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Forgiveness
Inspiration can come from the strangest places. I just finished a mystery/whodunit from the Cadfael series of books (20 or 30, I think) by Ellis Peters. The series occasionally appears on PBS, and it, too, is exceptionally well done. Brother Cadfael is a 12th century Benedictine monk who uses his worldly talents to solve all sorts of problems. Peters’ books are wonderful not only for the twists and turns her plots take but for her characters, and how she shows her readers a vision into the depths of the ‘dark ages’ in the 12th century.
After I finished my thoughts drifted to SMAC. What would happen if a deeply religious person who cherished people over doctrine lived in Miriam’s theocracy? Miriam is typically characterized as being (ahem) a bit inflexible. Inevitably there would be a clash, and one would have to give…
Hence the (revised) title.
Hydro
+++++++++++++++++++++++
I Must Dissent (title change)
Father Rudulfus' breath almost smoked with the cold, throwing a pale wreath before him, clouding the already dim light of the Abbey of Saint Vincent. A gloom seemed to be settled with the darkness, and the gloom was palpable. The arching alcove of the choir was dimmest, and it held the assembled honoraries. The figures there were shrouded, mere specters and outlines of people to Rudulfus' eyes. Even in darkness there are degrees of shadow, and the crowded nave was lighter, being softened by the dappled orange of the series of great stained glass windows that pierced the walls of the abbey, which conspired to throw a color between that of blood and that of fire. Ruefully Rudulfus thought that was all too appropriate. The monks, priests, nuns, and luminaries were separated from the secular congregation that sat in the nave, forming a 'we are here, you are there' separation that Rudulfus always thought was somehow ungodly. In his mind all are one with God. But who is a mere priest to decide matters of doctrine?
Finally it was time, and Father Rudulfus rose. A hushed quite filled the nave, and a silence as cold as the air emanated from the choir. He rose slowly with a dignity and economy of motion that comes from conscious practice and devotion, almost flowing from sitting to standing. His dark brown cape and cowl, which were almost proof against the cold, draped his spare form, and his tonsure protected his partially shaven head, as befitted his station. His gnarled hands protectively clutched his cherished Conclave Bible, a rare hardcopy in a world of datapads and eidetic memory crystals. Walking up to the altar his thumb rubbed reassuringly on his Bible, just to make sure it was still there. As with his faith, his Bible was always there for him, to provide physical as well as spiritual guidance.
Ascending the few stairs to the altar, Father Rudulfus bowed his head and paused to offer a silent prayer. In his prayer he asked for strength to do the Lord's work, and for the Lord God to bless his fallen humanity with his love, and to help humanity love one another.
In a moment his prayer was done. Rudulfus turned toward the waiting congregation. He looked out toward the shadowy figures, seeing outlines but no faces, and the almost constant fog of crystallized moisture from the breath of the waiting faithful.
"The company of saints," he began as he looked up at the vaulted ceiling, "is not determined by any measure within our understanding. It cannot be made up by those without sin, for who among us that ware flesh is without sin and can make such a claim, except for the one, our Lord. We all do our utmost and strive to hearken to God's word, to fulfill the lofty aim he has set for us, or so we believe. For in trying to attain his aims we need to take care that our view is not too narrow so to prejudice or jaundice our idea of 'right'. Even perfection may be a sin if it infringes on the immortal soul of others. It is better to fail in perfection and lift up your fellow humanity than it is to attain a cold, sterile perfection styled after your own pride and desire for personal excellence. If you leave another in haste to achieve your aim you may leave another of God's creatures in solitude and despair. It is better to labor in the betterment of others, even at the risk of your own fallibility, and to stride forward with others than to walk forward alone.
