First started the pianist, with his deep and moving tones straightening the posture of priests and followers alike, followed by the choir and their high-pitched yet soothing hymns carrying above and seemingly beyond the hall. Then came the Grand Bishop Paulo.
What had been going on as just another mass on just another morning, Christopher and all those in the room now saw that they had been deceived. Paulo took his first steps onto the stage to the awe of all; dressed in a robe of black, with thick seams embroidered with gold running both from the nape of his neck to the tops of his feet and wrapping snugly around his collar, shoulders and cuffs. A rope of gold wrapped at his waist fell loosely to one side, with two crosses of gold bouncing and dancing in between his chest. Black was also the zucchetto that stood on his head, sharing the gold detail around the base and horizontally to its peak. With measured strides, Paulo reached the end of the walkway, where a turn of the heel had him facing the masses.
Christopher couldn’t help but find his mouth agape. Stealing a look at the priest across from him, the confusion seemed to be shared by them all. For the entirety of his life, Christopher only knew Paulo to wear whites, allowing only the gold or silver of the single cross he chose that day to expand his color palette. This outfit meant something, and for whatever it was, Christopher thanked Him for the spectacle he was about to witness.
As if hearing his thoughts aloud, the Grand Bishop Paulo looked Christophers way. The Bishop was a tall man, nearly six and a half feet in height, and to Christopher, he never looked younger. The paleness that afflicted the elderly could not be found in his tanned skin, his narrow, hairless face revealing only hints of creases on his forehead and around his eyes. The only word that Christopher could find was alive, for the pope seemed to be more alive than ever before, both in his mannerisms and in his power. Flashing a warm smile that seemed to confirm his thoughts, Paulo turned his head back to the followers, still smiling brightly as he took his first steps.
The entire world seemed to erupt at that moment. Followers who hadn’t shown emotion in weeks began clapping their hands together, roaring in approval as Paulo passed their section. People began trying to climb one another, stretching and reaching for the stage. In response, the pianist and vocalists did their best to duel the followers, but their combined forces were falling short. People cried enthusiastically as Paulo waved a hand their way, a miracle in its own right to be seen by the Bishop on such an unusual day. Those in the front were both warding off attempts from the rear while remaining vigilant to their savior in front of them. Some had even thrown themselves half onto the stage itself, though even the most foolish among them knew to not attempt to actually take the stage. He would not warn them, He would only punish them.
As Paulo passed more sections of people, their hands remained outstretched, palms facing the sky. This would be how they all would end up once Paulo took his place at the very end of the stage, the center of the room. The scene now that Christopher took in was breathless; the sea of hands offering and asking for His blessing in front of him, the frenzy of movement and sound yet to be quelled still lying in front of the father Paulo, with his attire’s gold bouncing and reflecting with his movement. A rainbow of color overhead shimmering from the stained glass gave the hall a feeling so holy that Christopher could summarize it as his own miracle. The miracle that He allowed Christopher to not only witness but to be so a part of.
Paulo had reached the final stretch of his walk, where the masses in front of him were ravenous. Clawing, climbing, reaching, and pleading, their faces were full of admiration, hope, and excitement. Some men and women reached out both of their bare hands, others reached out with a toddler in their arms who also reached and grabbed at the air, while others tried and failed to reach as far as the person in front of them. Paulo seemed to be taking it in, beaming with delight at the excitement and enthusiasm of the room. Centering himself with a bounce of the shoulders, Paulo began to raise his own arms from his side, palms open and bare to the ceiling. The front of the crowd followed suit, and now the entire room fell silent as the once-drowned pianist finished his final notes.
The air was thick in anticipation, and Paulo only began when it seemed the room was ready to burst with passion once again, “Brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters, He has given us another day, another beautiful and bountiful day, and for that I am grateful.”
“And for that I am grateful.” Repeated the crowd.
Paulo breathed deeply, his hands slowly falling and clasping one another at his midsection, and the mass followed suit, “While each day we rejoice, I have before you a confession that I need all to bear witness to. I do not know where my sin can be absolved, and so I ask for your honesty, for your persecution, and for your honesty.”
The room fell to a hush of confused whispers, prompting Christopher to seek some sort of wordless conversation with the priest closest to him, only to find his look unexchanged. The other priests seemed to be taking the day much more collected than Christopher was.
