For long minutes Thomas could not move. His lips moved slowly in prayer, but his mind could not concentrate on the words. His eyes, round and wondrous, roamed the length and height of the Basilica, stopping now and then at a particularly colorful banner or screen, or lingering on the statue of a beloved saint.
Finally, he stared at the altar at the western end of the nave. Even from this distance he could see the exotic twisted columns guarding the altar, covered with a canopy hanging from four of the columns.
Thomas raised a hand, crossed himself, then slowly, and with the utmost reverence, walked down the length of the nave toward the altar. There were a few worshippers within the Basilica kneeling before some of the side shrines, and barely visible in the flickering light of the oil lamps, but there was no one before the altar itself.
Tears slipped down Thomas’ cheeks, and his hand grasped the small cross he wore suspended from his neck.
He had walked all his life toward this moment, and he could now hardly believe such was the munificence of God’s grace that he was finally here. He had lived the arrogant life of a knight, reveling in the thrill of the battlefield and the luxury of a life of privilege as a member one of the greatest families in England. He had lived the sinful life as a lover, and had then refused to stand by his lover, with the most frightful of consequences. Yet God had forgiven him for all of these terrible sins, even if Thomas could barely begin to forgive himself. If he was here now, standing before the altar of St. Peter, then it was through the grace of God, and Thomas vowed he would dedicate his entire life to the service of God. He was safe only in the hands of God… he could not be trusted to manage his own life without precipitating the death of those he held most dear. He was safe only in God. Only in God.
“Only in God,” Thomas whispered.
Again Thomas’ steps faltered as he reached the altar. He knew that to one side steps led down into a chamber from where he could view through a grille the actual tomb of St. Peter, but for now all Thomas wanted to do, all he could do, was to prostrate himself before the altar.
He slumped to his knees, his eyes still raised to the altar, then he dropped his head and hands, and lowered himself until he lay prostrate in a cruciform position before the altar.
It was cold and horribly uncomfortable, but Thomas was filled with such zeal he did not notice.
Holy St. Peter, he prayed silently over and over, grant me your humbleness and courage, let my footsteps be guided by yours, let my life be as worthy as yours, let me be of true service to sweet Jesus Christ as you were, let me ignore hunger and pain as you did, let me immerse myself in the true wonder and joy of God. Holy St.
Peter …
Hours passed unnoticed, and the Basilica emptied of all save the friar stretched before the altar. Thomas’ muscles grew stiff with the cold and the fervor of his thoughts, but he did not notice his discomfort. All Thomas wanted was to be granted St. Peter’s grace, to be accepted to serve—
Thomas.
Thomas was lost in prayer. He did not hear.
Thomas.
One of Thomas’ outstretched fingers twitched slightly, otherwise he showed no outward sign of hearing.
Now the voice grew more insistent, more terrible.
Thomas!
Thomas’ entire body jerked, and he rolled onto his back, his eyes blinking in surprise and disorientation.
Thomas!
He jerked again, and rose on one elbow, staring down the nave of the Basilica.
Perhaps a third of the way down, on the left wall of the Basilica, a golden light exuded from one of the side shrines.
Thomas!
Thomas scrambled about until he was on his hands and feet. He lowered his face to the stone floor. “Lord!”
Thomas, come speak with me.
Shaking with fear and wonder, Thomas inched his way across the floor, his breath harsh in his throat, his eyes wide and staring at the stones before him.
Thomas…
Thomas crept to the entrance of the shrine, daring a quick look.
The shrine consisted merely of a niche in the wall, large enough only for a statue of an angel, arms and wings outstretched.
Thomas supposed that the statue was of some alabaster stone, but now it glowed with a brilliance that made his eyes ache. The face of the statue was terrible, full of cruel righteousness and the power of the Lord.
Thomas averted his eyes in dread.
“Lord!” he said again.
No, Thomas. Not the Lord our God, hut His servant, Michael The archangel Michael…
“Blessed saint,” Thomas whispered, his fingers clawing forward very slightly on the floor.
Blessed Thomas, said the archangel, and Thomas felt a brief warmth on the top of his bowed head, as if the angel had laid his hand there in benediction.
Thomas began to cry.
Do not weep, Thomas, but hark to what I say. There are few men or women these days who can he called of brave heart and true soul. You are one of them.
“I would give my life to serve, blessed Saint Michael!”
I do not think you shall have to go that far, Thomas, for you are of the Beloved.
Of the beloved?
“Blessed saint, I am a poor man with a great sin on my soul. There was a woman who I—”
Think you I know not every deed of your life? Think you that I cannot see into every corner of your soul? The woman used you. She was a whore. What you did was right and caused a great rejoicing among my brethren.
Thomas felt as if a great weight should be lifted from his shoulders at the
archangel’s words, but instead his guilt continued to overwhelm him “I abandoned her, Saint Michael. And if she acted lustfully, then it was because I had tempted her away from her husband—”
You were unmarried, Thomas. She had taken vows to her husband before God.
Who do you think sinned the most in your adultery?
“I—”
Never forget that it was a woman who betrayed Adam.
“I was still responsible, great saint.”
There was a silence, and Thomas thought he must have angered the archangel. He trembled, thinking to speak, but as he opened his mouth the archangel spoke again.
Your guilt is a fine thing, Thomas, and you must use it to remind yourself never again to fall victim to the temptations of a woman. It is an invitation to sin, and regret.
“I will remember, blessed saint.” Thomas had never meant anything more wholeheartedly in his entire life. A love for a woman had brought him such pain that he never wanted to feel it again. He’d had enough regret for one lifetime.
Use your regret and guilt to strengthen yourself, Thomas. Use it to ensure that never again will you stray from God’s path. Abandon temptation wherever you find it. Listen only to God’s word, and those of His angels.
“I shall, blessed saint!”
You have passed your first test, Thomas. Now comes one much greater.
“Saint Michael?”
Evil roams among your brethren, Thomas.
Thomas shuddered. “Among the fellows of my holy order, Saint Michael?”
It well may, but I speak of the wider community of mankind. For many years now evil incarnate in the form of Satan’s imps has walked unhindered, wreaking havoc and despair. The world is altering, Thomas, and turning away from God.
You are Beloved of both the Lord God and my brethren, and it is you who shall head His army of righteous anger.
Thomas felt all the disparate elements of his life fall into place. When he’d been closest to despair, unable to see the meaning and course of his life, the Lord had all the while been guiding and training him. He’d thought his life before entering the Order worthless and empty. Now Thomas knew differently.
Exultation filled his soul. He was to be a soldier of Christ… and the enemy was evil.
“What should I do? I am yours, blessed saint, mind and body and soul!”
Study. Pray. Grow in understanding. In time, and only when the time is right, I will return to give you further guidance.
“But—”
Thomas got no further. Suddenly the glow and warmth was gone, and Thomas found himself alone in St. Peter’s Basilica before a lifeless statue, its face once more cold and impassive.
He struggled into a sitting position, tears still streaming down his cheeks, his hands clasped before him, staring at the statue of St. Michael.
“I am yours!” he whispered. “Yours!”
Aye, came the faintest of whispers, as if from the summit of heaven itself. You are one of ours indeed.