with stone munitions,
eighty men on foot, eight hundred servants, two hundred beasts of
burden, several thousand pigs, four thousand sheep—all intended
to secure the beginnings of a new city.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

The Circle

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o the University of Southern California Medical Center, wait for him, and get him
back to the hotel. That’s his business for the morning, nothing else. The ride takes
about fifteen minutes, as rush-hour traffic is over and the streets are quieter at this
time of day. They arrive and the driver opens the door for them. Ibrahim gets out
with Hakim, and they walk toward the reception area. A blonde girl of about
twenty-five greets them.
“Good morning, sir, please have a seat. The nurse will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.”
The nurse comes to get Ibrahim. Before she guides him away, Hakim asks
how long they’ll keep him inside and the nurse says about one to two hours. They
have to perform a CBC and obtain a few scan images; the doctors have organized
two MRIs, and they need to do a small procedure to get a specimen. After that,
he’ll be free to go.
After they take his uncle away, Hakim takes a stroll on the grounds of the
medical. He walks for a while and then dials Talal’s number. The phone rings
four times before Talal answers. Hakim asks for news and Talal confirms that it
will take a few days. Hakim finds a bench and sits. His mind goes to Matthew and
Bevan once more. He is eager to learn more of what they do, the specifics of what
they deal with, and whom they report to.
He dials again and calls Peter at the office.
“Hi Peter, how are things there, today?”
“Not much different than any other day. How are things with you and your
uncle?”
“They’re doing the tests. He’ll be in for a couple of hours.”
“Okay. Do you need anything else?” Peter senses Hakim has something to say
to him.
“Look, Peter, I’d like to sit down with you in the next couple of days, is that
okay?”
“Yeah, what’s on your mind? Talk to me.”
“There is no rush. Just hang tight, we’ll talk when the time comes.”
Peter understands he has to leave this alone until the right time; after all, you
don’t push the people who have money and the power that comes with it.
“Suit yourself, Hakim, I’ll be ready.” He stresses the last words and Hakim
likes the sound of that.
“Thanks, Peter, I know I can count on you when it comes to the serious stuff;
thanks a lot.”
He spends the next hour or so outside, with his thoughts traveling to the
future and what he needs to organize with Talal next to him at the top of the
ladder. But he wonders what to do about Jennifer. The question breaks the …

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

Arrows

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Excerpt

I retched again and leaned to one side to let out a stream of bitter
bile. I blinked in the darkness and looked around without the least
hope of standing up. The roof was low and the hot air impregnated
with damp and the smell of unwashed bodies, vomit and bilge; the
air seemed to congeal as I exhaled.
How long had we been rocking and shaking in this darkness? A
day? Two? “Eloí, Eloí, lama sabactani?” I quoted, meaning every
word our Lord had said when feeling forsaken on the Cross.
Trembling, I grasped a coil of rope. My tonsured head was bathed
in cold sweat; drops trickled down my forehead, slid down my neck
and soaked my grey cassock. The Seraphic Rosary dangled from my
cord, rippling monotonously. I took no more than shallow breaths,
distracting my mind amid the artillery, lines, water barrels and
cases, some knocked about by the sea’s fury despite having been
lashed down.
The hatches and portholes were kept closed to avoid water, and
the lighting of candles was strictly forbidden. I had withstood the
first hours by meditating on the Passion of Our Lord, but once
overcome by sickness, I could not stop vomiting.
The danger on deck had confined many men below: the carpenter
and his mates, the cook and his galley lads, the gunners, seamen
awaiting the change of watch. We sat close to one another, sweating
and praying, eyes fixed on the ceiling, following noises from the
upper deck. After making vows and promises to the virgin,
swearing to make penitence of fasting on bread and water the first
Saturday of every month, some wished to confess.
To my surprise it was Pánfilo, a wiry old midshipman who had
lost most of his front teeth, who came first. I dried my face with the
sleeve of my habit, uncertain of my strength, and passed my hand
across my wet chest and aching belly. My stomach was void, though
still assaulted by waves of nausea. “Move over, hombre! My sins are
only God’s to hear, you filth,” lisped Pánfilo. Others shifted. Pánfilo
knelt beside me.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

The Circle

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Excerpt

WASHINGTON D.C. IS CLOUDY and cold on this September morning.
Despite still feeling tired, Matthew gets up at 6 a.m., his usual time. The only
days he allows himself to sleep in are the rare days when he is at home, in bed
with Emily. Those days are special to him, as he can linger in bed and, if he is
lucky, have a morning session of sex with his wife. But those days are so rare;
at times he wonders why she has been with him all this time, in a life so
deprived of sexual satisfaction, since he hardly gives her any pleasure with his
quickies, as they call their lovemaking sessions. And he doesn’t count the true
love the romantic books of poetry discuss in their verses, because Matthew is
a true believer that such love doesn’t exist, that a man never loves a woman
that way, unless he’s a dreamer or having hallucinations. He walks to the
bathroom sink and washes his face, shaves, and brushes his teeth. He puts on
his usual suit for the office, clothes that he has carried in the same suitcase for
so many years. Then he goes down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast before
heading to work.He orders ham and eggs with hash browns, toast, and coffee.
This is the all-American breakfast which he is a strong believer in having
every day, even when at home.
“Never go out without a good breakfast in your stomach,” his father always
said, and Matthew Roberts never forgets that.
The server brings his food a few minutes later, as he enjoys his coffee while
reading the newspaper headlines.
Matthew has traveled between Los Angeles and Washington for thirty years,
all this time with the same government agency. Jennifer wasn’t even born when
he started this job. As a young computer analyst, he had many job opportunities.
However, he got lucky and this department was in a recruiting mode back in
those days. Now, after all this time, he looks back, and feels satisfied with the path
he has taken and where it has led him. After all, he is second in command. A few
more years and he can see himself retiring at last, with a good severance pay and
good pension. Then he will spend more time with Emily, whom he misses so
much, and with his daughter, who has been raised almost alone by her mother.
Then he will visit his father in Arkansas, who has been alone for such a long time

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524