“You are, whether you mean to or not. She’s in everything you say to me. I hear her like you’re speaking with her voice. You loved her. She loved you. You chose the Church. She left. And you have never forgiven yourself. You can take your regret out on me if you want, but don’t pretend it’s your piety talking.”
Father Ballard prayed for a miracle. All he needed was eight more inches of height so he could properly finish Marcus off. They were in a cemetery already. Good place to commit murder.
“Was it really worth it?” Marcus asked and Ballard heard the compassion under the question. “Choosing your vows over the woman you loved?”
“No,” Ballard said. An easy answer to a hard question. “I thought it was the right decision at the time. Thirty years later…no. It wasn’t worth it. I could have married her, become a deacon. But I was scared. The Church was my home. It’s still my home.”
Marcus fell silent. Ballard had learned long ago to leave him be when silent. Whatever came after the silence was always worth the wait.
“I had a dream last night,” Marcus began at last. “I dreamt I was in a desert and I saw a man and a boy standing by a large rock. The man was the boy’s father. I don’t know how I knew it but I knew it, the way you know things in your dreams.”
Ballard nodded, not speaking, waiting for Marcus to go on.
“And the father was weeping because he had a knife in his hand and he was going to kill his son.”
“You were dreaming of Abraham and Isaac.”
“I was,” Marcus said. “But in the dream I didn’t know who they were. I didn’t realize I was in a Bible story. It felt real. The sun on my face, the sand in my eyes.”
“God commanded Abraham to kill his son. A hard passage for any believer.”
“I watched the man raise the knife over his son’s heart. I awoke with a start when he brought the knife down. I felt the knife in my own chest, Stuart.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
“It should have been, but it wasn’t.” Marcus shook his head, seemingly dumbfounded by the experience. “I felt this deep sense of joy. It was only a test… I heard those words ringing in my head like a bell. This has been a test.”
Ballard smiled. “It was a test. God ordered Abraham to kill his own son Isaac—‘whom you love.’ I never forgot those words. The moment Abraham is fully willing to kill his son for God, when he’s bringing the knife down, that’s when the angel stops his hand and saves Isaac. Or rather, he saves Abraham. Saves him from having to kill his own child. But Abraham proved he was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice by killing his only son. God proved He was willing to kill His only son too. But God went through with it.”
“I’ve never told you this,” Marcus began, and Ballard had a feeling there was much Marcus had never told him. “But the night before my ordination I read that passage in Genesis. I was Abraham. Kingsley was Isaac. If I took my vows and became a priest, it would be like putting a knife through my love for Kingsley. And I had to be willing to do that. I invited him to my ordination. Did you know that?”
“Another thing you never told me.”
“I sent the letter to his grandparents’ address in Maine. I thought if anyone could find him, it would be them. Something told me he would be there at my ordination. He would come. I believed it so thoroughly I thought I saw him in the back of the church.”
“Why did you invite him? Hoping he’d stop the wedding this time like you wish he’d done the last time?”
Marcus laughed, a mirthless laugh but a laugh nonetheless.
“I needed to prove to myself I loved God more than Kingsley. When I took my vows, I was certain he was there, watching me. I made my vows anyway. I chose God over Kingsley. I brought down the knife.” Marcus stopped speaking again. Ballard saw his jaw clench. “The letter I sent came back to me the day after my ordination. Both his grandparents had died. Kingsley had left no forwarding address. He hadn’t been there after all.”
“But it doesn’t matter. You thought he was there. You could have walked away from the Church, from the priesthood that very day and you didn’t. You passed Abraham’s test.”
“It’s a sick, sadistic thing to order a father to kill his son, isn’t it?” Marcus asked. “I’ve played my share of mind games but I would never go so far. Even I have my limits.”
“Sadistic is the word for it. God in the Old Testament wasn’t anyone’s pal.”
“What if God’s still like that? What if He’s still playing games with us? What if the vows are a test? Will we give up wealth, freedom, marriage, and sex for His sake? What if we do and then along comes an angel with black hair and green eyes and green hair and black eyes and says, ‘This was only a test. You passed. Put the knife down.’ ”
“And come to bed?”
Marcus smiled. “She would say that.”
“You and I both know that’s wishful thinking. I’ve been a priest a long time, long enough to know the vows are far more for the Church’s sake than God’s. It’s not a popular opinion but more of us believe that than we’re willing to admit. One century the sun revolves around the Earth. The next century the Earth revolves around the sun. We’re making it up as we go along.”