Pierced by a Sword (32 page)

Nathan now perceived how Sister Leonardo had been sanctified during her entire life (and especially during her bout with cancer) by praying and doing reparation for Nathan.

Nathan understood that no good deed was ever done apart from the influence of others in the Mystical Body of Christ. Nor did a good act come without the freely given gift of grace. God's Universe–the Moral Universe–was much
more complex and interwoven than earthbound men could fathom. He was given the intuition that his present understanding was "supplied" by God Himself and that once he returned to his body this full understanding would revert to partial understanding. Like all mortals, Nathan would resume "looking through a glass darkly" upon his return.

Mary showed Nathan all his good deeds and how they merited
much favor from the Father because Nathan had "committed" many of them without faith in God. He had also developed a certain measure of conscience, however malformed, with practically no moral formation from his father. This "mitigation" surprised Nathan. The deep mystery of God's judgment, even here in heaven, was beyond him. He did realize, however, that the judgment was
perfect.
It was as perfect
as any mathematical equation ever comprehended by Nathan.

Only God could weigh and balance a man's life, taking into account all the good and bad acts, the good and bad influences, the sins of fathers and the sins of sons, and other mitigating circumstances. He understood that the fulcrum between the objective horror of all sin and the culpability for those sins was
free will.
The wheat of Nathan's
good actions was separated from the chaff of his immoral ones. He knew it was primarily the sanctifying grace of his confession with Chet which had saved him from perdition.

The Queen of Heaven waved her arm toward another field and Nathan saw the final days of his life before the accident.

Despite his confession, Nathan knew that his drunkenness, his sexual episode with Jennifer Gower, and worst
of all, his choice to despair after Joanie had called him–all these would have weighed against him mortally. It was as if someone had taken a photograph of the state of Nathan's soul just before the accident in the Mustang. That final photograph would be the determining factor in Nathan's Judgment. How important it was to end life in a "state of grace"–the state of a soul free from mortal sin.

As Our Lady showed her consecrated son the last days of his life, Nathan saw not just himself in "instant replay," but the savage attacks by the demonic forces conspiring to destroy him. He observed his brief dialogue with Mary on the highway as he passed the Notre Dame Exit. He discovered that his life had been spared by God. Providence had chosen to directly intervene to stop the Mustang from fatally
crushing him against the oak tree. He was shocked to discover how many creatures in the Mystical Body of Christ had been interceding on his behalf at the very "moment" of his crash–Joanie, Father Chet, Joe Jackson, a young black man in Salt Lake City, Babsie, Nathan's guardian angel, Sister Leonardo, and especially, the Queen of Heaven, who stood next to Nathan now. There were others helping
him, too. He saw all of them.

Nathan did not know them all personally. They were members of the Church Militant, all around the world, offering their sufferings, prayers, and their lives to Jesus to merit grace for redistribution according to the Father's Will. Finally, Nathan saw how his Warning was a direct answer to his own desperate prayer during Professor Wheat's talk on Monday night in Saint
Joseph Church:
Use any means necessary.

Nathan asked Mary: "Why are you showing me these things? Why doesn't Jesus show me, like He showed me my sins?"

Mary answered: "My Son
is
showing you–through me. You are my special son, consecrated to me. When you see and hear me, you are experiencing a manifestation of the Father's Mercy. You have much to do for my Son's Kingdom. Your grandmother did not
lie when she told you that you are descended from kings. Look now!"

Nathan looked and saw a king dressed in clothing that looked like it came from the Middle Ages. The king was wearing armor and flowing garments. The king was not looking at Nathan. The Blessed Mother spoke to Nathan: "This king's name is John Sobieski, III. I am the queen of his country, Poland. You are his descendant, my son.
Look!"

Nathan looked and saw thousands of blood relations in a heavenly field, all of them interceding on Nathan's behalf before the Lamb of God! Each one was a descendant of King Sobieski. "You have not come here of your own accord, my son. These saints have merited the grace for your journey." The words of the Blessed Mother filled Nathan's being with a joy that he had known in only one place
on earth–the joy of belonging to a family. Nathan had felt that joy fleetingly as a child while visiting the Sullivans with Chet.
I am part of a family,
Nathan thought.
The Family of God!

Landscapes folded and unfolded and Nathan was alone with Mary before the Cross, aware that he had returned to the place of the Warning's beginning. The Alpha and the Omega. He felt contrition and joy and awe
streaming through his soul before Jesus. Nathan felt immense gratitude toward his Savior. Jesus spoke one last time:

"Son of man, behold your mother.
Woman, behold your son."

