There hadn’t been any public burnings for a while. The State had decided that “out of sight, out of mind” was the best policy for destruction, now that the people had been conditioned to know what was allowed and what wasn’t. Many things were regulated or banned outright—art and literature and religion especially—and sparks of intellectual creativity had been few and far between for a long time. Certain topics only were allowed for books, certain subjects only for artwork. Everything else had been forbidden or destroyed. The Guards had made sure of that.
John remembered witnessing frequent burnings many years ago, when he was a child. One had been for forbidden art. There had been a large pile of beautiful paintings, mostly portraits, and he had watched with unexpected pain and anger as the Guards threw the artwork into the fire. The colorful images darkened and then burst into hot flame until they were entirely consumed. Years later, he understood that pain, as he discovered a love for art within himself and eventually trained to be a landscape and florals painter, the only art subjects now allowed by the State. But in the back of his mind was always the memory of the fiery destruction of beauty; deep inside his soul he remained angry at the restrictions and waste.
The creators of forbidden art and the authors and publishers of forbidden books were never seen again. “Exile” was the whispered explanation, which spread throughout the population. Other kinds of contraband had been publicly destroyed, as ominous and pointed examples. People fell into line eventually and the burnings became rarer. But John never forgot.
He knew how to keep secrets. His parents and grandparents had been quiet but committed Christians and had carried their faith undetected to the grave. John had no family now, but he had the legacy of their faith in full measure. He did not know any other Christians personally, nor did he attend any of the underground, illegal house churches that existed in his city—tiny groups which operated semi-independently, for security’s sake—but he was in touch with them through a carefully constructed network. This network had been painstakingly set up in order that nothing could be traced from them back to him, because some of his artwork was destined for those house churches: John was the secret painter of the Holy Cross icons.
In certain of his paintings, John hid the shape of the Cross of Christ. Nothing was apparent to the undiscerning eye, but once searched for and seen, the presence of the cross was unmistakable and unforgettable.
They became signposts for the existence of believers. Whenever a threat arose, one of the first things the house church members did was to deface or destroy the painting. If the danger passed, they knew they could get another painting. If the house church was broken up, however, and the members exiled, there was nothing to connect them with John or with the other house churches. The entire network operated under those strictures. John’s shop sold small landscapes and still lifes of flowers, available for purchase by anyone, but the Holy Cross icons were never displayed. He kept them hidden until potential clients had been vetted by the leaders of the underground Church. He never knew where the Holy Cross icons ended up—he didn’t want, and wasn’t supposed, to know–but he knew they were helping to maintain a Christian presence in the current repressive and regulated culture. It was his ministry.
There was only one person in the city who knew about both the Holy Cross icons and the house churches, but who had never set eyes on John, nor John on him. This person–the “Superintendent”—sent a courier with a code word to John’s shop, ostensibly to pick up a painting as a gift. John always had one of his Holy Cross icons wrapped and stored under the counter. When the courier (who was always a different person, and who always believed they were picking up a gift on behalf of the Superintendent) came in with the code word, John sold him the wrapped package. After it had been taken away, John wrapped up another of his special paintings and placed it under the counter to await the next pickup.
He never knew when they would be collected; he didn’t communicate directly with this Superintendent. The procedure had been set up originally, some time ago, by a different man who then moved on to another city. The present Superintendent knew John’s address and what he did, but he’d never met him or spoken with him in person. This was one layer of the security, to prevent visual recognition by either man in case of detection and/or arrest. The existence of the Holy Cross icons was a closely guarded secret. No non-Christian knew about them or their purpose. The members of the house churches knew what they were, but they had no idea where they came from.
Even though Christianity was illegal, John trusted that he was as safe as humanly possible from detection and placed himself entirely under the protection of the Holy Spirit. Even the vague, formless fears that arose from time to time did not deter him from his work. He just kept on painting the special pictures and trusting in the saving power of the cross.
Because the government still allowed people to have certain frivolous things, such as his small paintings of landscapes or flowers, John was able to support himself entirely with his art, along with repairing damaged paintings or frames. Even after the mandatory taxes, he made enough to live on–as comfortably as one could live in the State. He had many pictures hanging on the walls in his shop, and people enjoyed coming in to see and frequently buy them. When his shop was closed, most of his spare time was spent painting.
One Friday afternoon he had had very few customers—the end of the week was usually quiet for business–but was in the process of concluding a purchase when the small bell on the door rang. Another person had come in and was looking around.
Although John was busy completing the transaction, his senses told him that something was unusual, out of the ordinary. He glanced towards the new customer. The man was circling the shop, closely examining the pictures on the walls, so all John saw was the man’s back and a heavy shoulder bag slung over his arm. Something nagged at him, however. While he wrapped the purchased painting, he searched his memory, but came up with nothing—until the man turned sideways to view a picture on the back wall. John recognized him instantly. A few weeks ago, one of the neighboring businesses had been raided by the Guards. Like everyone else on the street, John had turned off his lights and watched the proceedings through his quickly closed window blinds. The owner of that business hadn’t been a Christian–probably. John thought he might have known that, although that wasn’t necessarily a given. Believers went to extraordinary lengths to protect themselves. But although he had no idea why that business had been raided, and it was never a good idea to ask about it, he did remember the officer in charge of the raid. Although he was not in uniform, it was the very same man who was now intently perusing John’s paintings.
John waited until his last customer had left the shop, and then turned to the officer. While trying to maintain control over a distinct amount of uneasiness, he asked “May I help you?”
