Mercy

[This story was published here in 2018 and then included in a book, Parabolas, in 2020. Its message is spot on today, especially in the context of the movie, Sound of Freedom, and what has been recently revealed about the demonic elites’ efforts to stifle the movie. All ideas and comments re: how to get this to Mel Gibson, Jim Caviezel, Mira Sorvino and Eduardo Verastegui greatly appreciated].

The irony was not lost on the two agents escorting the handcuffed priest, who was wearing a black cassock and roman collar,  his feet shackled together hobbling his each half step, as he shuffled down the corridor trying not to stumble, putting one foot in front of the other, the chain metallically rattling on the tile floor.

No one spoke.

They came to a door, one of the agents opened it, and they ushered the priest into an interrogation room.  It was cold. They motioned him to a table, attached his leg manacles to a hasp in the floor, put his hands on the table, and inserted a table top stud through his handcuffs. Then they left.

Father Jerald Christianson, now alone, looked around the room. Two mirror walls, bright lights, concrete floor. He knew why he was here and he knew that whoever had brought him here did not. He heard a door open behind him. A man and a woman walked to the other side of the table and sat down, each placing a laptop on the table, opened them, and pushed their “Power” buttons.

Behind one of the mirrored walls, Agent Willoughby, still watching the priest, asked Agent Thorpe,  a man sitting at a monitor next to him, “What do you think?”

All the sensors read “Normal,” all the electrode outputs in the table and  in the  restraints read “Norm.”  The retinal scanner and inspiration/exhalation monitor had found no anomalies.

Thorpe shook his head. “Can’t read him.  Could he have been this well trained? Who is he? Spotless record, ordained Catholic priest, good as gold. You got me. I am clueless on this one. How did he do it? How did he know? Did he do it? Did he know?”

Willoughby stared at Father Christianson through the one-way glass. “We’ve got nothing. He was  exiled out there, miles from El Paso-sent to the smallest armpit-of-the-world parish. Don’t understand all that, but he was in the dog house with the head guy. That’s a bishop.”

“What did he do?” asked Thorpe.

“They said he did things that pissed off this bishop. Report says things like ‘standing facing the altar with the people,’ ‘read Romans One from the pulpit,’ ‘ more than once, mentioned sin in his sermons,’ said ‘people could go to hell forever.’ “

Thorpe was truly perplexed. “Didn’t Jesus say the same thing? Anyway, that’s the report we got back.  Doesn’t sound like sin to me. I guess a bishop is a god for these guys. Go figure. Let’s see how it goes.”

The woman, Agent Gwen Steele, began. “Mr. Christianson, do you know why you are here?”

Jerry noticed that she did not call him ‘father.’ “

Agent Robert Tilney, sitting next to  Jerry, noticed his reaction.  He interrupted agent Steele. “Would you prefer we call you ‘father’?”

Jerry smiled. “Yes, I am, ordained; but I have no problem with however you want to address me.”

“Ordained? Asked Tilney “Just men, right?

“I have received a special sacrament that Jesus first gifted His apostles with and then the men who followed them. It is called ‘Holy Orders’ and it means that I and each  man ‘ordained’ a priest stands in persona Christi, in the person of Christ. Some say an ‘alter Christus,’ another Christ. And, yes, the ‘only males’ was His command to His Church.”

Tilney continued, “Does that mean you are under orders to do this?

“I think we are talking past each other,” the priest replied.

Tilney and Steele stared at each other. This interrogation was not going as they had planned.

“ I don’t know if ‘ordered’ is the correct term. Maybe ‘sent’ or ‘commissioned’ is better.”

Tilney asked another question. “Father Christianson, do you know why you are here?”

Jerry looked at the man and then at the woman. He thought about the answer to one of the first questions of the catechism and its answer. “Why did God make you?  God made me to know love and serve Him in this world and to be happy with Him in heaven.” But he didn’t repeat that.

“I cannot help but think it is about what I said some weeks ago. But as to ‘why’ I am here, that depends on where you are coming from and where you think you are going.”

