Change Of Heart Part 24

"Ten bucks," Ian said.

"Twenty," Faith countered.

"Done." She put her violin back in its case. "Nice to meet you," she said to me, and she slipped out of the barn, heading toward the house.

"You have a beautiful family," I said to Fletcher.

He laughed. "Appearances can be deceiving. Spending an afternoon with Cain and Abel is a whole new form of birth control."

"Their names are-"

"Not really," Fletcher said, smiling. "But that's what I call them when Mariah's not listening. Come on back to my office."

He walked me past a generator and a s...o...b..ower, two abandoned horse stalls, and through a pine door. Inside, to my surprise, was a finished room with paneled walls and two stories of bookshelves. "I have to admit," Fletcher said, "I don't get very many calls from the Catholic clergy. They aren't quite the prevalent audience for my book."

I sat down on a leather wing chair. "I can imagine."

"So what's a nice priest like you doing in the office of a rabble-rouser like me? Can I expect a blistering commentary in the Catholic Advocate Catholic Advocate with your byline on it?" with your byline on it?"

"No ... this is more of a fact-finding mission." I thought about how much I should admit to Ian Fletcher. The confidentiality relations.h.i.+p between a paris.h.i.+oner and a priest was as inviolable as the one between a patient and his doctor, but was telling Fletcher what Shay had said breaking a trust if the same words were already in a gospel that had been written two thousand years ago? "You used to be an atheist," I said, changing the subject.

"Yeah." Fletcher smiled. "I was pretty gifted at it, too, if I do say so myself."

"What happened?"

"I met someone who made me question everything I was so sure I knew about G.o.d."

"That," I said, "is why I'm in the office of a rabble-rouser like you."

"And what better place to learn more about the Gnostic gospels," Fletcher said.

"Exactly."

"Well, then, the first thing is that you shouldn't call them that. It would be like calling someone a spic or a Hebe-the label Gnostic was made up by the same people who rejected them. In my circles, we call them noncanonical gospels. Gnostic Gnostic literally means literally means one who knows one who knows-but the people who coined the term considered its followers know-it-alls know-it-alls."

"That's what we pretty much learn in seminary."

Fletcher looked at me. "Let me ask you a question, Father-in your opinion, what's the purpose of religion?"

I laughed. "Wow, thank goodness you picked an easy one."

"I'm serious ..."

I considered this. "I think religion brings people together over a common set of beliefs ... and makes them understand why they matter."

Fletcher nodded, as if this was the answer he'd been expecting. "I think it's there to answer the really hard questions that arise when the world doesn't work the way it's supposed to-like when your child dies of leukemia, or you're fired after twenty years of hard work. When bad things happen to good people, and good things happen to bad people. The really interesting thing, to me, is that somehow religion stopped being about trying to find honest solutions ... and started being about ritual. Instead of everyone searching for understanding on their own, orthodox religion came along and said, 'Do x, y, and z-and the world will be a better place.' "

"Well, Catholicism's been around for thousands of years," I replied, "so it must be doing something right."

"You have to admit, it's done a lot wrong wrong, too," Fletcher said.

Anyone who'd had limited religious instruction or a thorough college education knew about the Catholic Church and its role in politics and history-not to mention the heresies that had been squelched over the centuries. Even sixth graders studied the Inquisition. "It's a corporation," I said. "And sure, there have been times when it's been staffed badly, with people who think ambition trumps faith. But that doesn't mean you throw the baby out with the bathwater. No matter how screwed up G.o.d's servants are in the Church, His message has managed to get through."

Fletcher tilted his head. "What do you know about the birth of Christianity?"

"Did you want me to start with the Holy Ghost visiting Mary, or skip ahead to the star in the East ..."

"That's the birth of Jesus Jesus," Fletcher said. "Two very different things. Historically, after Jesus's death, his followers weren't exactly welcomed with open arms. By the second century A.D. A.D., they were literally dying for their beliefs. But even though they belonged to groups that called themselves Christians, the groups weren't unified, because they were all very different from one another. One of these groups was the so-called Gnostics. To them, being Christian was a good first step, but to truly reach enlightenment, you had to receive secret knowledge, or gnosis gnosis. You started started with faith, but you with faith, but you developed developed insight-and for these people, Gnostics offered a second baptism. Ptolemy called it insight-and for these people, Gnostics offered a second baptism. Ptolemy called it apolutrosis apolutrosis-the same word used when slaves were legally freed."

"So how did people get this secret knowledge?"

"There's the rub," Fletcher said. "Unlike the church, you couldn't be taught it. It had nothing to do with being told what to believe, and everything to do with figuring it out on your own. You had to reach inside yourself, understand human nature and its destiny, and at that moment you'd know the secret-that there's divinity in you, if you're willing to look for it. And the path would be different for everyone."