The officer came up to the counter. “Yes, I’m looking for a specific kind of picture.” He reached into the shoulder bag he carried and held out one of the artist’s own works, from a little while ago. John managed to keep his expression neutral while frantically wondering how this man had gotten his hands on it.
“This is one of yours, isn’t it? I see a strong similarity with these other paintings,” the official gestured around the walls.
“Yes, it’s one of mine. Where did you get it? Was it a gift?” The artist casually tried to find out why one of his Holy Cross icons was no longer in the possession of its intended owners.
“I, uh…acquired it recently. I like it very much and want to purchase more of the same.”
John willed himself to remain calm. This man couldn’t possibly know what was special about the painting. “Everything here in the shop is for sale. Did you see anything you liked?”
The officer glanced around briefly. “I did look at all of those. They’re very nice, indeed, but not quite what I was looking for. This is the painting I like, and I want more along this line.”
“What do you like about this picture? The color scheme? The style? The subject matter?”
The officer looked at John. “I like the details.”
There was a short pause. “Details? What details do you mean?”
The officer leaned forward slightly and pointed to the hidden cross. “This detail right here. I like this detail.”
There was an even longer pause as John experienced shock. Finally he asked, “What do you see there?”
The official straightened up and looked directly into the artist’s eyes. “I see Jesus,” he said simply. “Do you have more paintings with this detail?”
John froze in terror; he was unable to reply in any way. Visions of entrapment, arrest, torture, and exile raced through his mind. All he could do was continue to look at the official blankly. After a moment of silence, the man on the other side of the counter slowly raised his right hand and traced the sign of the cross on his upper body.
John knew immediately that this was one of those moments when he had to trust solely in his faith. He therefore raised his own hand and crossed himself in response. Both men were silent as unspoken communication passed between them.
John finally responded. “I do have another painting with this detail. Would you like to see it?”
When the officer said “yes”, John pulled out the wrapped package from under the counter. As he started opening it, the other man tried to stop him, saying “I can’t take someone else’s painting.”
“That’s not a problem,” John said, “I can paint another one.”
When the picture came out of its wrapping, John laid it down carefully. The officer bent over it, examining it closely. After a few moments, he pointed to one spot. “There,” he said, looking up. John smiled at him. The man looked back down at the image. “Your work is beautiful, but what it contains is beyond beauty. May I purchase this?”
When John answered in the affirmative, the officer stood up. “And how many more of these can I get? I want them for some of my colleagues.”
John widened his eyes in astonishment. “In the Guards?” he said in disbelief, but then collected himself. “How many do you want?” he asked.
The officer answered right away, “As many as you can paint—but I’ll start with two more. How long will that take?”
“They’ll be ready in a month, sir. Will you be picking them up?”
“No,” the man replied. “I can’t risk being seen here often. People might recognize me. As you did,” he added, with some amusement.
John smiled ruefully, and then asked, “Then how will I get the paintings to you, sir?”
“Please call me ‘Servius.’ I’ll send a messenger a month from today to pick them up; he’ll give you an order for two more paintings and money to pay for them. He’ll identify himself by saying, ‘Servius sent me for the commissioned paintings.’ Will that be enough for you to know he came from me?”
John nodded and wrapped both paintings together. The officer watched until he was finished, and then pulled a stack of bills out of his pocket. “Here is payment for this painting, and also for the two new ones.”
“That’s far too much,” John began to protest, but Servius held up his hand for silence.
“I know you charge less for the paintings on the wall, but this is different. And you’ll need more paint and canvases. Maybe a lot more.” He smiled briefly as he laid the money down on the counter, then held out his hand to John.
John reached out and grasped it firmly. They held the handclasp for a short while, and then Servius placed the package in his bag and left the shop. John followed him and locked the door, turning the sign in the window to “closed.” He wanted some time to think over what had happened—and he needed to start on the new paintings right away.
……………………………….
For the next month, John was kept busy between customers and their purchases in his shop, and his painting. He did his usual number of ordinary pictures (as he thought of them) and extra time on the two Holy Cross icons for Servius. As he worked on them, he wondered where those two paintings would end up. Whose hands would hold them? Whose eyes would see them and find the hidden crosses? The few times he went out into the city on errands, he glanced at the Guards who, as always, were everywhere to be seen. Are you one of us? Or you? he asked himself, looking at each one covertly. For the first time ever, he wished he knew who the other Christians were.
On the fourth Friday following Servius’ visit, John was in his studio when he heard the sound of the bell on the shop door. He returned to the front room and saw a young man standing at the counter with an envelope in his hand.
“Servius sent me,” the young man said, “He wanted to know if the commissioned paintings were ready for pickup.”
John heard the two clues and then smiled. “Yes, they’re ready.” He reached under the counter and brought out the wrapped paintings. The young man placed the sealed envelope on the counter and picked up the package. “Thank you,” he said, and turned and exited the shop.
This was the pattern for several months. John almost lost track of how many Holy Cross icons he finished—a few for the secret house churches, and two every month, like clockwork, for Servius. It still surprised him that these special paintings were going to some of the Guards, but he knew that God’s power was not limited. Maybe things were beginning to change? He could only pray that it was true.
————————————
Late one quiet afternoon, several months later, John was hanging some new paintings on the walls when he heard the ringing of the bell over the door. Turning around, he was surprised to see Servius himself inside the door.
John smiled and said jokingly, “I didn’t expect to see you here, after what you said about maybe being recognized.”