It is not enough to abstain from evil. Lack of evil is not good; it is nothing. To fulfill God's aim we must embrace and help our fellows and show an outward goodliness. The blessed may include great sinners, those whose own failings are manifest but who are lovers of their fellow man, who do not turn their eyes from their fellow's need and have done such good as they can, and prevented such evil as they might. For in a neighbor's need they see God's need, and in answering that need they are answering God's call. In doing so they may look upon God's face, for God's face is that of humanity.
We are all sinners, and we have not the ability to judge merit and determine the deserving of the sinner. That is God's business. Rather, it behooves us to live each day as if it is our last, to savor the gift of life, and cherish the lives of those around us. We must lie down each night as though the next day was the first, a pure, new beginning, an opportunity to distill kindness and such truth as is known to us. The day will surely come when all will be made plain. Then we shall know, even as we now trust.
In God's name we pray,
Amen."
Father Rudulfus looked down in silence. There was no chorus of 'Amen' from the congregation, and there was none from the choir. He had expected none.
A faint rustling from the choir broke the silence, and a smallish figure draped in orange vestments stood and emerged from the darkness of the choir loft. Gradually the orange-hued light from the nave resolved the form as it strode forward with purpose and energy. The pale face emerged first, framed by the orange hair and the orange on orange filigree of her office: Sister Miriam Godwinson. Her eyes shone with an inner fire that lanced out from the darkness. Finally she came to a stop and the light from the great circular window behind the alter shown upon her, revealing her cool, alabaster countenance.
The congregation seemed to hold its breath.
"A pretty speech,but it only confirms your guilt," Miriam continued with vehemence.
Turning toward the congregation Miriam stated, "The condemned has offered his absolution, and it has been found wanting by the Inquisition Tribunal. For conspiring with the enemies of God, the pagan Gaians and the godless Universitites, Father Rudulfus have been found guilty of high treason and violation of Believer doctrine. He is henceforth excommunicated from the Holy Church. The just sentence of death will be carried out at dawn."
Turning her cold face and fiery eyes to Rudulfus she looked him straight in the eyes. "May God have mercy on you soul," she spat.
The ruddy orange lights in the nave dimmed; the sun was cut off and no longer shown through the orange-flecked windows. Darkness took the nave as Miriam stepped down and returned into the shadows of the choir.
The figures in the Abbey of Saint Vincent became shadows, then nothing at all.
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited April 10, 2000).]
After I finished my thoughts drifted to SMAC. What would happen if a deeply religious person who cherished people over doctrine lived in Miriam’s theocracy? Miriam is typically characterized as being (ahem) a bit inflexible. Inevitably there would be a clash, and one would have to give…
Hence the (revised) title.
Hydro
+++++++++++++++++++++++
I Must Dissent (title change)
Father Rudulfus' breath almost smoked with the cold, throwing a pale wreath before him, clouding the already dim light of the Abbey of Saint Vincent. A gloom seemed to be settled with the darkness, and the gloom was palpable. The arching alcove of the choir was dimmest, and it held the assembled honoraries. The figures there were shrouded, mere specters and outlines of people to Rudulfus' eyes. Even in darkness there are degrees of shadow, and the crowded nave was lighter, being softened by the dappled orange of the series of great stained glass windows that pierced the walls of the abbey, which conspired to throw a color between that of blood and that of fire. Ruefully Rudulfus thought that was all too appropriate. The monks, priests, nuns, and luminaries were separated from the secular congregation that sat in the nave, forming a 'we are here, you are there' separation that Rudulfus always thought was somehow ungodly. In his mind all are one with God. But who is a mere priest to decide matters of doctrine?
Finally it was time, and Father Rudulfus rose. A hushed quite filled the nave, and a silence as cold as the air emanated from the choir. He rose slowly with a dignity and economy of motion that comes from conscious practice and devotion, almost flowing from sitting to standing. His dark brown cape and cowl, which were almost proof against the cold, draped his spare form, and his tonsure protected his partially shaven head, as befitted his station. His gnarled hands protectively clutched his cherished Conclave Bible, a rare hardcopy in a world of datapads and eidetic memory crystals. Walking up to the altar his thumb rubbed reassuringly on his Bible, just to make sure it was still there. As with his faith, his Bible was always there for him, to provide physical as well as spiritual guidance.
