13.

St. Paul’s

Friday, March 15 - 2:30p.m.

As Mike walked, the questions kept pounding through his mind. He was frustrated and still energized by his encounter with Jenkins. Even though he could remember his past-life as Christ, he couldn’t put his finger on why he had come back. Why am I here? Why did I come back to Earth? What am I supposed to do here? Did God send me to do something in particular? I suppose we’re all here for a reason. Joe made it sound like no one comes to the Earth with a blank agenda. Our appointment books are full before we even get here. I wonder what’s on mine? Joe said my message was love. There has to be more to it than that . . . Doesn't there?

Mike thought about Dr. Flite’s advice to see a Priest. He hadn’t been to church since he was nineteen, but he didn’t know where else to go for answers. He didn’t like priests. When they weren’t abusing altar boys, they were looking down at you, judging you. He thought, Maybe I’ll just pray instead. Maybe God will speak to me. He drove his Harley to the corner of Tropicana and 34^th Avenue where St. Paul’s Church was located. He hesitated at the door. It didn’t feel right; he felt like an outsider. Isn’t God all around? he wondered. Can’t She just talk to me out here? Somehow it seemed more “official” or “genuine” to pray inside a church so he decided to go in.

Cautiously, he poked his head inside the door. No one was around, so he went in.

It was dark and silent inside compared to the bright afternoon sun of noisy Las Vegas, and he stood inside the doorway until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He decided not to walk down the center aisle, opting instead for the aisle on the left side of the church. He took slow even steps as he walked past the first set of pews. His biker boots made a loud click echo across the cold stone floor with every step.

The first thing he saw on the left side of the church was a small but ornate altar. At the top of the altar was a statue of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus in her left hand and gesturing with her right hand. Both figures had golden halos that appeared over large golden crowns. Above the statue was a decorative dove and angels on either side. Below the statue was an altar table with tall candles in taller brass holders, a decorative box and a crucifix. On both sides of the statue were paintings showing the annunciation and baptism. The virgin’s face didn’t look anything like the mother he remembered, but the images in people’s minds hardly ever match the reality they’re based on. He wondered if people would someday make statues of his current mom; she had done her best to raise her kids in a loving home, but she was certainly no saint. No mistake about a virgin birth there.

He looked up at the face of the Virgin and the eyes of the figure stared back at him, giving him an eerie feeling he was being watched. The silence of the church and the warped images from his past were attacking his sense of reality. Funny how we become accustomed to noise, even inside our own minds. As he continued walking past the statue, he thought he heard a whisper. He halted his footsteps to listen, and thought he heard it again. It sounded like “Mike.” He turned back to the statue of Mary, but the statue was silent. He turned away and began to walk, and again he thought he heard someone whisper his name. He stopped and looked around but found nothing.

He continued walking until he got to another altar which featured a large cross with a life-sized figure of Christ hanging from it. There was red painted blood on the figure’s hands, feet, head, and right side. Even the knees were red with painted blood. Christ’s eyes looked down at him, unblinking. Mike knelt down at the small altar of the alcove and began to pray.

He prayed with his head in his hands, searching for the answers in his soul. Dear God. I, ah, I’m not sure where to begin, really. I’m kinda new to this. I know you’re busy and all and I don’t want to intrude, but anyway, I was hoping that, you know, you’d come down or something and tell me what I’m supposed to do down here. I want to hear it directly from you this time, not that Joe person because he just left me confused.

Ya see, God, the problem is, I’m just an ordinary guy. I don’t feel like a Messiah or anything. I’m just plain, old Mike Tomson. Nobody special. A rock-star wanna-be. A loser. Hell, I can’t even make the payments on my Harley sometimes. You want people to look up to me? I can’t even look up to myself. You want me to be the voice of God? Hah. I guess what I’m sayin’ is, well, frankly, I’m under-qualified for the job. I’m no different from any other two-bit loser on the planet.

He looked up at the statue of Christ and was struck with a touch of ironic humor. Most people think that talking to yourself is a sure sign you’re going crazy, but man, this has got to take the cake. Talking to my past-life self, who western civilization thinks is God. How warped is that?

Friday, March 15 - 4:35p.m.