“Really?” said Steele condescendingly. She typed something on her computer and hit “Enter.” “This is from sixteen days ago.” A video began with Jerry speaking:

“My name is Father Jerry Christianson and I have a message for everyone. Thus says the Lord God:

‘I am your God and you are My people. I have waited, so that none should perish and all would come to repentance; but I will no longer delay My promise. From the moment of your conception and for all your lives you are Mine and you are all precious to Me. The world rulers of this present darkness have led you, My precious ones, from Us, from Me, from My beloved Son, Jesus, and from the Holy Spirit. But you will not be abandoned, not a single one of you. Fourteen days from now the twelve living persons who have forsaken Me and exercised their worldly power to turn the most of My children from Me – they will all return to dust; but first, before I remove them for this earth, I will give each of them a chance to repent and to turn back to Me. In twenty-eight days from these first judgments, another seventy two will die, after being offered My mercy. But My mercy is powerless in the face of their free will. If they freely choose not to repent, they will enter into the everlasting fire My Son told you about. In forty days, the next one thousand such people will be dealt with. In fifty days, the next one hundred thousand. And this will continue until all of the wicked rulers and their faithful have chosen My love and mercy, or felt My power. All will see that My wrath is My mercy, and they are both My love.’ ”

Steele stopped the video. “That is you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said the priest.

“Who told you this? Who told you to publish it? Who are you working with? Where do you get your marching orders?”

The priest’s calm complacency unnerved Steele and Willoughby. “I really don’t think you will believe me, but I am not working with anyone, unless you include God. He told me to do this. He gave me His message. He is the only one I am working with.”

“Oh boy!” said Thorpe behind the mirror. “Has he been duped and used. Gotta get me some of that God KoolAid.”

“Yes,” said Willoughby, “but we have nothing on him. They have scoured his computer, his phone history, his house, his car, his parents, everywhere he went to school since Pre-K through theology studies, every term paper, every thesis, every transcript, every fellow seminarian, his teachers, every sermon anyone remembers, and they have squat. If he is a sleeper or an agent or a spy or an assassin, or anything, it is hidden deep.”

“And,” said Thorpe, “what if his God did tell him all this? We only have a dozen days to stop the next round.”

“His God? Wonder who that is. When the twelve were killed, he was in his parish, all day.” Willoughby shook his head.

Steele started a video montage on her computer. Jerry had seen most of it already. It showed the public agony and disintegration of twelve people. One was a film done by a news crew that happened to be at a press conference with a bishop;  another video from an interview in London; a third of a woman chief executive, in Manhattan, where a man had confronted her and sprinkled holy water on the sidewalk;  and recordings from Beijing, Paris, Stockholm,  Brussels, Moscow, Stuttgart, Chicago, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. Almost all  from a variety of angles from multiple cell phone captures, one after the other, of bodies slowly disintegrating from the feet up,  faces in anguish, screaming, in excruciating pain, the screams ending as their mouths disappeared, and the eyes wide, dissolving, as each of them flowed down into a pile of black dust.

Many of the pictures ended with the dark particles being blown away. Some ended with views of a small, black pile surrounded by the shoes of onlookers, and then a gust of wind making the piles vanish. Although some of them were easily recognized well-known persons of power, about half of them were virtually unknown to the general public.

“Were these the first dozen people targeted?” Tilney asked.

“Your question is senseless,” said Jerry. “And I don’t know if I would speak of God ‘targeting’ His people. They are His, their lives are His. He giveth, he taketh away. It appears that He did what He said He would do.”

“So you disavow any hand in this?’ asked Steele. “You say these are acts of God, not assassinations, not killings, not done by organized and very well-funded terrorists in a concerted effort with careful planning for a long time?”

“Planning? In terms of God’s thoughts are not our thoughts, and eternity is not in time, I guess God must have ‘planned’ this since forever. I think we are not only not on the same page, we are not reading from the same book,” said Jerry. “I am simply a messenger and I delivered the message He told me to give.”

This was more true than Jerry knew. His uploaded video now had more than ten thousand times ten thousand the number of views of any uploaded video in history. It had been translated into virtually every language around the globe.

“And that is amazing that indeed you did get it out to the world. Nothing has ever gone polydemic around the world as fast as this did. Now you are here so we can learn the truth from you, Father,” said Tilney, “and we will. But as the next deadline approaches, if you have not cooperated, we will do whatever must be done to have you tell us how to stop this.”

The implication of Tilney’s threat was not lost on Jerry. “You cannot stop this,” he said placidly, without emotion. “No one can stop this. I am sorry you don’t understand God’s power or my role, but you should know that you cannot harm me and that I am simply and only the messenger.”