“I believed for a time that I held all of His doings to the highest of regards. I believed they had all been equal; from the sun rising to the pain of a cut, I shared with you all that each and every act, emotion, feeling and second was undoubtedly a gift, and that to share this realization of gifts so plentiful with others who could not see for themselves yet was an act so sacred, that He will not only welcome you, but will always love you. But a day has come, a moment has arisen, and a feeling that I can not describe may have plagued me. For this day, in this mass, I hold higher than any day that has come before. What the lord has given us today, is His best work yet. And for that I am grateful!”
“And for that I am grateful.” The mass repeated, off sync this time.
“We all here celebrate and embrace the blessings, the bounties, and the treasures He has so selflessly given each day, but don’t we want to do more than celebrate? Then give thanks? In all my many years, I never questioned my devotion. It has come time that He questions not just mine, but your devotion as well. The time for celebrating, praising, and for basking in his golden glow has not come to an end, my friends and family. It is but time to add another form of devotion; duty!” Paulo threw his hands back into an offering position, and some in the crowd followed right away, with others wearily joining in slight confusion. Allowing a moment for his words to fully absorb in those around him, Paulo brought his hands back down and his side, his fingers still open so that his palms showed, “Before I can justly proceed, I ask that the masses heed my words and mindset, and deliver the consequence as you see fit. I must ask one of my beloved priests to help execute the trial. Father Christopher, kindly proceed to my side.”
Christopher stood frozen for a moment on the top step, sweat dripping down the side of his face and forming on his lower back, hoping to melt away and proceed as nothing more than a puddle for the rest of his days. There was so much going on, so much he wasn’t understanding that his head spun and he had to quell his reflexes so that he didn't vomit. His eyes then found Paulo’s, whose half-turn revealed the friendly, warming smile that could fill a starving man with new life. His feet began moving on their own, moving from the step to the stage, and finding the similar momentum that Paulo opened each mass with so captivating. Christopher felt a sort of power in taking these steps, as he wondered if any other priest had ever stepped to where Paulo gave his sermon.
Christopher was nearing Paulo now, noting that the masses' interest in himself seemed non-existent. The front section of the line, those who sat in the first few rows closest to the stage, seemed to not even dare to blink as they locked onto the bishop. Finding himself shoulder to shoulder with Paulo, Christopher tried his best to focus on one object and one thought alone to calm his nerves. He quickly found the dark hole that was the hall’s entrance and allowed himself a deep breath of relief.
Paulo reached out his right hand, offering it to Christopher who took it quickly. The warmth Paulo gave off was a welcome heat that put Christopher's worries to rest, and together they lifted their joined hands into the air, “You all know my devoted son, my loyal priest, and my most awarded missionary, Father Christopher. He has not only been a shining example to the entire faith but has gone above and beyond my most daring expectations. And for that I am grateful.”
“And for that I am grateful.” The mass repeated.
“There is something I must tell you, Christopher. Something that I felt not only you deserved to know, but that our friends and family must know as well. He has guided me, and blessed me with your soul, and now I can see why and what it has all been for. Father Christopher, I name you my prodigy. I name you my successor. I name you the next champion of faith, the next Grand Bishop of this home.”
Christopher’s head swam in delusion, unbelieving of what was happening. His grip on Paulo’s hand tightened, needing it to stabilize himself, and his skin scrawled as he felt the eyes of the room shift his way. From invisible to the center of attention, all of the eyes in the room fell on him. The eyes of the mass, the eyes of the worm, they now knew him. He was their eventual savior, he was where they would burrow.
Paulo offered a smile and a slight tilt of the chin in the direction of their hands. Christopher nearly screamed as he realized he may have been hurting the bishop, and loosened his grip before offering in a whisper, “Father Paulo, I am honored but-”
“Christopher is honored, everyone!” Paulo cut in, rejoicing, “There is still so much to teach, but I am afraid that is not up to me to decide. You have my full confidence, Christopher, you always have, and now I ask for you to be confident in me.”
“Y-yes Father, always!” Christopher exclaimed, taken further aback by the declaration. Paulo replied with a smile, before letting go of Christopher's hand.