"That sounds more Buddhist than Christian."

"They called themselves Christians," Fletcher corrected. "But Irenaeus, who was the bishop of Lyons at the time, disagreed. He saw three huge differences between Orthodox Christianity and Gnosticism. In Gnostic texts, the focus wasn't on sin and repentance, but instead on illusion and enlightenment. Unlike in the Orthodox Church, you couldn't be a member simply by joining-you had to show evidence of spiritual maturity to be accepted. And-this was probably the biggest stumbling block for the bishop-Gnostics didn't think Jesus's resurrection was literal. To them, Jesus was never really human-he just appeared in human form. But that was just a tech nicality to the Gnostics, because unlike Orthodox Christians, they didn't see a gap between the human and the divine. To them, Jesus wasn't a one-of-a-kind savior-he was a guide, helping you find your individual spiritual potential. And when you reached it, you weren't redeemed by Christ-you called themselves Christians," Fletcher corrected. "But Irenaeus, who was the bishop of Lyons at the time, disagreed. He saw three huge differences between Orthodox Christianity and Gnosticism. In Gnostic texts, the focus wasn't on sin and repentance, but instead on illusion and enlightenment. Unlike in the Orthodox Church, you couldn't be a member simply by joining-you had to show evidence of spiritual maturity to be accepted. And-this was probably the biggest stumbling block for the bishop-Gnostics didn't think Jesus's resurrection was literal. To them, Jesus was never really human-he just appeared in human form. But that was just a tech nicality to the Gnostics, because unlike Orthodox Christians, they didn't see a gap between the human and the divine. To them, Jesus wasn't a one-of-a-kind savior-he was a guide, helping you find your individual spiritual potential. And when you reached it, you weren't redeemed by Christ-you became became a Christ. Or in other words: you were a Christ. Or in other words: you were equal equal to Jesus. Equal to G.o.d." to Jesus. Equal to G.o.d."

It was easy to see why, in seminary, this had been taught as heresy: the basis of Christianity was that there was only one G.o.d, and He was so different from man that the only way to reach Him was through Jesus. "The biggest heresies are the ones that scare the Church to death."

"Especially when the Church is going through its own ident.i.ty crisis," Fletcher said. "I'm sure you remember how Irenaeus decided to unify the Orthodox Christian Church-by figuring out who was a true believer, and who was faking. Who was speaking the word of G.o.d, and who was speaking ... well ... just words?"

On a pad in front of him, Fletcher wrote G.o.d = WORD = JESUS, then spun it around so I could see. "Irenaeus came up with this little gem. He said that we can't be divine, because Jesus's life and death were so different from that of any man-which became the very beginning of Orthodox Christianity. What didn't fit this equation became heretical-if you weren't wors.h.i.+pping the right way, you were out. It was sort of the first reality show, if you want to think of it that way: who had the purest form of Christianity? He condemned the folks who got creative with faith, like Marcus and his followers, who spoke in prophecies and had visions of a feminine divinity clothed in the letters of the Greek alphabet. He condemned the groups that swore by only one gospel-like the Ebionites, who were attached to Matthew; or the Marcionites, who studied only Luke. Just as bad were the groups like the Gnostics, who had too many many texts. Instead, Irenaeus decided that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John should be the four cornerstone gospels of what to believe-" texts. Instead, Irenaeus decided that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John should be the four cornerstone gospels of what to believe-"

"-because they all had a narrative of Christ's Pa.s.sion in them ... which the Church needed, in order for the Eucharist to mean something."

"Exactly," Fletcher said. "Then Irenaeus appealed to all those people who were trying to decide which Christian group was right for them. Basically, he said: 'We know how hard it is to figure out what's true, and what's not. So we're going to make it easy for you, and tell you what to believe.' People who did that were true Christians. People who didn't were not. And the things Irenaeus told people to believe became the foundation for the Nicene Creed, years later."

Every priest knew that what we were taught in seminary had a Catholic spin put on it-yet there was an incontrovertible truth behind it. I had always believed that the Catholic Church was evidence of religious survival of the fittest: the truest, most powerful ideas were the ones that had prevailed over time. But Fletcher was saying that the most powerful ideas had been subjugated subjugated ... because they jeopardized the existence of the Orthodox Church. That the reason they'd had to be crushed was because-at one point-they'd been as or more popular than Orthodox Christianity. ... because they jeopardized the existence of the Orthodox Church. That the reason they'd had to be crushed was because-at one point-they'd been as or more popular than Orthodox Christianity.

Or in other words, the reason the Church had survived and flourished was not because its ideas were the most valid, but because it had been the world's first bully.

"Then the books of the New Testament were just an editorial decision someone once had to make," I said.

Fletcher nodded. "But what were those decisions based on? The gospels aren't the word of G.o.d. They're not even the apostles' firsthand accounts of the word of G.o.d. They're simply the stories that best supported the creed that the Orthodox Church wanted people to follow."