Steele looked at Tilney, then back at Jerry. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I am protected. You each have a pistol. Either one of you, I am sure, could kill me with your weapon or with your bare hands. I invite you to try to shoot me or hit me. Or just try to punch me. Please.”

Steele stood up and drew her pistol. She walked around the table and raised her arm as if to hit Jerry.

Tilney  yelled, “what are you doing?”

Steele brought her arm down hard, but it was stopped inches from Jerry’s face. Again she raised her arm and tried to hit the priest, but it was as if an invisible barrier stopped her.

Behind the mirrors, Thorpe exclaimed, “I’ll be damned.”

Willoughby laughed. “I don’t know if I would go saying things like that anymore.”

Steels stepped back from Jerry in disbelief. Staring first at her hand and then at Jerry. She and Tilney looked at each other, and then at the mirror walls, speechless. They both stared at the walls as if asking Willoughby  and Thorpe, “What do we do now?”

Jerry broke the silence. There was no jubilation in his voice, no joy, no irony in his manner.

“You asked me if I know why I am here. I know what I have been summoned to do and I also know that I am here to ask you,” he looked at the mirror walls, “to have Jessica Miriam Clement come here to me. God wants me to speak with Jessica Miriam Clement.”

Everyone except Willoughby looked blank. Only he had ever heard that name.

“Who is ‘Jessica Miriam Clement’” asked Tilney.

Before Willoughby could stop him, Father Christainson said, “She is your head of Trip F.”

“Shut it down, now!” Willoughby yelled. “Everything off, video, sound, recorders, sensors, off. “

“Sir?” Thorpe asked incredulously. “What’s happening? Who is Jessica Miriam Clement? What is Trip F?”

“I don’t know.” Willoughby was lying.

Steele and Tilney looked at each other then at the mirror wall.

“Now!” Willoughby repeated.

The glow of lights and the buzz of equipment ceased.

Jerry Christianson, again alone, touched his hands together as well as he could and prayed. “St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and  do thou oh Prince of the  heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.” As he finished, the room seemed to warm up.

Willoughby entered alone. This had not gone the way he had planned. For some time he stared at the praying priest. He did not introduce himself. He reached to touch his shoulder, but his hand was stopped in midair.

“Who is ‘Jessica Miriam Clement’ and what is Trip F?”

Jerry looked up. “I do not know her and I do not know about ‘Trip F.’ But I was told to speak to her.”

“And God also told you to do this?”

“Yes, before you brought me, He told me to come here and that He cares about this woman.”

“And what is it that you are going to tell this Jessica Miriam Clement?”

“Particulars of what I am to tell her have not yet been revealed to me; but she will come. I know that.”

Willoughby doubted that very much. “And what if you are simply inviting her to her death?”

“I do not know and that may be; I do not yet know the message or the task; but I do know I am to tell her something.”

Very few people worldwide knew that the FFF existed. Let alone the name of its head, Jessica Miriam Clement.  It not only oversaw all intelligence agencies, the FBI, Homeland Security, the NSA, the CIA, and all military intelligence, it also secretly and subtly directed all information gathering, collation, and analysis from almost every nation on earth.

Willoughby had only heard Jessica Miriam Clement’s name and the name “FFF” by accident, once when he was passing by a side office at the Pentagon. When he asked his superior about it, she turned pale and told him, if he valued his life, to never again mention this. Now he had a decision to make about what had just happened. Report what he had heard up the chain of command or remain quiet? He knew that within minutes the taped interrogation, up to the point at which he stopped it, would be going to the White House and then on to heads of multiple government agencies.

“Wait here, Father Christianson.”

Jerry smiled and  said, “As you wish,” holding up his handcuffed hands.

Willoughby thought about what he had to do. If he hid this, his career was over. If he sent out any alerts or warnings, his career could still be over because they would ask why he stopped the interrogation. If he acted like he did not know about FFF and Jessica Miriam Clement, he could plead ignorance, and say that he stopped it all since he had never heard that name. He went back to the control room behind the mirror walls .

“Turn it all back on,” he barked to all the agents and technicians. The lights came up, the recorders were activated, screens glowed, and the computers hummed.