As Paulo began again, Christopher's expression turned to shock and wonder, as the hand that had held Paulo’s now brandished a knife, a small curved blade with a thick grip of black and gold, “With succeeding me, comes all the fruits and labors that I bare. To the masses, I promise that Christopher will make an even better Bishop than I in time, and the miracles he performs with His gift shall be more magical than ever before.”
The mention of His gift sent the room into as much of a frenzy as there could be, with people shifting and shaking in excitement, some even so eager they were jumping and frothing at the mouth.
“And now comes the time. Father Christopher, I ask that you deliver the verdict the masses deem worthy of my thoughts. If thou shall deliver my final blow, I only ask for redemption in my next life, and even then, only if He allows it.” Paulo raised both hands again, and this time did so with his next as well, revealing his Adam’s apple.
Christopher wanted no part in this anymore. Even if the masses cried for his death, Christopher knew he could never bring himself to execute his savior. The man who believed and trusted him more than Christopher had ever thought possible, was not a man that Christopher could kill. Not even for Him, and this he knew may be a sin.
Nobody in the mass seemed to breathe let alone move. No position had ever been given to the masses before, and now they held the role of jury for their Father. The first person to move would be the one to give strength to the mass, as they seemed fit. The first person to move would be the head of the beast in this hall.
And so one did move, a member of the very first row. In much labor, using the shoulders of those next to him, the scrawny man began to stand as straight as his body would allow, which was not much. No eyes found the man, but in the silence that wrapped the hall, each person keenly fixated their senses, waiting for the decision.
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The man brought his head up slowly, and with eyes set in deep sockets and a face that had more bone than flesh, found Christopher’s eyes. Christopher was painted with anxious fear, the knife in his grip shaking frantically at his hip.
The man began to raise his arms, and in a cracked whisper, “In-in-innocent.”
The hall remained quiet for a moment before the man repeated himself in an even more hushed tone. Then another voice was heard from behind Christopher, repeating what the first man was now slowly chanting. While relief temporarily took over Christopher, some of the nightmarish elements continued to make him feel weak. It wasn’t long before the two voices became many voices, and shorter after thereafter the remaining voices joined in the dreary, monotone declaration.
“Innocent. Innocent. Innocent. Innocent.” Most of the faces Christopher found seemed to be looking but not seeing, speaking but not talking, alive but not living. The actions of the first man were theirs as well, and Christopher would later wonder what would have happened if the man had deemed Paulo guilty. How much would have changed, how could it all have been different? But these thoughts, or any thoughts, were not found in the mass, not found in the worm. For the mass was no serpent; able to deviate between what meal would be easier to prey on, able to move quickly and cunningly with fangs of venom. The worm digs blindly, and Paulo has always been good to the beast.
Paulo lowered his head, looking delighted at his chanting followers. Christopher had gone through so many emotions in such a short time that he now found himself wanting nothing more than to be done with today's duty, a true first for the loyal priest. He had been confused, honored, shaken, and anxious and now he just wanted his bed.
“It seems I can take the knife back, Christopher.” Paulo extended a hand toward him, and Christopher quickly relinquished the blade in disgust. To think he had nearly been asked to execute the man who meant everything to him.
“Thank you, Father Paulo. I am really-”
“Now, now my son. We can discuss what has happened today later. We have guests you know?” Paulo beamed a smile at him, before returning to the crowd. Still chanting, Paulo sliced one arm through the air, cutting all sound from the hall. “My friends, my family, my God. For your understanding, for your forgiveness, I now not only offer my life, which has always been yours but offer this display of your work. Of your miracle, of your power!”
It was abrupt, but it was time. Time for the mass to rise to their feet, and if they couldn’t, they would try and prop themselves up as best they could. Each day, this is what they waited for. A chance to be healed, to be saved, to become a part of Paulo’s conglomerate. For whoever was chosen, would become His in this life and the next. Christopher hadn’t noticed when, but the eyes of the crowd had forgotten all about him. Fixed on Paulo, Christopher knew this was the calm before the storm.
Paulo extended both arms in front of him, one hand keeping its palm up as if holding something, the other supporting the side of the imaginary object. But this was no trick, and it was more than just real. The act, performed every day, was simply unexplainable. Paulo had nothing in his possession until he did. Air and nothingness filled his hands until it hadn’t. There were no miracles until there was.