"But if Irenaeus hadn't done that," I argued, "chances are there would be no Christianity. Irenaeus united a whole ma.s.s of fragmented followers and their beliefs. When you're in Rome in A.D. A.D. 150 and you're being arrested because you confess Christ as your savior, you want to make sure that the people beside you aren't going to turn around at the last minute and say they believe something different. In fact, it's 150 and you're being arrested because you confess Christ as your savior, you want to make sure that the people beside you aren't going to turn around at the last minute and say they believe something different. In fact, it's still still important today to figure out who's a believer and who's just a nutcase-read any paper and you'll see how anger, prejudice, or ego are all routinely pa.s.sed off as the Word of G.o.d, usually with a bomb strapped to it." important today to figure out who's a believer and who's just a nutcase-read any paper and you'll see how anger, prejudice, or ego are all routinely pa.s.sed off as the Word of G.o.d, usually with a bomb strapped to it."

"Orthodoxy takes the risk away," Fletcher agreed. "We tell you what's real and what's not, so you don't have to worry about getting it wrong. The problem is that the minute you do it, you start separating people into groups. Some get favored, some don't. Some gospels get picked, others get hidden away underground for thousands of years." He looked at me. "Somewhere along the line, organized religion stopped being about faith, and started being about who had the power to keep keep that faith." Fletcher ripped off the sheet of paper with Irenaeus's equation, leaving a clear, blank slate beneath. He crumpled the paper, tossed it into his trash can. "You said that the purpose of religion was to bring people together. But does it, really? Or does it-knowingly, purposefully, and intentionally-break them apart?" that faith." Fletcher ripped off the sheet of paper with Irenaeus's equation, leaving a clear, blank slate beneath. He crumpled the paper, tossed it into his trash can. "You said that the purpose of religion was to bring people together. But does it, really? Or does it-knowingly, purposefully, and intentionally-break them apart?"

I took a deep breath. And then I told him everything I knew about Shay Bourne.

Lucius

None of us were getting any sleep, but it wasn't for lack of trying.

Crowds have their own pH, and the remarkable thing is that they can change in an instant. The people who had been camping out outside the prison-who were featured in a countdown every night on the local news (MR. MESSIAH: DAY 23)-had somehow gotten word that Shay had been hospitalized for an injury. But now, in addition to the camp that was holding a prayer vigil for Shay, there was a very vocal group of people who felt that this was a sign, that the reason Shay had been hurt so badly was because G.o.d decided he had it coming to him.

They got louder, for some reason, after dark. Insults were hurled, fights were picked, punches were thrown. Someone sent the National Guard down to patrol the perimeter of the prison and keep the peace, but no one could shut them up. Shay's supporters would sing gospel to drown out the chants of the disbelievers ("Jesus lives! Bourne dies!"). Even with headphones on, I could still hear them, a headache that wouldn't go away.

Watching the eleven o'clock news that night was surreal. To see the prison and hear the resonant shouts of the mob outside echoing the broadcast on my television-well, it was like deja vu, except it was happening now.

There's only one G.o.d, people shouted.

They carried signs: JESUS IS MY HOMEBOY-NOT SATAN JESUS IS MY HOMEBOY-NOT SATAN.

LET HIM DIE FOR HIS HIS SINS SINS.

NO CROWN OF THORNS FOR SHAY BOURNE.

They were separated from the Shay loyalists by armed guards toting guns, who walked the fault line of public opinion between them.

"As you can see," the reporter said, "sentiment in support of Shay Bourne and his unprecedented case to donate his heart is waning in the wake of his hospitalization. A recent poll done by WNRK news shows only thirty-four percent of New Hamps.h.i.+re residents still convinced that the courts should allow Bourne to be an organ donor; and even less than that-sixteen percent-agree that his miracles are divinely inspired. Which means that an overwhelming eighty-four percent of the state agrees with Reverend Arbogath Justus, who's joining us again this evening. Reverend, you and the members of your church have been here for nearly a week now and have been instrumental in turning the tide of public opinion. What's your take on the Bourne hospitalization?"

The Reverend Justus was still wearing that green suit. "Ninety-nine percent of the state thinks you should burn that outfit," I said out loud.

"Janice," the reverend replied, "we at the Drive-In Church of Christ in G.o.d have of course been praying for Shay Bourne's speedy and full recovery in the wake of the prison attack. However, when we pray, we pray to the one and only Lord: Jesus Christ."

"Is there any message you have for those who still don't agree with you?"

"Why, yes." He leaned closer to the camera. "I told told you so." you so."

The reporter took back the microphone. "We've been told that Bourne will be released from the hospital in the next few hours, but doctors haven't commented on his condition ..." Suddenly, a roar went up from both sides of the crowd, and the reporter covered her earpiece with one hand. "This is unconfirmed," she said over the din, "but apparently an ambulance has just driven into the rear entrance of the prison ..."

On the screen, the camera swung past her to catch a man decking a woman in a purple caftan. The armed guards stepped in, but by then other fights had broken out between the camps. The line separating the two bled, until the guards had to call in reinforcements. The cameras captured a teenager being trampled, a man being smacked in the head by the b.u.t.t of a guard's rifle and collapsing.

"Lights-out," a CO said over the loudspeaker. Lights-out never really meant lights-out-there was always some residual bulb s.h.i.+ning somewhere in the prison. But I pulled off my headphones, lay down on my bunk-and listened to the riot going on outside the brick walls of the prison.

This is what it always comes down to, I realized. There are the ones who believe, and the ones who don't, and caught in the s.p.a.ce between them are guns.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one being disturbed. Batman the Robin began to squawk, in spite of Calloway's efforts to hush him.

"Shut that freaking bird up already!" Texas yelled.

"You shut up," Calloway said. "f.u.c.king Bourne. Wish he'd never come onto this f.u.c.king tier." shut up," Calloway said. "f.u.c.king Bourne. Wish he'd never come onto this f.u.c.king tier."

As if he'd been summoned, the door to I-tier opened, and in the half-light, Shay moved toward his cell, escorted by a flock of six officers. He had a bandage on his face, and two black eyes. Part of his scalp had been shaved. He did not look at any of us as he pa.s.sed. "Hey," I murmured as he walked by my cell, but Shay didn't respond. He moved like a zombie, like someone in a sci-fi film whose frontal lobe has been removed by the mad scientist.

Five of the officers left. The sixth stood outside Shay's cell door, his own personal security guard. The presence of the CO prevented me from talking to Shay. In fact, the presence of the CO prevented any of us from talking, period.

I guess we were all so focused on his return that it took us several moments to realize that the quiet wasn't just a lack of conversation. Batman the Robin had fallen asleep in Calloway's breast pocket. And outside, that din-that G.o.d-awful din-had gone spectacularly, blissfully silent.

Maggie

America was founded on religious freedom, on the separation of church and state, and yet I will be the first to tell you that we're not much better off than those Puritans were in the 1770s over in England. Religion and politics get into bed with each other all the time: the first thing we do in a courtroom is swear on a Bible; public school cla.s.ses begin with the Pledge of Allegiance, which declares us one nation under G.o.d; even our currency is stamped with the words In G.o.d We Trust In G.o.d We Trust. You'd think that of all people, a lawyer like me from the ACLU would be violently opposed to this on principle, but no. I had spent thirty minutes in the shower and another twenty driving downtown to the federal courthouse trying to figure out the best way to drag religion smack into the middle of a courtroom.

I was just determined to do it without offending the personal beliefs of the judge.

In the parking lot, I called the ChutZpah and reached my mother on the first try.

"What kind of name is Haig?"

"You mean like the general?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds German, maybe," she mused. "I don't know. Why?"

"I was talking religious affiliation."

"Is that what you think I do?" my mother said. "Judge people on their last names?"

"Does everything everything have to be an accusation? I just need to know before I go into chambers, so that I can tailor what I say to the justice sitting on the case." have to be an accusation? I just need to know before I go into chambers, so that I can tailor what I say to the justice sitting on the case."

"I thought the whole point of being a judge was being impartial."

"Right. Just like the whole point of being crowned Miss America is to promote world peace."

"I can't remember if Alexander Haig is Jewish. I know your father liked him because he supported Israel ..."

"Well, even if he is, that doesn't mean that my judge is. Haig isn't quite as easy to figure out as someone named O'Malley or Hershkowitz."

"Your father once dated a Jewish girl named Barbara O'Malley, for your information," my mother said.

"Hopefully before he married you ..."

"Very funny. I'm just saying that your theory isn't airtight."

"Well, you don't meet many Jewish O'Malleys."

My mother hesitated. "I think her grandparents had their surname legally changed from Meyer."

I rolled my eyes. "I've got to go. No matter what his religion is, no judge likes a lawyer who's late."

I had received a call from my secretary when I was meeting with Warden Coyne about Shay's protection in the prison-Judge Haig wanted to see counsel in federal court the very next morning, a mere four days after I'd filed my complaint there. I should have realized things were going to move blisteringly fast. Shay already had an execution date scheduled, so the court had put us on an expedited trial calendar.

As I turned the corner, I saw the AAG from the appellate division, Gordon Greenleaf, already waiting. I nodded at him, and then felt my cell phone vibrating in my purse with a text message.

GOOGLED HAIG-ROM CATH. XO MOM.

I snapped the phone shut as the clerk arrived to lead us into Judge Haig's chambers.