Two hours later, alone and without answers, he heard footsteps echoing on the hard floor. A well-groomed priest approached him and touched him on the shoulder. “I’m Father John Lowry. You look troubled. I noticed you’ve been praying for a very long time. Can I help?”

“I don’t think so.” He was going to add, “Father” but cut himself short. Jesus once said, Do not call any man on earth ‘father’; for you have one Father, and he is in heaven. Instead, he said, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. Mister?”

“Tomson. Mike Tomson.”

“Try me, Mike. I think I’ve heard it all.”

Lowry sounded sympathetic, but Mike wondered how much he should tell the priest. He didn’t like priests. If I tell him too much, he’ll think I’m a nutcase. Then it occurred to him: Maybe I am a nutcase. Maybe this is how it begins for all the wackos. Of course, that might have its advantages; that might drive him away and he’d leave me alone. Gathering his wits, he spoke. “I’m trying to find direction.”

This seemed reasonable enough to Father Lowry. “Obviously. We all are. God doesn’t always show us which paths to take. That’s for us to choose. Most people don’t think about it. They just go on day after day, living in ignorance and sin. What makes your decision so difficult?”

He thought, Where can I even begin with this priest? He won’t understand. Or maybe he’ll understand better than most.“All right, here it is. I know I’m on this Earth for a reason. I don’t know what that reason is. But whatever it is, I’m not qualified. I’m just an ordinary guy.” He cut his words short. He knew he wasn’t making any sense. He wasn’t trying to be cryptic, he just hoped he could get help without blurting out the whole story again. Maybe it didn’t matter.

Father Lowry was a very perceptive man. The story–or story fragments–he heard sounded like many others he had heard before. “We’re all here for a reason. We’re all under-qualified. God puts us on the planet so we can learn and grow. He doesn’t always tell us what we’re here to do, or why. We’re all the same. We’re all struggling to find our identities, our own limitations. Every person we see on the streets acts confident, content, strong and sure. But on the inside, they’re all crying inside. We all feel inconsequential. Unfulfilled. Unhappy. Life’s just not what we expect it to be. We doubt ourselves and our abilities. If that isn’t true, I’d probably be a librarian instead of a priest. But you know what? Even Christ had his doubts. Before he was nailed to the cross, he prayed, ‘My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass me by. Yet not my will but thine be done.’”

“Yes, but this is different.”

“How?”

He remembered how good it felt to tell Jennifer about his past life. In the end, she had not believed him but maybe this would be different. Besides, why not be honest, he thought. “Are you sure you’re not going to laugh?”

“I’ll try not to.”

“I believe that I’m the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. And you’re right: I remember praying that before they crucified me.”

“Mmmm.” Lowry didn’t know what to think and certainly not what to say. “You’re the guy from the newspaper article, aren’t you?” Mike nodded. With a touch of humor, Lowry wondered if Mike was just a kook, or if the newspaper article persuaded him he was Christ. Lowry asked. “Are you a Catholic? Catholics don’t believe in reincarnation.”

“Except for John the Baptist.” Mike retorted, sounding a bit resigned, remembering his conversation with the fanatical sidewalk preacher, Jeremy Jenkins. He hoped to avoid another confrontation like that.

Lowry was calm and professional. “Yes, that’s true. But remember, Christ returned from the dead and ascended into heaven. So we believe he’s still alive, in his physical body, in heaven. That means you can’t be his reincarnation.” No death, no reincarnation, no problem.

Mike’s comeback was immediate. “‘The kingdom of God is near. I tell you this: the present generation will live to see it all.’ Sound familiar?”

“Luke 21:32.”

“That’s right. But that generation of people died two thousand years ago, so the only way for them to live to see it is through reincarnation. The people who don’t learn their lessons are doomed to return and repeat them. Focus on this world, and you’ll remain here. See?”

“Not everyone interprets scripture the same way, Mike. The fact remains that the Church doctrine does not accept reincarnation.”

“I know, but what they do or don’t accept doesn’t matter. I am the reincarnation of Christ anyway. I’m sure of it.”

Mike’s sincerity and conviction made Lowry think twice about writing him off. Lowry was disturbed by how much Mike looked like portrayals of Christ. “What makes you so sure?”