Willoughby returned to the interrogation room. “Tell me, Father, he said, standing across from Jerry, “You saw the videos of the assassinations. There are some notable exceptions. You said the twelve most powerful people on earth; but the President of the United States is still alive and so is the Pope. What happened? Did someone not get the memo? Did someone hit the wrong target?”

“I do not know the answers. I have told you, and you must understand, there are no ‘targets’ like you mean targets. You are looking at this from a false reality. I do know that, if you pay attention to what was given to me, it was not simply the twelve most powerful people in the world, but the twelve who were most abusing their power to turn God’s people from Him. And the same is true about the president and the pope – maybe they are not among these twelve most powerful, or maybe they are not among the ‘world rulers of this present darkness’ who have done so. I did see that three people very powerful private citizens died and that two Cardinals very close to the pope did also, one in Brussels and one in Stuttgart. And there was the head of the Vatican Bank. Either the president and the pope have not turned people away from God, or they have. But whatever the case, if you believe God, they were not among the twelve most powerful.”

“You are saying that it may be that these who did die have power over some men perceived to be very powerful?”

“Yes. And I repeat, I spoke the truth as it was given to me to speak.”

“Will the president and the pope be in the next seventy-two? Can the deaths of these people be avoided?”

“I have not been told that. I have been told the number of those who will die. I have spoken only the message, and the whole message I was given. I do not believe the deaths of these people can be avoided or stopped.”

“How did you spread it so far and so fast?”

“I am sure you can check this; but I posted it as I usually do my Sunday sermon. As for ‘spreading,’ that was not me.”

“We did check. And it appears you are telling the truth. Still, no one has ever seen anything like it.”

“When is the last time you commanded the morning, told the dawn its place, taught from a whirlwind, or spoke with the voice of thunder?”

Willoughby was taken aback. “What?”

“Sorry, just remembering what God said to Job and his buddies.”

“Job?”

“Yes, it is a book of the Bible and in it, in contrition, Job says he is repenting ‘in dust and ashes’. “

Less than three hours later, Willoughby was surprised to see a group marching down the corridor, armed with rifles and pistols. They surrounded a woman who looked from side to side as she approached, hesitant, as if she did not want to be there. No one said a word to Willoughby until one of the agents asked, “Where is he?”

Willoughby gestured to the door of the interrogation room. Two men entered it and looked at Jerry and then walked around the room, inspecting the walls with handheld instruments, then the floor, feeling the legs of the furniture, scrutinizing the ceiling. The woman waited at the door, nervous, as the other agents, three men and two women, checked out the control room and corridor past it. Willoughby was surprised that they thought they had to check the room.

The two agents exited the room and then nodded at the woman. She entered and stood across the table from Jerry.

“You asked to see me?” she said.

“No,” Jerry responded. “I asked to see Jessica Miriam Clement.”

A woman now in the control room stared at the mirrored wall, silent, questioning. She placed her rifle and pistol on a chair and walked from the control room into the interrogation room. She gestured to the woman posing as her to leave.

“I am Jessica Miriam Clement,” she said to Jerry.

“I know,” said Jerry.

Jessica sat down and stared at Jerry, surprised that she sensed no fear in him.

“And I know who you are,” said Jerry.

She was startled and sat upright, her eyes cold, trying to bore through Jerry. Strange, she thought, there is power here. It unnerved her.

Jerry felt the presence of evil and he knew that he had encountered this particular evil before. It was some years ago when a Methodist pastor had asked him to come and exorcise a member of his congregation, a young girl, who lived on a ranch outside El Paso. The prayers of the pastor’s and his people had failed to cast out the evil one from the girl. Jerry had gone to the ranch house. It was one hundred seven degrees in the shade, but inside the house was freezing cold.  The girl lay spread eagle on the floor, her eyes bulging. When Jerry asked the demon its name, the demon had replied “Pacabanab, and legion.”

Jerry looked calmly at Jessica Miriam Clement, made the Sign of the Cross, and said, “Yes, I know you and, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, Jesus God Almighty . . . “

As he spoke there was a physical change in Jessica. Her face contorted, becoming grotesque and she began to snarl.

“ . . .Jesus, Savior of all men, what is your name?” He made the Sign of the Cross over her.