Nathan turned to face Mary. It was time to return to his earthly body. He did not want to leave the side of his queen. He could not change or protest the will of the Son, but he was still disappointed that he would have to
leave her. She was shown his thoughts and responded gently, yet firmly:

"I will always be at your side. My Son will show me your every thought and deed, for you have given them to me through your consecration. You will not remember all you have seen here, but you will remember much of it, especially your sins against the Holy Trinity. You will undergo many trials when you return. You must seek
confession again after you go back. My daughter Joanie is waiting for you..."

Nathan tried to turn his head to look at the Queen of Heaven, but as he turned he felt the bark of a tree on his cheek. Intense pain, starting in his lungs, flowed back into his consciousness...

+  +  +

The searing pain from the accident, although still just as intense as it had ever been, was not unbearable. He had
been "gone" during the Warning for less than a thousandth of a second in earth time. The paramedics found him passed out, pinned against the tree. A police cruiser's lights filled the area with white, red, and blue from the shoulder of the Indiana Tollway. Having no choice, and worried that Nathan might die quickly, the two paramedics and the trooper pushed the Mustang over and away from the broken
man with great effort. Nathan crumpled limply to the ground.

"Look, Sarge, he's coming out of it!" the rookie paramedic shouted crazily. "He's trying to say something!"

Nathan was lying on the ground now, flat on his back. A disturbing wheeze was coming from his lungs as he breathed.

The rookie paramedic threw up when he saw the white and dark red patches on the sides of the tree where Nathan
had scratched off the bark with his bloody fingers.

Sarge, whose real name was Willy Matthews, put his ear next to Nathan's mouth.

"Joanie Wheat...Call Joanie Wheat...Mishawaka..." Nathan whispered hoarsely. Then, back from his journey to hell and heaven, he passed out.

"What he say? What he say, Sarge?" the younger paramedic asked with a note of intensity, wiping his mouth.

Sarge ignored the
rookie, and looked up to the State Trooper standing next to the tree. "Do you know anybody named Joanie Wheat who lives around here?"

Chapter Fourteen

1

Friday Morning
13 October
Verona, New Jersey

Father Chet came into the rectory after saying morning Mass for twenty or so parishioners. He was in a good mood despite the meeting scheduled with Monsignor Whelan at nine. He saw Sister Margaret behind her desk speaking on the phone. Father Chet reminded himself to treat the antagonistic nun with all the kindness and charity he could
muster. This behavior bothered her enormously, despite his good intentions.

"Oh, Father Sullivan just walked in! Hold on, I'll give you to him," Sister Margaret said into the phone, looking at Chet with concern on her face. Before handing him the phone, her demeanor changed, and she whispered, "Keep it short. Monsignor Whelan's expecting you in three minutes."

Chet grabbed the receiver, confused
by Sister Margaret's contradictory tones.
Does she know something I don't know?
he thought.

"Father Chet here." He paused. "Oh, hi Joe! Look, I'm sorry I drove off so fast after Bruno's without giving you an explanation–" Father Chet added quickly.

Joe cut him off, "Chet, that can wait. Nathan's been hurt. Badly. He got into an accident on the Indiana Tollway early this morning."

"What happened?!"

Joe related the details to the worried priest.

"Chet, listen, they're taking him into the operating room again. The broken leg is set, and he's got four broken ribs and a serious concussion. I called to ask for prayers. There's something wrong with one of his lungs, which collapsed briefly during the accident. They're doing exploratory pulmonary surgery to sew up a few things and to assess the
damage. I'm going to pray for him now myself. I thought you'd want to know."

"Yeah, I'll pray. Is he in danger of dying?" Both men knew that Chet was more concerned with Nathan's soul than his body, despite Chet's obvious concern for Nathan's physical condition.

"The doctors don't think so. He's been in and out of consciousness since they found him. Pulmonary stuff is serious, and Nathan was a
heavy smoker. The orthopedic surgeon said Nathan was in tremendous physical condition despite that. I'll keep you posted. One other thing–doesn't he have any relatives? There was nothing in his wallet, and the last thing he said before he passed out was 'Get Joanie Wheat.'"

"Both parents are dead, and he doesn't have any brothers or sisters," Chet replied after a moment's thought. "There was a
family named Wojtal in Forest Park that he stayed with during high school. Knowing Nathan, he hasn't talked to them in over a decade. You could try looking up the Wojtals in directory assistance." Chet spelled out Wojtal for Joe.

Sister Margaret glared at Father Chet. When she caught his eye, she pointed to the clock over her desk and then down the hall toward Monsignor Whelan's office.

"Chet?
I've gotta go. I don't mean to rush you..." Joe said contritely.