“Lots of things. Oh , it’s not just the healing or even walking on water.” Lowry was disturbed by how Mike seemed to take ownership of Christ’s miracles but he didn’t interrupt. “The plain fact is, I remember my past-life as Jesus Christ. A lot more details than what’s in the Bible. That’s a bit odd, don’t you think?”

“I certainly do. Let’s just say for a minute that you really are the reincarnation of Christ. Christ said that when he returned, he was going to kick ass and take names.” It helps when you can talk their language. I can talk the talk with the best of them, Lowry thought with a small touch of pride. “The question still remains: What makes your decision so difficult?”

“In my life as Christ, I was sure of myself. I had a clear sense of direction. Even as a young child I knew exactly what was going to happen and how. It seems like last time I had all this help from God and I still got it wrong. I gave the world my teachings, gave up my life for them, and they still got it wrong. This time God’s left me on my own. How can I even hope to get it right? I don’t even know what right is.” He wondered how Father Lowry would react to his statement. Should he tell him that his belief system was based on lies? Should he tell him that his job was a crock? No, not now. He continued. “This world is still just as messed up as ever. Only this time, I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how I’m supposed to accomplish my mission. Hell, I don’t even know what my mission is.”

“Can I make a few suggestions?” Father Lowry asked.

“Sure. You go right ahead, because, frankly, I’m out of ideas.”

“First of all, stop telling people you’re Christ. You’re not. Even if you believe in reincarnation, you’re Mike now. Second, don’t try to teach. People learn more by example than they do by any other means. If you are the soul essence of Christ, they’ll recognize you for your love and your sacrifice. Lastly, get a haircut. Shave your beard. People don’t listen to hippy freaks.”

Mike wasn’t impressed with his advice. Rather than trying to rediscover his heritage, Lowry was seemingly encouraging him to deny his past. He thought, maybe I’ll grow my beard a little longer. He said, “That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s it.”

Mike had just reread the New Testament but he had only skimmed through the Old Testament. At the time, it looked like a collection of violent battles with the Jews violently slaughtering anyone who stood in their way, so he decided not to read it. As a consequence, he was behind on his Biblical prophecies. “Can I ask you something? What does the Bible say about the second coming?”

Lowry had to think this one through carefully. If this stranger really thought he was the reincarnation of Christ, anything he said could give him ammunition and feed his delusions or make him go the other way and become depressed and suicidal. “Well, according to the Revelation of John, the Triumphant Christ will enter into the city of Jerusalem through the eastern gate of the city, the Golden Gate.”

“Golden Gate, eh? There are hundreds of psychotic cult leaders plotting and scheming. Probably just in Montana alone. Why doesn’t one of them pretend to be Christ and sail on through to further his cause?”

“Well, Mike, that would be difficult. You see, a thousand years ago, when Moslems took over the city of Jerusalem, they closed the golden gate. They bricked it up with massive stone and mortar to ensure no ordinary mortal can pass through. Nothing goes in, and nothing comes out. Not unless you’re the Messiah. At the end of the millennium, doomsayers placed an Internet web-camera on the Mount of Olives pointing at the Golden Gate so the whole world could watch his triumphant return. I think they called it Messiah-Cam. The site was called olivetree.org, I think. The cameras are probably still there.”

“Creative.” Mike said. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.”

“If you had to give Jesus one piece of advice, what would it be?”

“Who am I to give Jesus advice?”

“Just pretend.”

Father Lowry had to think about it for a while. At last he spoke, “How about, ‘Don’t be so cryptic.’ Just tell us what we’re supposed to do. You see? We all need direction, even me.”

“But didn’t I already do that?”

“Pardon?”

“Didn’t Christ say exactly what to do? Love the Lord Thy God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. Love your neighbors as yourself.”

Father Lowry didn’t know what to think of this stranger in his church. He might have a screw loose, but he didn’t seem half as bad as most people in Las Vegas, and he sure knew his Gospels. He was impressed at the Biblical quotes that just seemed to flow out of Mike almost without a conscious thought. Sometimes the purest grain of wisdom lies hidden in the depths of insanity. He said, “Mark 12:31. Amen.” He paused as Mike got up and prepared to leave. “Any time you want to come back and talk, just let me know. God has answers for everyone. I’m sure He has answers for you too.”