As the name “Jesus” was said each time, and at each Sign of the Cross, Jessica Miriam Clement morphed more into a human monster and her snarls got louder. Jerry sat immobile, unresponsive to what was happening in front of him, unmoved by the sounds and ignoring the stench that now filled the interrogation room.

He repeated, “In the name of Jesus of Nazareth, who are you?”

In torment now, unable to resist, Jessica spoke, as if caged, “Pacabanab  . . . and legion.” The demonic words echoed around the room as if it was a canyon in hell.

Jerry continued. “By the living God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit,” he made the Sign of the Cross continually toward Jessica as he spoke, “I command you, serpent, and all you with it, to leave this woman and return to the everlasting fire prepared for you.”

Jessica’s body slowly levitated from the floor chair and then was thrown violently around the room as she wailed and screamed.

While she was being tossed like a doll against the mirrored wall of the control room, Jerry quietly said: “I cast you out, Pacabanab and all you unclean spirits, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every spectre from hell, and all your evil companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

He made the Sign of the Cross and continued to do so as he spoke. “Begone and stay far from this creature of God. For it is Jesus Christ who commands you, He who flung you headlong from the heights of heaven into the depths of hell. It is He who commands you, He who once stilled the sea and the wind and the storm. Hearken, therefore, and tremble in fear, you enemies of the faith, you foes of the human race, you begetters of death, you robbers of life, you corrupters of justice, you root of all evil and vice; seducers of men, betrayers of the nations, instigators of envy, fonts of avarice, fomentors of discord, authors of pain and sorrow. Why, then, do you stand and resist, knowing as you must that Jesus Christ the Lord brings your plans to nothing? Fear Him, and begone, then, in the name of the Father, and of Jesus Christ the Son,  and of the Holy  Spirit. Give place to the Holy Spirit by this sign of the holy cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever.”

Like a torrent of filth going down a storm sewer, the evil demons left Jessica and flowed from the room. Her body was slumped over the table.  Her face and body covered with blood and filth, she sat up and stared at Jerry.

“Hello, Jessica Miriam Clement,” he said. “I am Father Jerry Christianson.” The stench was gone, the room was warm and quiet.

Then Jessica’s face and body became clean and fresh, even glowing. She looked at her hands and then looked up, glancing around the room as if at a place that was foreign to her. Two agents outside the room in the corridor had fallen unconscious as Jerry prayed, and the other woman in the control room, the decoy, who had begun vomiting and writhing on the floor, was now still.

Willoughby could not hear what was going on. The sound had been turned off. He could not turn it on. He saw Jerry and Jessica talking, but the door to the interrogation could not be opened.

Jessica was confused. “What is happening?”

“Please hear me. I have a message for you, it is for you alone, from God you Father who loves you.”

Jessica did not laugh, nor did she rise to leave.

Willoughby realized he could not hear what was going on. He left the control room and walked into the corridor. He could not open the door to the interrogation, nor could any of the other agents turn the doorknob.

Jerry looked at Jessica. “You will die in twelve days. You have seen what has happened. You know you are one of the most powerful persons still living, yet you are alive. You have turned God’s people from Him. God has sent you to me so I can tell you He loves you. You are to be given a chance to be truly sorry for all you have done, all of it, going back twenty four years, and you are being given this special grace from Him. It is your choice, as it was those years ago when you welcomed the first demon, and then the evil cohorts.”

Jessica thought back to that first demonic blood ritual to which she had been invited in Manhattan, with the animal tortures and living child sacrifices and abuses, the politicians and office holders, actors and actresses, producers, directors,  doctors and nurses, lawyers, judges, policemen, writers, criminals, government agents, entertainers, journalists all taking part, and the satanic ceremonies for years that she had been at in Los Angeles, Washington D.C., Chicago, Houston, London, Paris, San Francisco, and all the other large cities around the world.

“What ‘chance’ if I am to die?” she asked.

“God knows the earthly power you have, the power you exercise daily, and how you have subverted and abused that power. You now have the chance to use that power to speak and spread the truth so that the world will know the message He has sent me to proclaim. You are free to choose to be His loving instrument. You are also free to choose, even now, to beseech the demons to return. If you do, you will die, pitifully, and they will be with you as they usher you into hell.”

“There is not enough mercy, not enough forgiveness.” She bowed her head and began to shake, and weep. She had not felt so free in many years.

“This is your choice. You are free to choose. But do not doubt, because Jesus died for you and your sins, do not think there is not enough mercy, not enough love, no forgiveness,” said Jerry. “If you choose, if you repent, you will have eleven days. And you will be free of the evil that you welcomed and that then held you.”

“What am I to do?”

“You control the world’s information.”

She laughed. “But we could not stop you. Nothing worked. It was as if another power had taken over. Amazing”

“I do not mean to sound foolish or insane; but you must know that this is the power of God, God Almighty. If you repent and if you agree, it is you who will have His message, which I will give you now, proclaimed to the ends of the earth, to all nations.”

She did not deny that she could do this. This is why FFF was created.  “Message?”

“You have seen what He told me to say. It is true. I will be given more which I will tell you. It will bring hope to those who believe. It will be the power of the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God.”

Jessica paused. Then she said, “I don’t know if I can say this, but I will try to do His will. His will be done.”

Jerry nodded and began to tell her what had now been revealed to him, what she would add to God’s message for the world.

The next morning, media around the world, radio, television, cellphone screens, screens in bars, in airports, in restaurants, in automobiles and ships, buses, trains, and planes, screens and radio in public places around the world instantaneously presented Jessica  speaking.

Her voice was clear and confident.  Each heard in his or her own language.

“Thus says the Lord God, your heavenly Father, your Brother Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit that enlivens and enlightens the whole world,” she looked straight into the camera. Her speech was being broadcast in real time. “Repent and return to Me, My beloved children. For yet a little while now be still and trust in Me, for I am your loving God. Each of you is precious to me. I am. I am here. Repent and return to Me. My love for you is unlimited. For this each of your was made in our likeness, and each of you is good. For this each of you can freely choose to make good and avoid evil. I am calling the hirelings and the wolves. They cannot resist me and they are coming to Me.  I will deal with them. They will no longer lead you astray. I will send you true shepherds to lead you in the way of goodness. Repent and return to me.”

Jessica then repeated the message that Jerry had already proclaimed. She ended, “Each of you, each of you one of My precious children, repent and return to Me.”

The next morning, Jerry awoke as his chains fell from him and onto the floor. He knelt in his cell and thanked God for another glorious day. No one moved, no one said a word, as he walked out and down the corridor. He turned a corner to see Jessica coming towards him.

Silently, for a few moments, she held his hands in hers. They spoke and prayed. Then he absolved her of her sins.

“And your Father wants you to know,” said Jerry, “since you have chosen, as your conscience, His voice, has directed you, you will see your four children again.”

Within forty eight hours the world had changed.  People walked everywhere, happy, openly praising God. Churches overflowed round the clock. Governments came to a standstill. As those in power became more enraged, their orders to their supporters, servants, minions, and underlings became more and more frantic, useless words ignored both by the evil ones plotting to succeed them and by the good ones who simply walked out. Some, in humility, did repent and join the crowds seeking forgiveness; but others relied on their own inner evil thinking that, as always, it would be their salvation, that the evil ones they served would honor their agreements and would protect them from God.

Ten days later, those unrepentant ones were stunned as they began to suffer and die. Those who had come to contrition suffered, but their agony seemed lessened. Videos of Jessica, as she disintegrated, showed a woman who suffered almost not at all, and then she smiled before she died, clearly mouthing the words, “I love you too”.

Willoughby was still there after the twenty-eighth day had passed. He knew some of the newly-dead, worked with several of them.  Some, including the man who had been presented as  president and the man who had worn the papal white and those who had used their offices, were no surprise; but so many were virtual unknowns outside the secret evil echelons of governments and businesses around the world. He knew what he had had seen, what he had heard. He knew if not with those of the forty days, he most certainly would be with those on the fifty-fifth day. He stood up from his desk and walked down the corridors out of the building. Entering the sunlight, he looked up and said “Yes.”

At the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, the lines for confession spilled out into the parking lots and along the streets. Michigan Avenue was shut down with total grid lock. Willoughby walked up to the end of one of the lines and took a rosary from his pocket.

Father Jerry Christianson knelt in the grass outside his parish church and said a prayer for the repose of the soul of his bishop who had been in the last group that had died in agony. The he looked up at the West Texas sky and said, “For blessings and gifts, and miracles, yesterday, today and tomorrow, known and unknown, Deo Gratias!