“I have a special commission, which needed to be handled personally,“ the officer replied. Glancing over his shoulder he said, “Perhaps you could lock the door?”
Sobered and mystified, John did as was suggested and turned over the “closed” sign; then the two men walked to the counter. Servius reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out a folder. He opened it and carefully removed a half sheet of paper. He laid it down gently; John could see that it was some type of printed image. The paper was torn along one side and the other edges were uneven, as if they had been flaking away. John bent over to look at the picture and then stopped in amazement, and also with a touch of fear. It was the image of a man’s face. Outlawed! Forbidden! were the words that sprang instantly to his mind.
“Where did you get this?” John asked in a lowered voice. He paused and looked again more closely. After complete silence, he said, almost in a whisper, “It’s a print of a painting of Jesus, isn’t it?” He could not take his eyes off the image.
Servius nodded. “It’s better that you don’t know where I got it. But I didn’t acquire it fraudulently; I want you to know that. I saved it from being burned.” The two men exchanged glances and then John looked back down at the image.
He examined the print minutely. There was something about it that spoke to him on a deep level. Was it the eyes? They seemed to be looking directly into his soul. The face was serene, and yet slightly gaunt and haggard on one side. It was only a face, with no background, but it felt complete to him. Nothing else was needed.
Servius waited quietly while the artist stared at the image. Finally John stood up slowly, still looking at the picture. Then he raised his eyes to Servius and asked a question. “This was in a book, wasn’t it? A forbidden book.”
“Yes. I saw it during a raid and realized what it was. I had only enough time to remove this page before the others came into the room and seized everything.”
John stared at him. “Why are you showing me this?”
“I want you to paint this for me.”
John’s face lost much of its color. “I can’t do that—I’d be a dead man!”
“No, I would protect you. I will never, ever betray you. Do you believe me?”
John tried to stall. “But I’ve never painted a portrait before. I don’t know how! We weren’t trained to paint people. If I tried, it would probably look terrible. And a portrait of Jesus? That should be the most beautiful painting in the world! I can’t paint this.”
“I know you can do it. He will guide you.” Servius gestured to the face of Jesus. “You can keep this print for an example. And we will pray for you. All of us will pray for you.” He looked again at John, and asked once more, “Will you paint this for me? Please?”
John nodded in agreement, as he knew he must. Servius placed the piece of paper back into the folder and handed it to John. “Guard this carefully,” he said, and then started to leave the shop. “Oh,” he said, turning back, “here. It’s not possible to put a price on something like this, but I’ve done my best.” He laid another envelope on the counter and then hurried out the door.
………………………..
In the weeks to come, John continued to paint for his shop and create the occasional Holy Cross icons for the house churches but found himself spending more and more time on the portrait. It was the most difficult work he had ever done in his life, but also in a strange way the easiest. It was as if another hand was guiding his with every brush stroke. Bit by bit the face of Jesus emerged; when he stood in front of the canvas he often felt a strong sense of peace at a deep level. The eyes were the hardest part, but even they appeared without much struggle as he painted. He found himself praying as he painted: prayers for his family long gone; for the house churches he had never seen but had blessed with his paintings; for Servius and the secret Christians in the Guards. He prayed for those who didn’t know Jesus, but who might come to know Him. He prayed that he would be allowed to continue his ministry of art for as long as it could be of help to others.
But there were also times when he despaired, when he cleaned and put away his brushes impatiently and turned away in frustration. When he returned to the painting after a night’s sleep, however, he found it better than he had thought it to be the day before. That could only be the hand of God, he concluded. He knew then, with no doubts whatsoever, that he was meant to paint this picture.
When it was finally finished, John set it aside to dry thoroughly before varnishing it. He wondered how he was to let Servius know that it was done, but then laughed at himself. He’ll know—of that he was completely certain.
———————————-
Shortly after the painting was ready and had been wrapped, Servius came to the shop right before closing time. No one else was present. John handed him the package and then walked over to the shop window. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to see the first reaction when the wrapping was removed. He had no idea what Servius would say.
There was a sound of paper unfolding, and then no sound at all for a very long time. Finally John could bear the suspense no longer and he turned to face the officer. Servius stood quite still, holding the painting and looking at it. His expression was completely unreadable. John started to walk back to the counter and was surprised to see the marks of tears on the other man’s face. They stood together in silence for a few moments.
“He guided you well,” was all Servius could say.
“I couldn’t have done it otherwise,” John replied quietly. He then took the painting and wrapped it again while Servius stood by. John started to put the folder with the printed image into the package, but Servius stopped him.
“Keep it, you might want to paint another. And besides—I have this now…” Servius took up the wrapped package gently, as if it would break in his hands, and carefully stowed it in his shoulder bag. He held out his hand to John, but then changed his mind and embraced him. Both men were silent; they knew there were no other words. Servius turned abruptly and walked to the door. As he left he looked back a last time and held up his hand in farewell, and then exited the shop. The bell on the door rang briefly, and then the sound faded away.
——————————–
A short while later, John had the next two Holy Cross icons for Servius wrapped and stowed under the counter, ready to be picked up. It was nearing the end of the day and the foot traffic outside and in the shop was moderate.
All of a sudden there was a commotion in the street. Before anyone could react, the door of John’s shop was banged open, with the shop-bell clanging wildly. A member of the Guard stood there, glaring in. The customers in the shop turned to look at him, startled, as he shouted harshly: “Attention! Burning tomorrow, at dusk! Everyone is to be in the public square, no excuses. Mandatory attendance!” The he stepped back abruptly and marched to the next business. All up and down the street there were sounds of doors being opened violently and voices shouting the same message over and over again.
