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CHAPTER 15

J ASON WAS IN A PANIC .

His religious life was spartan, his tastes simple save for well-prepared food and some good wine. True, he could be at times pedantic, a little cynical, and he disdained illogical tradition. He’d told himself more than once to mind his tongue. But for him the great new sin of modern times was the unwillingness of people to become involved. The sin of omission. He loved the glory of the church. The sunlight slanting through stained glass laying down fields of fractured color. An organ and chorus together echoing off the vaulted ceilings. And the triumphant hallelujahs.

It all made sense to him.

He’d waited in the evening warmth, watching as Ascolani waddled his way out of the Vatican Gardens, not sure what to do next. He knew the petty humiliation was designed to sting, to slowly sap away all courage and strength, replaced with a helplessness that hopefully led to capitulation. But he also knew the enemy here was more than Ascolani. The Curia was like a malignant serpent that slithered in darkness and drew strength from the confusion of its opponents. That hydra had many heads, and when one was severed, two more grew back. The only way to slay the monster was to face it squarely, resist the paralyzing dread, and aim straight for its heart. Nothing else would work.

So he needed to get moving.

To do something.

He fled the gardens and kept his pace slow and steady, showing not a hint of the apprehension that coursed through him. He knew cameras were everywhere. Not often was he scared. He could recall only one time before in his life. When he knelt before the bishop to take Holy Orders and become a priest. His calling came in his early teens, when he heard the Lord say, Give me your life and trust me as to what I am going to do with it. He’d not hesitated, offering himself completely, but telling no one. His father’s sudden death when he was seventeen made him frustrated with God. Why was that good man taken? What was the point? There’d been catechism in school, but not much. Never was he an altar boy or privy to any of the church’s inner workings. He was twenty and in college when, out of nowhere, he heard a voice say, Be a priest.

So he applied for and was accepted to the seminary at Sankt Georgen School. There he was exposed to different cultures and ideas, all of which opened his eyes to view the church as a universal entity. He also learned that religious service could take many forms, and his seemed to be in administration. From the day he lay before the bishop and accepted Holy Orders he started a steady rise up the ladder to now being a cardinal, part of the select committee that oversaw the Vatican Bank.

Or at least that was the case until a few minutes ago.

Now he was suspended and exiled.

He kept walking, leaving the confines of the secured areas behind the basilica and heading for St. Peter’s Square.

In its simplest form the Catholic Church was a global community of believers founded by Jesus Christ over two thousand years ago. There were more than one billion Catholics, from countless diverse cultural backgrounds, all united by the same central religious creed. They sprang from the first group of Christians that ever existed, from which all other Christian groups emerged. But at its heart the Catholic Church had always been an institution with a unique leadership structure. Servant-leaders. Priests. Following the example of Jesus. At the service of those whom they led. Men, like himself, who’d answered the call and undergone Holy Orders. Becoming a priest was then, and remained, a special privilege. Christ picked his twelve apostles. So the church selected its own servants. But sadly, it was not exempt from having bad apples. They came in all forms. Some incompetent. Others arrogant and vain. Some downright evil. He was not any of those. He’d been a good priest and cardinal.

Why was this happening?

Was it his outspokenness?

He’d been warned to tone down the rhetoric. But he’d thought himself immune to retribution thanks to his friendship with the pope, who’d privately encouraged him to speak out. He supposed now, thinking on it, a comment made a few weeks back may have placed him on Ascolani’s radar. “ The church should be as brave and outspoken about women as it has been about so many other subjects. ” He’d been talking to the Curia, who were expert at thwarting change. But for him, reality was clear. The church could no longer operate without women actively being a part. They were the future. But men like Sergio Ascolani were not interested in change. They liked the status quo.

The only way to slay the monster is to face it squarely, resist the paralyzing dread, and aim straight for its heart.

So he had no choice.

Go straight for the heart.