Ascending the few stairs to the altar, Father Rudulfus bowed his head and paused to offer a silent prayer. In his prayer he asked for strength to do the Lord's work, and for the Lord God to bless his fallen humanity with his love, and to help humanity love one another.
In a moment his prayer was done. Rudulfus turned toward the waiting congregation. He looked out toward the shadowy figures, seeing outlines but no faces, and the almost constant fog of crystallized moisture from the breath of the waiting faithful.
"The company of saints," he began as he looked up at the vaulted ceiling, "is not determined by any measure within our understanding. It cannot be made up by those without sin, for who among us that ware flesh is without sin and can make such a claim, except for the one, our Lord. We all do our utmost and strive to hearken to God's word, to fulfill the lofty aim he has set for us, or so we believe. For in trying to attain his aims we need to take care that our view is not too narrow so to prejudice or jaundice our idea of 'right'. Even perfection may be a sin if it infringes on the immortal soul of others. It is better to fail in perfection and lift up your fellow humanity than it is to attain a cold, sterile perfection styled after your own pride and desire for personal excellence. If you leave another in haste to achieve your aim you may leave another of God's creatures in solitude and despair. It is better to labor in the betterment of others, even at the risk of your own fallibility, and to stride forward with others than to walk forward alone.
It is not enough to abstain from evil. Lack of evil is not good; it is nothing. To fulfill God's aim we must embrace and help our fellows and show an outward goodliness. The blessed may include great sinners, those whose own failings are manifest but who are lovers of their fellow man, who do not turn their eyes from their fellow's need and have done such good as they can, and prevented such evil as they might. For in a neighbor's need they see God's need, and in answering that need they are answering God's call. In doing so they may look upon God's face, for God's face is that of humanity.
We are all sinners, and we have not the ability to judge merit and determine the deserving of the sinner. That is God's business. Rather, it behooves us to live each day as if it is our last, to savor the gift of life, and cherish the lives of those around us. We must lie down each night as though the next day was the first, a pure, new beginning, an opportunity to distill kindness and such truth as is known to us. The day will surely come when all will be made plain. Then we shall know, even as we now trust.
In God's name we pray,
Amen."
Father Rudulfus looked down in silence. There was no chorus of 'Amen' from the congregation, and there was none from the choir. He had expected none.
A faint rustling from the choir broke the silence, and a smallish figure draped in orange vestments stood and emerged from the darkness of the choir loft. Gradually the orange-hued light from the nave resolved the form as it strode forward with purpose and energy. The pale face emerged first, framed by the orange hair and the orange on orange filigree of her office: Sister Miriam Godwinson. Her eyes shone with an inner fire that lanced out from the darkness. Finally she came to a stop and the light from the great circular window behind the alter shown upon her, revealing her cool, alabaster countenance.
The congregation seemed to hold its breath.
"A pretty speech,but it only confirms your guilt," Miriam continued with vehemence.
Turning toward the congregation Miriam stated, "The condemned has offered his absolution, and it has been found wanting by the Inquisition Tribunal. For conspiring with the enemies of God, the pagan Gaians and the godless Universitites, Father Rudulfus have been found guilty of high treason and violation of Believer doctrine. He is henceforth excommunicated from the Holy Church. The just sentence of death will be carried out at dawn."
Turning her cold face and fiery eyes to Rudulfus she looked him straight in the eyes. "May God have mercy on you soul," she spat.
The ruddy orange lights in the nave dimmed; the sun was cut off and no longer shown through the orange-flecked windows. Darkness took the nave as Miriam stepped down and returned into the shadows of the choir.
The figures in the Abbey of Saint Vincent became shadows, then nothing at all.
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited April 10, 2000).]
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