John and his customers looked at each other, stunned. This had not happened for a long time; each person was absorbing it silently, afraid to speak their thoughts. One by one they quickly left until John was alone in the shop. He wondered if he should lock up for the day. There would obviously be no more customers. Everyone would be going home to discuss the burning and the command to attend. Open conversation about such things would be safe only at home, with the people closest to them.
As he stood uncertain what to do, John heard the bell over the shop door ring once more; Servius’ messenger came in and placed an envelope on the counter. Shaking off his preoccupied thinking, John bent to reach underneath the counter for the package waiting there, but the young man stopped him. “No!” he whispered, as he glanced over his shoulder toward the door. “Read it.” He indicated the envelope and then quickly left the shop.
John picked up the envelope, noticing at once how thin it was. He opened it and pulled out a small piece of paper. “Jesus has been discovered, but you are safe,” he read.
A message from Servius–the burning is for MY painting! John realized. Servius had taken the time to write this note, even though he was surely in trouble… John remembered then what Servius had said to him, “I would protect you. I’ll never, ever betray you.”
He read and reread the words. My painting will be destroyed–the painting of Jesus… He felt sick at heart but knew he had to be there; “mandatory attendance” was non-negotiable. Those who didn’t go of their own accord were dragged there by the Guards, and an ominous black mark was placed by their names.
John did not sleep much that night. Visions of Servius’ face kept coming to him. How had he been caught? he wondered. What was happening to him right now? Where would he be exiled? Even though he hadn’t spent much time with Servius—there had been only three meetings, he realized with surprise–he felt deep regret that he would never see him again.
The nextday John conducted business in a sort of fog. He would have preferred to have been closed, but rules were rules: if you had a business, you were open. Any unusual deviation could prompt an unpleasant visit from the Guards. As the day progressed, he grew more and more apprehensive about the upcoming event. What would it feel like to see his beautiful painting destroyed before his eyes? To see the face of Jesus disappear under the ravening flames–could he remain calm while witnessing that?
Closing time came. John put on his jacket and locked the door of the shop. Along with others from his street he made his way quietly to the public square. They were not the first to arrive—hundreds more were already gathered, and many others were streaming in from all the adjacent roads. John made his way to about the middle of the crowd, so that he could see well but also not be seen, in case he could not completely control his reactions. He quieted himself internally, by praying, and made sure he wasn’t standing by any of his neighbors.
When he looked at the center of the square, things appeared a bit different than what he remembered from the past. There was a pile of wood, yes, but right in the middle of the pile was a large pole standing upright. They were going to nail his painting up high, so that everyone could clearly see its destruction! John thought of all the hours and days he had worked on that picture and felt sick inside as he imagined how quickly it would be consumed by fire.
The square filled up as the sun’s light faded. There was a soft murmuring from the crowd around him, people greeting each other quietly. A burning was unusual, but most of the people there had attended one, so they knew to remain obediently passive.
The low talking was abruptly interrupted by the sound of marching boots. Everything became quiet as people turned their eyes toward the main road at one side of the square. The marching sound grew louder and louder and then a company of Guards entered, followed by a group of officials. The hair on the back of John’s neck stood up. He had never before seen such a large gathering of Guards and officials at one time. Something was very wrong.
The Guards came further into the square, the crowd parting to let them through. John saw that they were surrounding one individual in their midst who was not marching like the others. As they came closer, John stopped breathing for a moment—the man in the middle was Servius, with his arms tied behind his back. When the Guards came closer to the pile of wood, they stopped and Servius bowed over, in exhaustion or pain, or maybe both.
The officials drew together and one stepped forward with an amplified megaphone in his hand. He waited for complete silence and then raised it to his lips.
“PEOPLE!” The stentorian voice rang out and echoed through the square. “You see before you a traitor to the State! A traitor who has betrayed his high office of honor in the Guards! He has broken cardinal rules by hiding forbidden materials in his quarters! These outlawed and forbidden materials were so blasphemous that they had to be instantly destroyed, before corrupting others! He also turned his back on the guidance and authority of the State and pledged his loyalty to something else! That is UNFORGIVABLE!” The people in the square were frozen into immobility. “This traitor betrayed the trust placed in him by the State. For that offence, the only appropriate punishment…is DEATH.” As the voice stopped, several Guards pushed Servius toward the pile of wood in the center of the square. John felt a shudder ripple through the crowd as he, and thousands of others, realized what was going to happen—something they had never before seen or even imagined.
When the Guards reached the center of the square, two of them dragged Servius up the mound of wood to the pole and placed his back against it. Without untying him, they used more rope to fasten him there, standing upright and facing outward. One of them then yanked on the knots to make certain they were fastened tightly. Servius stood in silence, but leaned over slightly, as the two Guards climbed back down the pile of wood and rejoined their ranks.
“Light it!” cried the harsh voice. “This is the punishment for traitors! Watch and see! ALL power and loyalties belong to the State, and to NOTHING ELSE!” As the echoes of the voice resounded around the square, three minor officials stepped forward with burning torches in their hands.
John found himself moving forward slowly through the crowd, not quite to the front row, but close enough. He watched in horror as the three officials lit the brushwood kindling at various points around the pile of wood. The twigs caught fire quickly, and the fire soon passed to the logs; over time, the flames grew slowly closer to the bound man.