In Paulo’s possession was the gold chalice of desires. More than a few people screamed in excitement, while others stirred and contorted in gay madness at the sight of it. Eyes salivated and longed for the object, watching with unblinking amazement as the light in the room shined and danced with the object. The chalice was a rather large object; the golden foot poured over Paulo’s hand, with four small, deep red rubies lined up perfectly with matching yet larger stones that ran nearer to the rim. Smaller diamonds in the foot dazzled their way to the stem, with its notable knop bearing four small crosses that extended away from the stem.
Christopher noted that he needed to pray deep into the night this night, as he had never been so close to the treasure, to the miracle. This gift from Him had been the driving force for all of the followers to start their pilgrimage and upend their old lives. There was no physical object in the world that could relate to its value, none that could compare to its divinity. And for Paulo to own the object, for Paulo to have the ability to call upon miracles on a whim, seemed to always confirm to Christopher that He truly picked Paulo to carry on his work. And now Paulo had chosen Christopher as his successor.
Paulo always allowed the madness to simmer, and simmer it did that day. Someone in the middle rows had tried to barrel their way through his peers and was succeeding before Paulo fixed his eyes on him. The man’s expression rose to excitement, before quickly dying in disappointment, leaving any further efforts to proceed or defend against the peers he wronged to be thwarted as well. Paulo had surely let him know, only with his eyes, that he was not to be chosen today.
“My friends, today is special. Today, He has already chosen who will be saved. Today, you will all bear witness to his most triumphant act yet!” Paulo’s last sentence rang loudly through the still hall, where faces and expressions of agonizing defeat were painted widely throughout the mass. It would be another day of waiting, of wanting, of needing for them all in the crowd. It had never happened before, for each service had one individual picked from the mass, and each one of them had been saved. For Christopher, the crowd had never seemed in such pain before.
Hoisting the chalice higher, Paulo announced, “Some say He works in mysterious ways, but not for any of you. For all of you, He expresses his love and wonder every day, and today is not one for exception, but one of proclamation! He has healed the disturbed, the injured, the crippled, and even the dying. But He has spoken, and He has found the strength to surpass His greatest of achievements! Please, my loyal priests, bring His miracle forward.”
Christopher hadn’t dared move, but he wanted to badly. What were they bringing? The sound of rolling wheels began somewhere far behind him, and the best imagery he could get was through the eyes of a man in the first row. A sullen face filled with loss, his eyes began to widen and his lip started to tremble in apparent shock. It seemed contagious; all the faces in the crowd revealed both awe and surprise. The rolling stopped and then started again, the sound creeping closer and closer. It seemed an eternity, but now what appeared to be a table found its place between Christopher and Paulo. On the table, a black sheet laid over a body.
Christopher’s knees went weak as Paulo unceremoniously ripped the sheet from the table, exposing the body and face of a man Christopher once knew, whom he had once spoken to as recently as today. The body lying on the table was that of the man who greeted him this morning, who he tried to pray with, and who had certainly lost his pulse. The normalcy of the day had been broken, and now a chill ran through Christopher that had him realizing that the normalcy of all his days forever more, was now certainly broken as well.
“F-father Paulo, this man he’s…”
“He’s dead, Christopher. Dead yet blessed, for He has chosen this man as his most sacred miracle yet.” Paulo offered no smile this time, replaced by a look of deep concentration as he began to stroke the forearm of the dead man. Slowly reaching and stopping at the man's wrist, Paulo brushed the hand from the table, leaving the right arm dangling off the surface of the table. Holding the chalice in his other hand steadily, Paulo carefully took to a knee beside the table, placing the chalice underneath the lame arm. Brandishing his knife again as he rose, Paulo held the knife by its blade and offered the handle to the ceiling and sky before returning to the mass.
“Who am I, besides His loyal servant? I am but a man, a man whose devotion gives him more. Deep devotion to Him gives me purpose, gives me reason, and who gives me life! He can give you this and more as well my friends! He, who can accomplish all things! I give you His most divine miracle yet! The giving of life!” Paulo lowered the knife to his chest, where Christopher alarmingly saw blood seeping between his fingers as the Bishop offered the triangular prayer, One for mankind, one for nature, and one for Him, before flipping the blade so a bloody hand wielded the handle. In a surprisingly fast slice, Paulo left a gash in the dead man's wrist, receiving some whispers and gasps from the crowd as blood poured into the chalice and onto the floor around it.