"No, that's okay, I've got a meeting starting right now. Give me a call as soon as you hear something new. Thanks, Joe. God bless."

"God bless you too, Father. I'll call." Joe hung up.

Father Chet was reeling with emotion as the news sank in. He remembered praying last night and guessed that his guardian angel had woken him up to
pray for Nathan.

This is serious,
he thought. Sadness engulfed him.
Oh Nathan! Hang in there buddy!
He began to pray a Hail Mary silently.

Sister Margaret harrumphed. Chet came out of his prayerful daze. She was standing behind her desk with her arms folded. He said nothing and walked down the wood-paneled hall to the pastor's large office.

Chet was surprised to see the assistant bishop of the
diocese, Bishop Brookings, sitting behind the pastor's desk. Monsignor Whelan was standing next to the bishop behind the desk, looking out the window toward Verona Lake. Bishop Brookings smiled.

Monsignor Whelan turned from the window and addressed Father Chet, "Don't sit. This won't take long."

2

Friday Afternoon
13 October
Notre Dame, Indiana

Joanie hadn't slept all night or all day. Her eyes
burned when her lids involuntarily closed. She tried to stay awake to pray for Nathan. Her wavy hair had flattened to a wet tangle in the steady mist.

She looked at the candles in the Grotto, then rested her forehead on the hard wooden handrail that was attached by bars to the iron kneeler.

Please, Mary. I'm out of prayers. Please keep helping him.

After returning from Chicago with Denny, she
had gone straight to Saint Joseph Hospital to be with Nathan. The doctors told her there was not much she could do for him except pray. Her mother and father were already in the waiting room along with Joe Jackson.

The pulmonary specialist had informed them that there appeared to be no permanent damage or internal bleeding in Nathan's left lung. The trauma from the broken ribs was making it hard
for the diaphragm and lungs to coordinate. The doctor gave Nathan a cautious but positive prognosis, "Your friend has been through more in the last few hours than most people go through in a lifetime. He's very strong. He'll make it. He's not quite in a coma but the painkillers will keep him asleep for several hours."

Joanie fell asleep while resting her head on the handrail and awoke when she
began to lose balance. She picked up her purse and decided to go home. There was nothing more she could do.

3

Wednesday Morning
11 October
Salt Lake City, Utah

Lanning checked himself out of LDS Hospital a day after his heart attack, despite protests from the doctor on duty.

He felt slightly tired but otherwise fine. He had flatly refused his cardiologist's suggestion to have a pacemaker implanted.
In Lanning's opinion the doctors were being overly cautious. CAT scans and EKGs had shown no damage to his heart tissue or arteries. There was no medical explanation for his heart attack. This lack of predictive indicators was not uncommon for heart attack victims, however. And there are more than a few "healthy" corpses in the morgue. After going to hell and back, Lanning was no longer worried
about his body. He left early in the morning without calling Elena. The hardest part had been convincing the reluctant doctor to lend him some clothes and a coat.

Looking over his shoulder, Lanning pulled his collar up and slowly walked down the hill toward South Temple Street. He made certain he was not being followed. The Cathedral of the Madeleine was only a few blocks away. Before the heart
attack he had become indifferent to the mountains which surrounded the city. In the early morning air those mountains now seemed close enough to touch! Lanning was exhilarated.
I'm alive! I live in the most beautiful city in the United States!

He entered the Catholic church for the first time. Except for his two years as a missionary in Brazil, his four years at BYU, and his two years at Medill
in Chicago, the Cathedral of the Madeleine had been within walking distance throughout his life. He knew from his studies that all Catholic churches had a box with bread wafers inside.

They call it a tabernacle. And they–I–don't think it's a wafer of bread.
He tried the idea on like a new sweater, almost amused.
It's like pouring new wine into old wineskins.

He found the Eucharistic Chapel behind
the altar. He knelt on one of the four kneelers that surrounded the bronze tabernacle set in a wooden spire. The church was empty except for a married couple who were whispering on the other side of the cathedral near the immersion-type baptismal font. The entire church was stunning–it had been renovated at a cost of nearly ten million dollars in the early 1990s.

Lanning was uniquely aware of
a beautiful irony. He had successfully pushed the LDS to help finance a sizable portion of the renovations. He made the recommendation not out of any love for Catholics, but because he had correctly predicted that helping to finance the renovations would both endear and indebt the Catholics of Salt Lake City to the LDS. It had been a minor project despite the millions it cost the LDS. The charade
had been a public relations success.

I helped buy this tabernacle.
Even though the tabernacle looked ancient, it was brand new.
It's mine in more ways than one.

He pulled himself away from his thoughts; he was aware that his thoughts were not
prayers.
It was time for him to pray as a Catholic for the first time in his life.