The sound of the crackling fire was very loud in the silence. John looked at some of the people in the square. As he expected, there were satisfied smiles on the officials’ faces and grim looks on the faces of the Guards, but the people around him showed horror, disbelief, incomprehension. Some were fighting back tears, some were even turned away. A few people had their eyes tightly closed. He looked at all the faces he could see. Powerful images; his hands itched to paint the shock and disbelief he saw–and then he was overcome by his own emotions.
He looked back at the bonfire; the flames had now encircled the stake and were burning right up to Servius’ legs. He saw sweat and agony on the man’s face, but then something unexpected happened. Servius slowly lifted his head and looked straight at John. He did not have to search for him—it was as if he knew exactly where John was standing. As they looked at each other a message passed between them, in moments that felt like hours. Almost like hearing a voice speaking directly to him, John recalled one of Jesus’ commands: Feed my sheep. He accepted this final commission and looked steadily back at Servius. He nodded, slowly and slightly, to the suffering man.
Servius then closed his eyes and began to recite, in a loud but labored voice: “I believe in God the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ his only Son, our Lord…” As the words continued, a howl of rage rose from the officials—but not all of them. John stared at them, trying to memorize some faces, while the flames crackled and the fire roared. Servius continued speaking until his fading voice was drowned by the sound of the fire. The officials fell grimly silent. All at once, like an ephemeral echo, John heard a barely audible whispering of the rest of the creed from all around him. He spoke the words also, under his breath, until he reached the end, but refused to look at anyone in order to protect those who were reciting. The fire burned higher and higher until the stake could be seen no longer. The acrid smell of smoke–and other things–swirled around the square.
There was no more sound from the crowd as they watched the burning. The officials, satisfied with their evening’s work, marched off with the Guards. After a while everyone else began to leave. John turned abruptly and almost immediately stumbled into someone standing close behind him. He recognized one of the Guards who had tied Servius to the stake, and a wave of deadly fear came over him. The man put his hands on John’s shoulders, to steady him, and then reached down to the ground. When he stood up, he had an envelope in his hand, “I think you dropped this,” he said loudly, as a few people walked past them. He held out the envelope.
John looked at it, confused—and then the officer said, in a bleak whisper, “Servius sent me.” He looked at John, his eyes begging forgiveness.
John stared back at him and then involuntarily glanced at the site of the burning. When he turned back, he saw that the Guard was also looking that way, with deep anguish and shame twisting his face. Those emotions held and then slowly vanished as he turned back to John, continuing to hold out the envelope.
John stood up a little straighter and asked, “How many do you want?”
“Four,” the officer replied, his voice a mix of pride and grief.
“I have two ready right now,” said John. “The others will take a little longer.”
“I’ll send someone to your studio tomorrow, then, for the first two,” the officer replied, “But I’ll be needing many more.” He placed the envelope into John’s hand. It was the same kind of envelope as all the rest of them, but much thicker this time.
John turned again and looked directly at the bonfire, which continued to burn in the middle of the square. He handed the envelope back to the officer as he watched the leaping flames. “Keep it,” he said. “It’s been paid.”
They watched the burning fire together for a few moments, and then went their separate ways.
_________________________________________________________________________
“The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” (Tertullian, ca. 197 AD)
_________________________________________________________________________
@2020, Mary M. Isaacs
From a forthcoming book. Other works by Isaacs can be found on Amazon here and here.
Amen
Not another 2nd amendment story!
Selah
(pause and reflect)
Okay, that made me cry. Great story for Good Friday.
I’m in tears. Amen.
Powerful. And a reminder that, though a fictional account, it has its basis in history – history which very likely will repeat itself.
What a moving story. Thank you for sharing it.
Amen
Guards and Officials = Democrats.
I misread the author’s name and mistook it for this:
https://m.youtube.com/results?search_query=father+mary+isaac+relyea+
Sermons as though preached by Rocky.
As I was reading, I was dreading the looming ‘Joan of Arc’ ending…
Very good writing and pretty intense subject there.
We are all ‘Servious’, some of us are ‘Johns’.
And, like that story, our future will be having to make some hard choices and decisions.
Powerful!. For me, as a Christian and a artist this is so profound. Just reminds me my skills should also be used to glorify the Lord. Thanks for sharing, BFH
A beautiful worship song to accompany such a wonderful story:
https://youtu.be/5JSXcvJJoqQ .
Praise Him!
Thank you for that.
Amen.
Oof. That hits hard. It’s happened everywhere God has chosen people, and people have chosen God. Don’t think it can’t happen here; we’ve recently taken the second step. I want to say that God will find a way, but the way is already found. “I am the way…”
DO NOT let it get to this point.
Amen
Beautiful, Mary and Beautiful Mary.
The problem I have is that the hundreds of people and the Christian guards could have easily overpowered the Elites and the evil guards, but chose instead to let Servious die and the evil Elite to continue in their blasphemy. Someone sometime has to say “NO”.
“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.” –Edmund Burke
That is the first long post on this blog that I’ve read completely.
Thanks.
And God Bless.
Amen
Behold i come quickly and my reward is with me,even so,come Lord Jesus. <
Danged pollen……
Thank you.
Perfect story for today. Thank you.
Probably the most comments we’ve ever received for a long form post, as well as a literary one.
This resonated and connected.
Very happy about that.
Thank you. Preview of coming attractions.