Christopher continued to feel as if he was the odd man out, although he stood so close by. He watched without faltering as the cut turned to a bloody mess down the length of the man's arm, an incredible amount of dark and deep red pouring out. He watched as the Chalice seemed to fill and fill until it refused to fill anymore, although it hadn’t reached the lip nor did blood seem to ever stop. He watched the limp hand swing again as Paulo had disturbed it with his attack, causing a mess of blood that seemed to never end. Christopher's feelings were everywhere, yet curiosity continued to prevail as he watched Paulo reach down and lift the chalice.
Lifting the bloodied chalice above his head, droplets fell like rain in front of Paulo as he began, “His miracles provide new life every day; the rise of the sun, the birth of a babe, the blossoming of a flower. His work can be seen in all, by all, and is for all, but only if you give Him your all! I have given my life for Him, as this devout follower once gave his life for He, and for that, He is not just good! Not just great! He is life! And He has decided to give this man a life anew!” Paulo brought the chalice down to his lips and started drinking from it eagerly.
In the miracles to come, Christopher would do better to observe the deceased body lying next to him. Unnoticed by him was the cut beginning to heal on the man's arm, the blood beginning to dry and dissipate in a steam, nor the color returning to the fingers and feet. Until the man choked and gasped, Christopher remained fixated on Paulo like all the other eyes in the room. The bishop’s eyes remained open and nearly bulging as he swallowed large quantities of blood at a time, true gulps that burst from the sides of his mouth and trickled down the length of his neck. The rise and fall of the Bishop's Adam's apple seemed endless to Christopher as the chalice continued to produce blood, the sides covered in the red that surely painted Paulo’s hands. The bishop hadn’t yet stopped before the world was forever changed.
The response to the dead man’s choking gasps was of a magnitude never repeated; screams of hysteria, elation, bewilderment, and a mix of the four spread like wildfire in the room. Many more than a few members of the mass passed out from shock or excitement, and at the end of the mass, many of the priests estimated that a couple of those people may have been the ones who were trampled in the aftermath of the miracle. But the day would not be remembered for the dead, for this day was for the dead man who came back to life.
Sitting up now, unbothered by the sounds and sights that filled the hall, the man that Christopher saw now met eyes with each other once again. Though his eyes were colorless and without pupils, the man did blink, and Christopher had no query that the man's sight was restored. Reaching up with both hands, touching and feeling his cheeks and chin, the man’s mouth quivered excitedly, “Father Christopher, my life for Him! My life for Him! For Him!”
The man reached out and grabbed Christopher's hand, and Christopher felt his hand reactively snap back. The dead man's touch had been extremely cold, and Christopher found himself only being able to rub at his hand and stare at the man in stunned amazement.
“For Him!” Paulo repeated, and the once-dead man whirled in shock to find himself so close to Paulo. The Bishop, whose face, neck, and hands had been soaked with blood, seemed to have a red mist rising from and above his body. The blood that had been there was dissipating into the air, as well as the blood that had soaked the floor and stained the chalice. “Is He not capable of everything!”
“Everything!” The man said as he rose from the table only to fall onto his hands and knees at the feet of Paulo, “I am His! For He has given me life! My life for Him!”
“Yes, my child! And all my children, how faithful you believe in Him, and know how much you see from Him! This day is His glory, and His glory is our glory! For His life is mine, and my life is His! And your life too, forever, can be blessed with miracles too! In His new world, you can be reborn! I offer you this now for He offers it to you now; come and offer a drop of your blood my friends, my family, my devout. His devout, come to me and offer a drop of your blood to the chalice, so that you may be reborn again. The man you see next to me, reborn at His whim, is but His choice. Don’t you see now, that His choice is your choice, that your choice is His, and if you choose to give Him your blood, He too will choose to give you blood and life when yours ends. Come and share his miracle!”
How the room shifted; from complete paranoia to near silent obedience, the followers were able to find their feet and with that their place in the line. The line, the beast, the worm had never been closer to its instinctual goal, for now, they would all be blessed. What had been one recipient of one miracle a day now found the entire congregation receiving the promise of a second life? The line would not end until well after nightfall, yet no one complained. Everyone gave a drop of their blood to Him, to the gold chalice, and Paulo.