“I hope so.” Mike said. “Thanks.”

As Father Lowry watched Mike walk out into the brilliant sunshine, he pondered Mike’s claim. When Jennifer Farrell’s newspaper article about the casino healing had caught his attention, he had wondered if it was significant. Now the strange man in the photo had come into his church and now he knew for sure: This guy was convinced he was the reincarnation of Christ.

He did some quick calculations for time differences, then he picked up his telephone and dialed a very long sequence of digits. “Hello?” he said into the telephone. “Do you speak English? I need to speak with Cardinal Vilotti please.” The voice on the other end said, “Un momento.”

Then a man with a thick Italian accent answered the phone. “Hello.”

“Cardinal Vilotti?”

“Yes, this is he. May I help you?”

“This is Father John Lowry in Las Vegas, USA. Remember me from Seminary?”

“John!” He sounded surprised. “How are you doing, John? It’s been a long time since you’ve been to Rome. You should visit us more often, you know.”

“I know. I know. How have you been? What have you been up to lately?”

“Fine, fine. They’ve placed me on a special assignment. For the past six years, we’ve been going through the Vatican library, transferring all the information into digital format. We’re finally moving into the Information Age. Of course, there is so much data I sometimes feel we are making as much progress as the average glacier.”

The Vatican library had tighter security than the Pentagon, the FBI building and the Citibank Credit Card manufacturing plant combined. “Sounds exciting.”

“Boring, actually. All day long, what we do is flip the pages and press the scan button.”

“Are you finding any controversial stuff out there?”

“Sure. Plenty. Of course, I can’t talk about it without authorization.”

“Aren’t you worried about hackers?”

“Well, they tell me the data is secure. There’s no outside access at all. They have something called a firewall to keep the data secure. But surely you didn’t call to talk about my job. What can I do for you?”

“Cardinal Vilotti, remember our days in the Seminary? How we used to talk about the texts relating to the second coming? I may have a situation here.”

Shortly after his conversation with Father Lowry, Cardinal Vilotti made a few phone calls of his own. He retrieved and read the article from the Las Vegas Sun that had been faxed to him by Lowry and he was worried. Throughout history, lots of men had tried to usurp the authority of the Holy Catholic Church and failed. Lots of men claimed to be holy and started their own cults and religions. The Church never lost many followers to these charlatans and false religions, so it never bothered him. Those other religious crackpots tried to persuade and sweet-talk people, claiming holiness but displaying nothing of God’s Gifts. But he was worried about Mike because he was different. Mike was displaying God’s gifts, but was not claiming holiness and was not trying to persuade people. A very different kind of beast. A very different kind of threat. Perhaps it was nothing, he thought. Perhaps he is just another psycho. Just the same, one could never be too safe. He had to learn more about this man Mike. And so he made his next phone call.

When Mike got back to his apartment, he decided to write some more in his journal, but before he did, he hopped on the Internet and typed in www.olivetree.org. A few button clicks later, he was looking at a live picture of Jerusalem’s Golden Gate. He stared at it for a while. Somehow it looked familiar. It looked like an archway built into a solid sandstone wall, but the archway was really an ancient stone gate, walled up with large stone blocks and mortar. On either side of the archway were small niches.

He studied the gate, wondering where he had seen it before. Then he remembered. It looked like the wall he had seen in his near-death experience, the wall that had opened up to reveal a courtyard, and within the courtyard, the golden light.

He stared at the wall, the gate and the niches for a long time, intrigued. There was something important about that wall, some significant meaning, but he didn’t know what. Somehow, the stone gate seemed to call to him. It beaconed him to step through, but that was impossible; the stone blocks were impassible.

Finally, he dismissed it as unimportant and got back to writing his journal.

Excerpt from The Gospel According to Mike

He said, “Life is simply a series of choices, cause and effect. You choose how to see yourself and how to see others. You choose your actions and those actions bring consequences. The foolish person chooses the path of fear or despite and that path leads to sadness and pain. The wise person chooses the path of non-attachment and love and that path leads to freedom. The foolish person, through his narrow-mindedness, weeps and complains that life is filled with bitter hardship. The wise person sees all worldly matters as trivial because they are not eternal like God’s kingdom.”