@Billy Fuster ~ “DO NOT let it get to this point”
… it’s getting close …
Watch the latest video at foxnews.com
It resonated and connected because the struggle is timeless. Look what we are going through now, it’s kind of horrifying. You must wear a mask, do not leave your house unless your need is essential, stay behind the blue line, you cannot grow your own food, you cannot sit in your car and listen to your pastor, muzzies can march in the street without issue, your government knows best. This is the right time for that BFH, well done.
Still waiting to hear from the author on this thread.
@BFH – you are an artist, you are an editor, of sorts, you know what to post, what not to, when, when not to.
WE DO like to read ya know. ha ha.
How bout a short story night or something to post in the future??
Maybe a bedtime story…or poem. Maybe Sundays after a long weekend of Critters.
I offer, Rudyard Kiplings’, IF –
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Happy Easter to Everyone.
I was talking to my (lib) family and someone brought up the rosary beads and how he was a stutterer, I never realized it being the youngest of ten. I just remember the egg carton that we kept the rosary beads in, for the ten of us and my parents, that equals twelve.
The other part of that wonderful story above reminded my of the Greatest Story Ever Told and the last scene from Spartacus.
The Raising of Lazurus – speaking of Resurrection.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DIkKczv9Eo4
Spartacus – end of the slave revolt.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKCmyiljKo0
@BFH – thanks for posting this. Hopefully it shows the thirst and need for Jesus Christ’s word in our lives. And by Jesus Christ, it goes without saying that I mean God’s word.
All,
There is a great movie for those that have not seen it yet, it is called, King of Kings, – Jeffrey Hunter as Christ.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXKmPLx_0fQ
I hope the author sees your post and comments.
Talk about IN plain sight in Hollywood in 1953, the Robe, a movie about Christ but you never saw him in the movie though, kind of brilliant when you think about it, another classic for those that remember or those that haven’t and want something fresh.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lrZM4gE6GQ
That was a fantastic read, thanks for that hit, Bigfurhat.
Thank you so much for posting this, BFH. And thank you to everyone for your comments. I am a bit overwhelmed.
This did not start out to be a Good Friday story. I had intended it to be a story for Holy Cross Day—but God had other plans.
Yeah Larry, it was.
@Author
Thank you for giving it to us to read.
BFH, Thank you for posting this.
Wonderful story. The price has been paid, thank you Jesus
Thank you Sir Hat for moving this story to the top. May more people read it and take it to heart.
To the @author and others, have you ever seen that old silent movie of Joan of Arc??
It was done in 1928…skip to 01:18:00 if ya want, the ending that we all know:
https://vimeo.com/169369684
You have a gift @author, keep gifting it, please.
This is the most asinine thing I’ve read in a long time.
Christians hiding their faith out of fear is the Antithesis
of Christianity. This is equal to Peter denying Jesus. I am so sick of Catholics I could scream. Profess your faith in the face of evil, or be condemned for all of eternity! BFH knows who I am!
@CC- don’t you worry about Larry, aka a Judas Goat.
I know, I know, Judas was part of the plan, but in the end? There IS a Judas, and Larry and his ILK are a bunch of Iscariots. Or that is IscarIDIOTS.
Got that Laaaaaaary? Let your head explode in a field like Judas, face plant first.
God help me.
Very powerful.
stirrin the pot
APRIL 10, 2020 AT 5:34 PM
“Powerful. And a reminder that, though a fictional account, it has its basis in history – history which very likely will repeat itself.”
…absent the Lord’s intervention, history DOES repeat itself. The devil is not creative, he just uses the same simple tricks over and over again.
It only works because he always gets a new generation that refuses to learn from the mistakes of their elders.
And it is the doom of men that they forget.
…we’re on the down slope to another such period right now. The State is ascendant, the kids have been indoctrinated to reject Christ by it (this time because it’s not “inclusive”), the devil holds sway over most of our leaders who have rejected the Lord for so long he has turned them over to a reprobate mind…it’s Aurelian’s Rome, Mao’s China, the Constantanople of the Ottomans, Stalin’s Russia, Hitler’s Germany…as a student of history, I’ve read this book many times, and we’re coming up on the darkest chapters again; and though we turn the page with a glove that Govenment forces us to wear for their power seizing fear du jour, the bloodstains soaking the next few pages leave little doubt about the poison they contain for us.
Absent the Lord’s return, we are headed once more towards dark times indeed.
Only difference now is that the weapons are better.
…and here’s this thing about the next battle for this Nation: we may well lose.
As God has ordained.
“13 And I saw three unclean spirits like frogs come out of the mouth of the dragon, and out of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the false prophet.
14 For they are the spirits of devils, working miracles, which go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world, to gather them to the battle of that great day of God Almighty.
15 Behold, I come as a thief. Blessed is he that watcheth, and keepeth his garments, lest he walk naked, and they see his shame.
16 And he gathered them together into a place called in the Hebrew tongue Armageddon.”
Revelation 16:13-16
…the WHOLE world, it says.
Including America.
…the Lord being merciful, He granted us President Trump as a pause, to gather as many as we can to the Lord’s side. But that time is finite, and it’s end at the Will of God, and while no man knows the day and the hour, the signs following seem to be appearing.
“7 And they asked him, saying, Master, but when shall these things be? and what sign will there be when these things shall come to pass?
8 And he said, Take heed that ye be not deceived: for many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ; and the time draweth near: go ye not therefore after them.
9 But when ye shall hear of wars and commotions, be not terrified: for these things must first come to pass; but the end is not by and by.
10 Then said he unto them, Nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom:
11 And great earthquakes shall be in divers places, and famines, and pestilences; and fearful sights and great signs shall there be from heaven.
12 But before all these, they shall lay their hands on you, and persecute you, delivering you up to the synagogues, and into prisons, being brought before kings and rulers for my name’s sake.
13 And it shall turn to you for a testimony.
14 Settle it therefore in your hearts, not to meditate before what ye shall answer:
15 For I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which all your adversaries shall not be able to gainsay nor resist.
16 And ye shall be betrayed both by parents, and brethren, and kinsfolks, and friends; and some of you shall they cause to be put to death.
17 And ye shall be hated of all men for my name’s sake.”
Luke 21;7-17
It’s coming. Man can’t stop it. But the Lord offers hope…
“26 Men’s hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken.
27 And then shall they see the Son of man coming in a cloud with power and great glory.
28 And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh.”
Luke 21:26-28
Look to the Lord in this time. As it was on an Easter Sunday 2 millennia ago, let it be known again THIS Easter Sunday, thst the Lord is not our BEST hope…
…he’s our ONLY hope.
…and I’ve seen the back of the Book.
He’s all the hope we NEED…
“1 And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea.
2 And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.
3 And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.
4 And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.
5 And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new. And he said unto me, Write: for these words are true and faithful.
6 And he said unto me, It is done. I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely.
7 He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and he shall be my son.”
Revelation 21:1-7
Happy Easter,
SNS
At Anonymous 1:42–kind of ironic that you think that Christians should profess in the face of evil. Why don’t you go on over to China and show them how to do that? The irony? You won’t profess even a “fake” name on this site. There are so many of you “anonymous” on here that you are allnindistinguishable and I feel that that laziness or “spit in the eye” attitude does IOTW a disservice.
Last night and this morning, so many people read this marvelous short story and had real reactions, emotions, and thoughts and you spit on them and you do it as a coward. You and Larry the Liberal are the same.
Thank you…..
“This is the most asinine thing I’ve read in a long time.
Christians hiding their faith out of fear is the Antithesis
of Christianity. This is equal to Peter denying Jesus. I am so sick of Catholics I could scream. Profess your faith in the face of evil, or be condemned for all of eternity! BFH knows who I am!”
So does God…..
“Jesus said to him, Truly I say to you, That this night, before the cock crow, you shall deny me thrice.”
Jesus understood human frailty.
And later (after His resurrection) is asked: “Quo Vadis” (whither thou goest?) and replies: “Rōmam eō iterum crucifīgī” (back to Rome to be crucified again)
izlamo delenda est …
@Anonymous April 11, 2020 at 1:42 am
“…This is equal to Peter denying Jesus…”
Are you sure you understand what you wrote? Jesus knew Peter would do this because he had a much greater plan for Peter. Because he knew Peter would rise to the occasion when the time was right. Peter went on to be the leader of the Apostles and the first to stand up publicly after Jesus’ death and resurrection to explain to the crowd of Jews that the Holy Spirit had come to those who believed. They were not drunk, they were moved by the love of Christ and the Counselor that had been promised in John 14:16.
Peter went on to invite the crowd to be baptized and be saved, thus beginning the formation of the Church. He performed miracles in his ministry to bring unbelievers to Christ. His actions put him on the radar of the Pharisees and Sadducees, and he was called to appear before the Sanhedrin. Peter did not run. He spoke to the same people who had Christ crucified for the same “crimes” against their power.
That took COURAGE. That was God’s plan and His Holy Spirit at work. What good would it have done for Peter to face the angry mob calling for Jesus’ death and be killed himself before he could rise to start the early church? When the Roman authorities finally had enough of Peter’s evangelizing, they crucified him. But Peter did not feel worthy enough to have it done in the same manner as Christ, so he requested to nailed upside down. An already tortuous death made even worse. Talk about cowardly.
Well done, stirrin’.
Thank you
Not what I expected. It has been a morning of reflection for me with so much going on around us.
And to have this happen on Easter.
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6c/Michelangelo%27s_Pieta_5450_cut_out_black.jpg
@Anonymous
APRIL 11, 2020 AT 1:42 AM
“ I am so sick of Catholics I could scream. ”
And ye shall be hated of all men for my name’s sake.”
Luke 21;7-17
Ironic, huh?
Thank you.
We have hope and joy in Jesus:
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.
He endures across the centuries. He thrives in the hearts of those around us.
Powerful and sobering. Pray.
thank you BFH
I needed that
bill
…Lots of Internet Tough Guys on the thread…”I’d do that…I wouldn’t do that…they could never make ME hide my faith”…
…sure, maybe not. But we’re all milk-fat Westerners for the most part who haven’t had to seriosly consider torture in OUR lives before. WOULD you now?
…perhaps an explaination of crucifixion is in order. Here’s a great one from the movie “Risen”. The whole scene is good, but if you want a nice, bloodless description of the horrific torture that MANY Christians suffered, as well as Jewish people and other (The Romans were kind of fond of it), then you can just start at 01:48…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HoSMMH3hQcQ
…Still game? Faith still good?
…of course, this is just the “movie” explaination, the Romans had a LOT of other ways just in crucifixion. Famously, they crucified Peter upside-down, which would add the pleasure of blood rushing to your head until you die to the inability to breathe in that position for long, all the while as you dangle from nails…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WzJaXaut_w
Still up for it? Good for you!
…but they did them OTHER ways, too. Again, just in the crucifixion catagory, the Romans sometimes got creative in the nailing-in, as recouted by Josephus at the Siege of Jerusalem. Chapter 11 in book V of “The Jewish War” records;
“So now Titus’s banks were advanced a great way, notwithstanding his soldiers had been very much distressed from the wall. He then sent a party of horsemen, and ordered they should lay ambushes for those that went out into the valleys to gather food. Some of these were indeed fighting men, who were not contented with what they got by rapine; but the greater part of them were poor people, who were deterred from deserting by the concern they were under for their own relations; for they could not hope to escape away, together with their wives and children, without the knowledge of the seditious; nor could they think of leaving these relations to be slain by the robbers on their account; nay, the severity of the famine made them bold in thus going out; so nothing remained but that, when they were concealed from the robbers, they should be taken by the enemy; and when they were going to be taken, they were forced to defend themselves for fear of being punished; as after they had fought, they thought it too late to make any supplications for mercy; so they were first whipped, and then tormented with all sorts of tortures, before they died, and were then crucified before the wall of the city. This miserable procedure made Titus greatly to pity them, while they caught every day five hundred Jews; nay, some days they caught more: yet it did not appear to be safe for him to let those that were taken by force go their way, and to set a guard over so many he saw would be to make such as great deal them useless to him. The main reason why he did not forbid that cruelty was this, that he hoped the Jews might perhaps yield at that sight, out of fear lest they might themselves afterwards be liable to the same cruel treatment. So the soldiers, out of the wrath and hatred they bore the Jews, nailed those they caught, one after one way, and another after another, to the crosses, by way of jest, when their multitude was so great, that room was wanting for the crosses, and crosses wanting for the bodies”
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2850/2850-h/2850-h.htm
…Still Da Man, tho? Pecker still up? Great, that’ll make it easier to flay the skin off of it, and the rest of your body besides, so you can die of exsanguination like the apostle Bartholomew…
“HE was flayed alive—the skin of his body cut into strips, then pulled off, leaving his body open and bleeding for a long time, then beheaded, wrote Fr. Paolo O. Pirlo, SHML, in My First Book of Saints.”
https://businessmirror.com.ph/2014/08/28/saint-bartholomew-the-apostle-skinned-alive-for-spreading-his-faith/
…ooh, ain’t YOU a tough one! THAT doesn’t scare you!
…well, there’s the Joan of Arc treatment, as in the story above, most famously done to Joan of Arc, but sometimes more casually. Do you know Nero used buring Christians to light his gardens at times? NOT the kind of light YOU want to be, I’d warrant…
http://www.eyewitnesstohistory.com/christians.htm
…still good?
…Well, do you have a wife? A son? A daughter? A mother?
Guess what, THEY’RE in on the fun, TOO!
Maybe YOU’RE a strong one, but what if your kids were murdered in front of you FIRST if you didn’t renounce…your sons murdered, your daughters raped, your wife and mother humuiliated…but all will be set aside IF you swear to, say, Sol Invictus, or Mohammad, or simply renouce your faith and swear to the Party!
It’s been done, and is STILL done, in places beyond count.
So, are YOU tough enough to watch THEM die? Looking at YOU when they DO?
…or how about a trip to China, where you not only get killed, but “plasticized” and put on display with parts of your body cut away and posed in interesting postions with other corpses of your faith, taken on tour in American and European museums so money can be sent back to the Party from unknowing Westerners?
https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/bodies-revealed-exhibit-may-be-using-executed-chinese-prisoners-says-rights-group-1.2757908
…ARE you that tough? IS your faith that strong?
You’ve NEVER had it put to the test, HAVE you?
…you may yet…
‘
…just be aware that all men have a breaking point, and you are not going to know YOURS until you are put to the test.
Can YOU do better than those you insult and denegrade as weak in faith?
Perhaps.
Perhaps NOT.
But it would be best to pray that you NEVER have to find OUT…
Excellent response, stirrin the pot. Great defense of the plan and will of God fulfilled by the faithful.
We can never know too much detail on that kind of suffering for the faith, SNS. Our Lord, the Apostles, saints and martyrs down through the centuries–men, women, and children, old and young, walked to their horrific deaths singing the praises of God Almighty. And the Church grew because of it.
The story’s tagline says it well: “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church” [Tertullian, 2nd century AD]. He was right, both then and now.
@Tomy R – Jesus is not the Catholic Church. Christ is the Church.
Ann Nonymous Prime
APRIL 11, 2020 AT 1:40 PM
“Our Lord, the Apostles, saints and martyrs down through the centuries–men, women, and children, old and young, walked to their horrific deaths singing the praises of God Almighty. ”
…indeed, I take nothing away from them. The tortures Christians have endured and praised through over the centuries, from the crucifix rapes in Syria to the populated church burnings in Kenya and many, many others, what humans can endure when their Faith is strong is nothing short of miraculous.
My only point to the various anons is that it’s easy to criticize from a comfy chair in a warm home in a civilized society what people may do in such straights, but no person knows what THEY will do until put to the test.
Easy to say your faith is imperishable in a drowsy back pew as familiar, half-remembered hymns float to your ears as you think about your dinner later.
But it may be a different thing when you have a machete pressed to your crotch in a blood-soaked alley.
I would advise all to make sure their OWN faith can survive, rather than find fault in even imaginary characters driven to extremes.
Because the day of testing may not be as far off as they seem to think.
And they may fall short themselves, if they still have a heart only to impugn the tormented instead of empathy and compassion for them…
Amen, SNS.
Praise be to God for the persecutions. It brings us back closer to Him in the most sincerest way.
Oh hey Frostee, what’s cookin’?
Hi Burr. What happened to you on twitter?