Mormons called it going "Jack." It was short for the generic "Jack Mormon"–a
Mormon who does not practice or believe in Mormonism. Most "Jacks" simply dropped out of the sect into religious nothingness. John Lanning was contemplating going a step further.

Jack Catholic. I like the sound of that. Lots of
c's
and no
m's.

He took a deep breath, hesitating–not so much because he was uncertain of his next step, but to meditate upon the implications of his pending act of faith.

With his first prayer he knew that there would be no turning back. He envied the Catholic couple standing in the back of the church. If they were typical–even lax–Catholics, their Catholicism probably provided them with a social network, family, friends, recreation, and even a philosophical world view.

For John Lanning it was just the opposite. If he became a Catholic, his world would instantly
disintegrate as soon as his conversion became public:

He would lose his wife.

He would lose his relatives.

He would lose his friends.

He would lose his job.

He would lose everything.

Well, not everything. I could still have my life if I kept my mouth shut. But are you going to keep quiet, John? What's the Body of the real Jesus in a tabernacle worth?

John was smart enough to know that he had the
knowledge and skills to do what few Jacks could do: effectively expose the Mormon religion for what it was. He was trained to foresee the long term implications of ideas.

If you
can
destroy the cult, then you
should.
It's as simple as that. If you helped build it, you can help tear it down, too.
He smiled ironically.
The LDS's worst enemy is a man who knows the truth about Mormonism and is willing
to speak the truth.

Lanning was certain that he might lose his life if he set himself to exposing the Mormons for what they really were–especially if he met with palpable success. Anti-LDS activities by apostate Mormons were considered "sins against the Holy Spirit" which can only be atoned by the spilling of the blood of the apostate. Before Utah received statehood, so-called Avenging Angels–bodyguards
of Brigham Young and other leaders–practiced "blood atonement" with alarming frequency. Mormon fathers shot their own sons out of their saddles as their sons tried to flee the Salt Lake City valley. The most famous Avenging Angel of all, Porter Rockwell, was said to have killed dozens–if not hundreds–with the blessing of Mormon leaders.

Such horrific public activities had ceased in modern times–or
Utah would never have been allowed to become a state. Lanning knew that certain "true believer" Mormons still believed in the blood atonement doctrine. No one would give a direct order to kill Lanning, of course. That was not the Mormon way. Somewhere in the secret hierarchy someone in charge would gravely say to someone else willing to do "God's will" that "John Lanning has committed a sin against
the Holy Spirit. God will punish him."

The rest would take care of itself. Lanning might be found dead of a drug-induced heart attack. Or shot dead by a "burglar." There were many ways it could be done. He believed that such drastic measures would only be taken if he seriously damaged the sect, which would be no small feat.

A scripture echoed in his mind:
Greater love hath no man than to lay down
his life for a friend.

He turned and looked at the tabernacle. Time to pray.

He began, surprised at how easily and casually the conversation started.
Okay, Jesus, you win. You just gave me a second life two days ago. I'll do it. I'll do my best to love and serve you, my Lord and my God. If you want me to tear down their damned temple, I will do so, out of love for my friends. Yes! Love! They are
my friends, and I love them! I will destroy the temple for my friends, so they might be delivered from their slavery. They will hate me, but I will return their hate with love.

Talking to you now is so wonderful, so–easy. My Mormon friends deserve the chance to do the same. You must help me, though, my Lord. Give me the courage, the strength, the knowledge to destroy the infernal thing. I will
be your instrument. Just show me how.

Another thing. I know the chances of Elena following me here are nil. Please give her the power to know you and love you as I do now. I don't want to lose her, even though our love grew cold during the slavery I was under. If she doesn't choose to follow you, please console her in her suffering over losing her husband.

John stopped and briefly wondered if
he was really talking to Jesus in the tabernacle or to unseen wafers of bread in a brass box. John felt so good. But his faith in the Eucharist was not a feeling, per se. It was a state of being.

Is this what faith is? Believing without knowing? Certainty of uncertainties? Why am I so comfortable talking to you if you're not there? I wonder what will happen if I just sit here and listen for a
while?

He sat silently, trying to listen to Jesus for over half an hour. He heard no words but felt a distant, barely perceptible peace. His experience was not uncommon for those who pray to Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament for the first time.

Do I have an answering machine in my soul? Are you leaving messages in my soul that I can't hear with my ears or imagine in my mind? How do the Catholics
pray to you here? I'm new at this, Jesus.

Then Jesus' answer came. It did not come in the form of words, but to his soul as a reality that precedes words, for words are merely spoken or written symbols for the real things.

John knew with certainty: