Free The Priest's Madonna by Amy Hassinger Page B

miracle, lay down and declared glory to the Lord God, the one true God of Israel and of all the world.”
    The story was familiar—I had heard it before—but in Bérenger’s telling, the characters suddenly took on more majestic proportions. Even God himself, whom I had remembered as being helpful, sending the fire down in order to save Elijah from his predicament, became ireful and destructive. Then Bérenger added the final, damning conclusion to the tale, one I had not remembered.
    “And then, Marie, Elijah gathered up the prophets of Baal, those false prophets who had led the people of Israel away from their one true God, and he slaughtered them. According to the Law of God, false prophets are condemned to die. Deuteronomy 18:20.”
    This ending dropped like a rock into the pleasant morning and the tenuous webbing of my faith.
    “The Cathars were false prophets, Marie.” He spoke more gently now, aware that he’d shocked me. “Pope Innocent the Third was obliged to kill them. He was kinder, even, than Elijah. He tried other methods first: discussion, debate, appealing to the nobles to stamp out all signs of the heresy among them. But none worked. And so he finally followed God’s Law.” He studied my face. “The heretics were always given the chance to renounce their beliefs and return to the true Church. Those who chose to return were accepted with joy. Those who didn’t, well …” He paused. “Sometimes war is necessary in the name of God.”
    “Because the Church’s power was threatened,” I said.
    “Because people’s souls were threatened! Because the heretics were leading people straight into hell!” He struck his walking stick against the ground, then glared at me.
    His anger startled but did not scare me—my father had acquainted me with bluster. I waited a moment, studying my flower, then said in a measured tone, “But the Cathars believed their faith was true. How could they be forced to believe something different? And if someone pretended to believe something to avoid being killed, it would be a lie, which is also a sin. And wouldn’t God know he was lying?”
    We had reached a fork in the path. One way led farther down the hill, into a thickening forest of oak and pine. The other veered left and stayed open, rising again. Bérenger stood at the fork, glaring downhill, ominously silent.
    “I’ve angered you,” I said heatedly. “I should not have brought it up.” I realized with chagrin that my fervent curiosity had gotten the better of me. I feared I had lost his approval.
    He turned to face me, his hands folded as if to control them. “You are very intelligent, Marie,” he said. “But the problem with human intelligence is that it strives to understand what it cannot understand, and in doing so, destroys the beauty and the mystery of the ineffable. We proclaim the mystery of faith, Marie. It is a mystery and must remain so.” He gazed at me for a long moment, until I felt I had to break the gaze or be swallowed. I looked back in the direction from which we’d come: from our position, I could see only the dusty trail we’d taken down the hill, which rose steeply, obscuring the view of the village.
    “I suppose I should start back toward home now,” I said. “I have dinner to prepare.”
    He nodded. “Leave a plate for me. I’ll be walking a while longer.”
    When I had reached the crest of the hill once more, he called to me, “Marie! Come to confession!”

    On the Way to Natzaret
    She went with them over the objections of Kefa, who thought such a woman would discredit their cause. She was the only woman yet to join them, though there would be others later. Yeshua walked beside her. At one point, Kefa fell back and tried to coax Yeshua away. “We have things to discuss,” he said. “Things that don’t concern a woman.” But Yeshua would not leave her, and so Kefa walked with them, fuming.
    Yeshua was shy with her. With others he could be genial and talkative, but